by Cyn Bagley
"No, Michael can't do it at all," said Mary Rose. "To seal the well, we need four magic-users with fire, water, air, and earth elements. He said that you have fire."
There was probably no way to hide the fact that you had a fire elemental to a mage. Hilda sighed. "I am not trained. You know I have the skills of a mercenary."
Michael didn't try to talk. He looked exhausted sitting in front of the fire.
Mary Rose glared at me. There she was, the sister, who used to yell and bully Hilda as a child. She shook her finger at Hilda. "Are you going to listen to me or are you going to whine about what you can't do?"
Hilda wanted to yell back at Mary Rose, but she was right. She needed to hear the entire thing before deciding whether she could do it or not.
"Do you know that your dragon can differentiate between the powers, especially untrained powers?"
"So you think we have enough magic-users here?"
Michael broke into the conversation. His voice was weak and thready. "Yes, but I think we don't have to go too farther than the six of us. We'll have the dragon test our powers and then four magic users will stand at the cardinal points. One person will weave the rift together," he took a breath and then gasped. "Wells are actually rifts. Then the power is lowered and the deed is done."
Sweat poured from his brow, and Hilda wanted to forcibly put him back to bed. Michael had enough energy to glare at her, then he said, "We can get the dragon to sort us out tonight. We don't have much time."
Mary Rose didn't give Hilda a moment to consider. She called in Rooso, Stefan, and Davi into the room. Rooso had a glass of port in his hand. His lips twitched when he saw the interplay between Mary Rose and Hilda.
"Mary Rose," Hilda, this time glaring at Mary Rose. "Why is Rooso here?"
Rooso choked and set the port down. He waited for Mary Rose's answer as intently as Hilda did.
"He's my man," said Mary Rose. She tried not to look directly at Rooso.
"With bells on," Hilda said loudly. "He is much more than that."
Rooso grinned. What the heck was that man up to. Jokester, handless, thief, gambler and probably Mary Rose's lover. He was also a spy. Spy for whom? That was the question. Still they needed the man, even if his loyalties were suspect.
Chapter Twenty-one
Delhaven, port city
Lord Barton's castle
The tower was dark and silent in the cold and the slight pitter-patter of rain as it softly fell on its canted roof. The mage lifted the last of his work onto the table. Blood and guts may be interesting and necessary for his work, but the stink seeped into everything. There was a reason torturers did this type of work underground and out of sight and smell. He had gotten used to the different reds, the spurting blood, and even how the intestines fell out of the body if you made the right cut. But the smell was a different story. It touched something deep inside that remembered fear and pain.
The mage preferred to scrub the tables and stones of the floor himself. The servants carried the buckets filled with waste products down the long winding stairs and dumped it in the sewers. The rats and denizens of the sewer would eat good tonight. He opened the tower window to let out the stale air, and then lit some incense.
As he washed his face and hands and changed into a cleaner robe, he hummed a little. He had the voice of a rusty saw, but no one would hear him up here. Humming was his way of calming down after a particularly hard day. This morning Lord Barton had gone against his advice and burned out the bitch innkeeper. He knew she harbored a dragon. If the lord had just given him a few more days, he would have had his hands on the dragon.
With the power from the well and the power from the dragon, he would have enough to take over Lord Barton's position. He rubbed his face and hands on a towel, then checked his image in a mirror. He usually kept the mirror covered because there were creatures who used mirrors to travel. He didn't need anything here to ruin his plans. He covered the mirror.
A knock on the door broke through his thoughts. Instead of looking through the spy hole, he pulled the bar off the door, and opened it. The Draugr stood in the doorway. The Draugr smelled of dead and rotten things. His teeth had brown stains of blood. The mage turned his back to the Draugr as the Draugr shuffled into the room behind them.
"So what do you have to tell me?"
One one side of the room, the mage had put up a curtain so that his cot and personal belongings were divided from the living area. The living area was set up as a torture chamber and lab. One table was brown stained with the blood of the mage's victims. There was a bookcase filled with preserved body parts. The Draugr gazed at the one shelf that contained his heart. There was a soft violet light around the heart and it still beat.
The Draugr tried to speak, but already his vocal chords had withered.
"You've become full," the mage said. His eyes began to widen. He stepped back towards his bookcase filled with body parts.
The Draugr could see the red blood coursing through the mage's veins. He saw the blood speed up. A drop of saliva filled his mouth. He was not the spymaster now. He was a creature of myth who fed and ate on the living. He wanted to feed on the mage.
The mage looked into his eyes. The Draugr's eyes were cold and deep as the void. The spymaster gone. The mage leaped away from the Draugt. He grabbed the Draugr's heart in the jar, placed prominently on the bookcase. As he turned away from the Draugr, the Draugr jumped on his back, and grabbed his neck. The mage tried to pull away, but the Draugr was stronger. The Draugr reached for the jar. If he broke the jar, and smashed the heart, then the Draugr could not be compelled. It would be free. Unless the shock of the disintegrating heart killed him first.
The mage was not faster or stronger than the Draugr. He was helpless as the Draugr threw him against the bookcase. He was thrown with such force that most of the jars broke, releasing magic around the Draugr and the mage. The magic turned blue, then blue-yellow, and then purple and roared in a whirlwind around the two of them.
The mage reached for the magic maelstrom. It burned his hands, and he screamed, long and hard. The scream was muffled by the uncaring rain as it tapped and pattered against the roof.
The Draugr pulled the mage into his chest, bent, and ripped the mage's shoulder with his teeth. The mage still had magic in his flesh and blood. As the Draugr ripped the mage, the magic burned the Draugr's mouth. He threw the mage from him. If his vocal chords had not been withered, he would have screamed too.
Then the mage threw the glass containing the heart against the wall. The Draugr rushed to catch it, but he was too late. The glass jar crashed against the wall and then fell to the floor. Pieces of glass covered the stone floor. The heart beat for a couple of seconds and then the light keeping the heart beating faded. The heart turned black and then disintegrated in front of them.
The Draugr collapsed on the floor and didn't move.
The mage sat down on the edge of his bed until his breath and his heart slowed down. The Draugr was still down when he stepped over it and went to the stairs. He took another breath and refused to look back. He had killed the Draugr. There was a little jubilance in his step. He had killed the Draugr. His plans would be successful. It was a sign.
It was maybe thirty minutes later there was a slight movement in the Draugr's fingers. Then another thirty minutes there was enough movement in his arms and legs. Then he raised to all fours, rested, and then pulled himself up to his feet. The rage in him overcame him. He pulled the rest of the body parts of the shelves and onto the floor. He smashed them into tiny tiny pieces.
He stumbled to the door, opened it, and stumbled down the stairs. He almost fell a few times, put pulled himself up by pressing the stone walls. Where he had pressed, there were tiny cracks in the stones. When he reached the ground, he stumbled and fell. The guards that usually watched the entrance of the tower were gone, following the mage.
The Draugr was hungry and if the guards had been there, they would have been his dinner. He sniff
ed the air and shambled towards the docks. There was good eating. The drunks sleeping in doorways wouldn't be missed.
Delhaven, port city
Mistress Mary
Hilda watched Rooso and Mary Rose carefully after asking her question. The two of them were doing their best not to look at each other although Rooso's grin had given away their relationship. Rooso was probably bedding down with Mary Rose. She wanted to frown at her sister. She was the beautiful one with her dark hair in ringlets and scarlet dress. Her face had the delicate look of a figurine shepherdess.
"Not something I want to answer now, sis." Mary Rose settled into the sofa. She patted it and Davi sat beside her, while the two other men stood behind them.
Michael didn't seem to notice the interplay and Davi wasn't interested in human relations. He would probably change his mind after he had been human for a few more years.
Michael cleared his throat. "So Mary Rose told me that you are a dragon." He looked intently at Davi, waiting for an answer. There was curiosity in his gaze. Not many mages had met dragons except in battle.
Davi's mouth twitched. He slumped as if the strings were clipped. His eyes implored Hilda, "Are you going to tell?" burst out of his mouth.
"You're secret won't be secret much longer," Michael said. His eyes closed and opened with tiredness. "There is a black mage looking for you."
Chapter Twenty-two
Delhaven, port city
Lord Barton's castle
The study was warmed by a crackling fire in a stone fireplace that was as old as the castle. Lord Barton hadn't lit a candle, preferring to sit in his chair, gaze into the flames that flickered and ate the firewood, and plan. He knew when the mage walked into his study. The mage smelled of rot, even though he was wearing his best robe over his clothing. A cloud of black pressed done on any living creature when they were in the presence of the mage.
Without waiting for his permission, the mage crossed in front of him and sat in the next chair. Lord Barton felt the ashes of his rage begin to ignite. The mage didn't even pretend to be a subordinate anymore. It angered Lord Barton that the mage had walked in front of him and on the rug his father bought on one of his travels. The rug was a strange oriental pattern with colors that were hard to dye.
The mage cleared his throat. "Lord," he said softly. "The Draugr is dead."
"Pack your things," Lord Barton said. His voice chilled, the firelit room. "You are to be gone tomorrow." Then his voice went soft, soft and deadly. "I have spent hours here wondering why I allowed you to turn my spymaster. He had been with me for years. I trusted him more than you. Still I handed him over to you without a qualm. Why is that mage?"
"Uh, Uh," the mage couldn't get any words to form. This was the Lord he had met that day in the battlefield when he pledged his life and talents to him. Did he know? Had he figured out the mage's plans for the Lord and his people?
Casually Lord Barton pulled out a long knife. Its edges gleamed in the firelight. "I do know how to kill you, little mage. If you are still here by sunrise, I will hunt you down like I have hunted so many mages before you."
"But, but," the mage, the words forced out of his dry mouth. He tried to formulate his argument. He had found the heir. The words couldn't come and the mage began to shake. He got out of the chair, and slowly backed out, facing Lord Barton. He couldn't stand in front of this nobleman. There was something about him. Something not right.
"Simon," A young slender man with red eyes, disengaged from the shadows. "Yes, master."
"Make sure this mage is out of the tower by tonight."
The young man bowed to Lord Barton.
"How did you? It is-- " the mage stuttered. The mage skittered away from the young man. He didn't want the young man to touch him. Most of the wrongness came from this Simon.
Lord Barton leaned towards the fireplace and stared into the flames. "I am more and less than I seem, mage."
He casually turned to the mage, "and don't think you can kill my heir for revenge. The boy is safe and protected. And, not here." He laughed, and the bitterness chilled the mage's soul.
"Go on now," Lord Barton said to Simon. "If he is not out of the tower by tomorrow when the sun rises, then kill him."
The mage ran up the stairs to his tower, almost tripping on his robe, two steps at a time, with Simon following at the same pace. The wooden door bound in iron was open. All of his wards were down. He cursed, that dragon, was the only one-- He stopped in mid-rant as the wreckage of his spells, blood and flesh, impinged on his consciousness. Every jar was smashed. The floor was slick with preserving fluid and body parts.
The mage had been expecting to see the Draugr in the middle of the floor, but it was the only one of his spells that was not there. Either someone had stolen the Draugr and ripped apart his laboratory, or the Draugr had done the job. He was sure that smashing the Draugr's heart would kill it. He looked closer to the floor. But everything to do with the Draugr was gone.
After the mage's experiments, he kept had the servants scrub the stains of blood and bile. Salt was used to purify the negative influences left behind. He looked for his Grimoire, the one that had a combination of notes from his late-master and the mage's own experiments. He found the pages ripped and defiled, stomped into the mess in front of him.
"The packing should be quick then," Simon said behind him. His voice was in flat tones, which made the mage shiver.
The mage jerked away, when he saw Simon's hand reach for him. How Lord Barton had contacted infernal powers without the mage knowing, was concerning. Mage didn't believe in an infernal world of eternal suffering. But Simon made him think of what the monks had once said about him, ending up in hell. The mage bet with his life that he would just cease to exist.
The only part of the tower that hadn't been defiled was his clothes and few personal belongings. He packed them with Simon standing watch.
"What do I do with this?" The mage waved over the broken jars, flesh, blood, and vileness.
Simon swept his eyes around the tower room. There was a smile on his face that made even this black mage shiver. "Leave it," he said. "I'll clean it."
The mage hitched the large pack with his clothes, a few knickknacks, and his ceremonial knife. Everything else was lost. He left Simon in the tower room and slumped down the tower stairs. The guards were polite when they escorted out of the castle and the front gates.
The mage leaned against the castle wall, taking a deep breath. He would have to find an inn that would take him in for the night. It would be better if he took off his robe and hid them in his pack. It was cold, and the rain and mist, obscured his eyesight. As he was deciding which way he should go, a cloud less transparent than the rest formed in front of him. He could see little particles in the cloud, then a hand, and then a face. The rain had been hard only a few hours ago, so the debris didn't smell and the mage didn't have to cover his nose.
His heart began to beat rapidly, when Simon stepped out of the cloud. Lord Barton had enslaved an Undine. The Undine was a magical female, who could change shape, and needed water to live. Some of the legends of mermaids who drowned sailors were cautionary tales of these creatures. Most of them didn't care for earthbound humans, but there were a few, the legends said, that fell in love with humans.
Simon threw back her head and laughed. She reached for him and he knew with every fiber of his being that if she held him he would die in ecstasy as the water poured into his lungs. He didn't want to die. In his body, he felt the fires of anger ignite. His chest burned and he yelled, "Don't touch me. Do you want the curse of the mage on your house?"
The undine stepped back. A mage's curse could hurt even the most powerful of elementals. This was not a bluff to be used lightly though. A mage's curse could only be used on his death. Like a bee, this was the last resort. The curse would kill both mage and cursed. The undine changed into a cloud, then mist, then he couldn't feel her.
He stepped back from his anger. He could feel it churn,
begging to be released, begging to kill. At this point if he didn't gain control, the anger would be more dangerous to him. He hyperventilated, and fell to the ground. He refused to give in until the anger, sullenly, cooled. He gasped on the ground. It had been close, too close.
He scraped his hands and knees as he tried to get to his feel. Finally he was against the wall. He waited for his breath to calm before he took the right-hand path. Hopefully this one would lead him to shelter. At one point, the thought footsteps were following them, but the footsteps didn't follow him when he reached a lighted area.
He was at the docks. He slipped into the public room, and kept his head down. He didn't want anyone to recognize the mage who used to come here for vagrants and victims. He glanced around the room and he looked like the rest of the occupants, except he was soaked to the skin. When the server brought him ale, and asked if he wanted food, he paid for the ale and a bowl of stew. As he sat in the public room, warmed from the body heat of the occupants, he sighed and warmed.
There was a few rooms upstairs, and he could sleep here without worrying about unexpected visitors. He'd make plans because tomorrow night was the only day that Hilda and her pain in the asses could close that magic well. He needed it. Without that magic, his enemies would find him and he would be dead soon.
He gulped the ale and finished it. He waited for the server, wangled for a room, and then left the public room. Eyes followed him out the door. A little later an older man with a scarred face, gave a message to a gutter boy with a coin. Soon Mary Rose would know of the mage's new circumstances.
Mary Rose had eyes everywhere.
Chapter Twenty-three
Delhaven, port city
Black mage
The morning dawned bright and cold. The cobblestones slick with black ice. By mid-afternoon the ice would be all gone. The black birds that scavenged the food and garbage thrown into bins that overflowed in the streets were hopping around and eating. They screeched at each other when another bird got a better treat. A flash of wing and a dozen birds chased on bird with something in its beak.
