The Price of Magic

by Wesley Allison

  “It’s nearly five.”

  Senta’s eyes shot open at the sound of Eamon Shrubb’s voice. Her face was still pointed at Baxter’s and she saw that he was looking back at her.

  “We’ve been asleep almost eight hours?” he asked.

  “So it would appear. I’m no doctor, but I think that bodes well for your future survival. Come along. We can step right across from this room to the train. It can’t be more than ten feet.”

  Opening the door, they found the passenger train waiting just where the sorceress said it would be. They crossed the platform and stepped up into the closest entry. Their first-class births were quickly located, two cars up. Eamon Shrubb gave the other two a nod and then slipped through the door of cabin six. Senta led Baxter into cabin seven and pushed him gently back onto the lower of two pull-down bunks.

  “Relax,” she told him. “We should be away soon.”

  Almost before the words had left her mouth, there was a brisk knock at the door. Senta pulled it open and peered out at two men in police constables’ uniforms. One wore a pentagram in place of a badge, while the other wore the symbol of the power helm, a sort of eight pointed star with cups on each end. It signified that the wearer was a wizard who hunted down rogue magic users. Senta could see that they were both fairly dripping in protective magic.

  “Miss Bly,” said the second man. “Come with us please.”

  “Sit tight,” she said over her shoulder, before stepping out into the hall.

  The first constable led the way and the second followed behind the sorceress. They walked quickly to the end of the car and then stepped out onto the platform. Senta quickly turned and stepped back, so that she faced both men, the three of them forming a triangle.

  “You must come with us,” said the constable with the pentagram.

  “Pretty confident in yourselves,” Senta remarked.

  “We’re third level masters, so there’ll be no…”

  “Uuthanum eetarri,” she said, pointing an index finger at each of them.

  Both men let out a squeak and then seemed to just turn inside out. Long tails shot out behind them as their necks stretched up and their heads grew thinner, their eyes becoming wider. Parrot-like beaks replaced their mouths. They bent over at the waist, their clothes now turned to feathers. In seconds, each had been transformed into a type of common large Birmisian birds—a conchoraptor. The creatures were fairly common in Port Dechantagne, wandering around neighborhoods and eating pinecones. Both beasts began squawking and raced off in opposite directions.

  “Premba uuthanum tachthna,” Senta said, placing her hand against the outside of the train car.

  The train lurched forward and then slowly rolled on. Passengers who were still loading luggage or making goodbyes to friends and family, quickly jumped aboard. Senta waited until one car had passed, before grabbing hold of the handrail and stepping up into the open doorway.

  Back in cabin seven, she sat down in a chair. Baxter, his head propped up by two pillows, looked questioningly at her. She ignored the look, instead looking in her bag for her book.

  “Your daughter is safe, by the way.”

  “Oh,” said Senta. “I had forgotten about her. Where is she?”

  “I left her with Chief Inspector Colbshallow?”

  “Really?” She lifted her nose in the air. “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “Maybe you should be chief inspector,” she said, sharply.

  Chapter Twenty-One: The King and I

  Lady Iolana Staff opened her aquamarine eyes and glanced around the interior of the tent, startled. She knew exactly where she was, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember falling asleep or even laying down. Colonel Bentford looked down at her from just inside the tent flap.

  “I’ve had them bring you a bit of breakfast,” he said, gesturing toward the folding table and chair. “Needless to say, you’re to remain here until the battle’s conclusion.”

  With a click of his heels, he slipped outside.

  Iolana could hear the sound of marching boots all around. She stood up to peer outside, but her eye caught the plate on the table. It wasn’t a feast worthy of the Dechantagne Staff house, but it was a finer meal than she could remember having seen in what seemed like a year—a large fried egg, two pieces of black pudding, a slice of bacon, and an honest-to-Kafira scone. She slid into the chair and tucked in, finishing her scone and bacon before even thinking to look for the silver fork.

  Her mind no longer on her stomach, Iolana thought about what to do next. Then she heard a horrible chugging sound, accompanied by a pounding on the ground that almost lifted her off her feet. She stepped out the tent flap and looked around.

  “Nuffin’ to worry ’bout, y’ladyship,” said the sentry, throwing out a restraining arm. “It’s just ’at crawler war machine.”

  The crawler was indeed making its way past, not fifty feet away.

  “Yes, thank you,” she said, ducking back inside.

  Without stopping, she crossed to the back of the tent, pulling her knife from her belt. For a moment, she mourned the loss of her pistol, but then it wouldn’t have been nearly as handy at that exact moment. With a single cut, she opened a Iolana-sized slice in the canvas and stepped out, to find herself in a space between two rows of tents, both pointing away from her. She followed the little alleyway to the end, and then stepped out. Soldiers were hurrying this way and that, though most in the same general direction that the crawler had been moving.

  “Which way to the prisoners?” she asked, grabbing the arm of a passing soldier.

  He looked her up and down, then pointed, and hurried off. Iolana went the general direction indicated and soon found a circular wire pen holding six or seven lizzies, most of them lying prone. The single guard watching them, rifle in hand, had little to do. The lizzies, in addition to being inside the pen, were all shackled hand and foot. The girl quickly stepped up in front of the soldier.

  “Oh, I’m feeling faint!” she cried, throwing her arm up over her eyes and falling backwards.

  “Careful, Miss,” said the man, catching her in one arm, holding onto his rifle with the other.

  “Oh, I’ve just lost my air, I’m afraid.” She leaned back into him, fanning herself with one hand and feeling his muscular arm with the other. “My, you’re so strong, Sergeant.”

  “Whatever are you doing out here, Miss?”

  “Oh, I’m such a silly girl. I was so excited that I ran all the way from the Colonel’s tent.”

  “The colonel?” The soldier tried to straighten both of them up at the same time. “What about the colonel?”

  “He wants you to bring one of the lizzies to his tent… for questioning, I expect.”

  “Did he say which one?”

  “I don’t think it matters. Maybe one of those that was captured early on.”

  “All right then.”

  Fishing the keys off his belt, the sergeant opened a padlock on a makeshift gate, nothing more than slice in the wire really. Stepping inside, he kicked one of the prone lizzies with the toe of his boot.

  “Come on, scaly. It’s time to go meet your betters.”

  It was doubtful that the lizzie understood a single word, but he seemed to understand the gestures that went along with them, climbing to his feet and followed the man out of the enclosure. After replacing the padlock, the soldier took the reptilian by the arm and began to lead him away.

  “Sergeant,” said Iolana, throwing her body in his way. “I’ll stay here and guard your charges for you.”

  “Not really necessary. They’re chained up anyway.”

  “Well, thank you for your chivalry,” she said, giving him a quick hug.

  No sooner had the man and his charge started away, than Iolana turned to the enclosure. Examining the key ring she had just taken from the soldier’s belt, she unlocked the gate and slipped inside. It was easy enough to identify the lizzie priestess, even for one not nearly so familiar with the
reptilians as was Iolana. Tokkenoht, the only lizzie that didn’t seem half asleep, stepped right up to her.

  “We don’t have a lot of time,” said the girl, bending down to unlock her leg shackles. “I’ll leave your hands cuffed until we get beyond the camp.”

  “Unlock the others,” said Tokkenoht.

  “We can’t,” said Iolana, trying without success to pull her along. “Soldiers might not think twice about one prisoner being moved. Besides, it would probably only get these lizzies shot.”

  “She is right,” said one of the lizzies on the ground. “Hurry and go, Your Eminence.”

  Tokkenoht allowed the human girl to pull her out of the gate and then through the military camp. There were far fewer soldiers moving about than there had been even just a few minutes before. The last battle units had formed up and moved toward the field. All that remained behind were sentries and support personnel. A few gave the lizzie and the human girl in a military uniform a strange looks, but no one accosted them. Within five minutes, they had reached the southwestern edge of the camp. Fifty feet beyond the last tent, they ducked down into a large bush.

  “We’ll have to be careful,” said Iolana quietly, as she unfastened Tokkenoht’s wrist manacles. “There are bound to be pickets out here on duty. You’re undoubtedly better at moving undiscovered, so you lead the way. We’ll move around circling south and then east. That seems the least likely direction for them to expect us to go.”

  “I might point out that it was similar thinking that guided our last escape and we ended up being captured,” said the lizzie.

  “I suppose you think we should march straight through the formations of Colonial Guard?”

  “No, I don’t think that is a good plan either.”

  The lizzie priestess started off through the forest. Iolana followed. They moved as quickly as possible without simply standing up and running. After hurrying about a hundred yards, Tokkenoht stopped so quickly that Iolana stepped on her tail before she could come to a halt. The lizzie held up a clawed hand and then pointed. Off some fifty feet to the left was a soldier. Iolana would have never seen him. The camouflaged clothing really did make them harder to see.

  A loud booming in the distance caught the attention of all three. The soldier moved toward the sounds and away from the two fugitives, who used the opportunity to hurry on their own way. They encountered no further soldiers and hurried through the trees until Iolana felt that she could run no further. She stopped and leaned against a tree to breathe deep. The cool forest air felt like it was freezing her lungs.

  “Come Stahwasuwasu Zrant,” said Tokkenoht, turning around to look at her.

  Iolana’s legs wavered. Before she knew it, the lizzie had scooped her up in her scaly arms and began carrying her. Now that it was no longer her own struggle, the girl could see that they were moving up a fairly significant incline.

  “If I survive this, I’m going to partake in some calisthenics,” she murmured.

  When it appeared they had reached the top of the rise, Tokkenoht set her down at the base of a very tall pine tree.

  “Can you climb, or must I carry you up?”

  “I can climb well enough, but the bottom branch is a good ten feet up.”

  Without another word, the lizzie grabbed her around the waist and threw her high into the air. As she reached her apogee, Iolana quickly grabbed hold of the branch and clambered onto it. Using her clawed hands and feet, Tokkenoht quickly climbed up next to her.

  “Do you need another boost?”

  “No, thank you! I can get on from here. Why are we climbing up here anyway?”

  “We are at the top of a hill. From up in this tree, we will be able to make out what is going on in the battle.”

  She pointed and Iolana looked to see grey smoke rising up above the trees from the plains beyond.

  “Shouldn’t we try to get you to your king, so we can stop the battle?”

  “Cross through ongoing combat? You don’t think we’ve had enough danger?”

  “I suppose we’ve had enough close calls and narrow escapes to fill a Rikkard Banks Tatum novel,” said Iolana, and when the lizzie looked questioningly at her, “A story—maybe I’ll translate one into your language sometime. Your people might be able to understand us better if your knew our literature, not that Tatum is literature, strictly speaking… oh, never mind.”

  They climbed higher up into the tree until they could see over the tops of the trees between them and the battlefield. Iolana looked down to see that they were at least two hundred feet above the base of the tree trunk, and yet the top of the great pine was still far above them.

  “I didn’t know we were so close to the battle,” she said, looking across at the conflict.

  It was as though they had been provided a boxed seat for a play or opera that culminated in a battle. They could make out individuals at the close end of the battlefield and formations at the far end. The sounds of artillery, rifle fire, and human shouts and screams filled the air. The two females could do nothing but watch the horror, which went on for hour after hour.

  The battle lurched this way and that. In the late afternoon a horde of lizardmen charged a line of colonial guardsmen, only to dissolve away into nothingness beneath the withering fire. Then humans on either flank were surprised by carefully placed spearmen, who drove them into the center causing chaos.

  “It’s all so horrible!” gasped Iolana.

  “Yes, but at least it cannot last long,” said Tokkenoht. “Soon there will be no one left to fight.”

  As soon as the words had left her alligator-like mouth, from out of the forest came the crawler, grinding and clanking, steaming and smoking, its great wheels of rotating claws pulling it along toward the battle. The staccato voices of its machineguns heralded the swarm of fifty caliber bullets that it sprayed through the enemy to the right and left of the beleaguered human soldiers. This was quickly joined by a hollow “thump, thump” as the mortars on the great machine’s back launched their shells into the air to land with terrifying results amid the lizzie warriors. Many were blown to pieces and many more were ripped apart by shrapnel. Those that could, turned and ran. The Colonial Guard began an orderly retreat, but the crawler continued launching death into the backs of the retreating enemy.

  “Tiber, stop!” shouted Iolana. “They’ve had enough!”

  Tiber Stephenson, if he was still aboard the crawler, of course couldn’t hear her cry. Whoever commanded the steam-powered vehicle seemed of no mind to heed any such advice and continued on, dealing death and sometimes literally grinding his enemy into the ground.

  Suddenly a shadow passed over the two observers in the tree. Looking up, they saw the great form of the steel dragon, swooping down and circling the battlefield. Sweeping across the middle of the plane, he swooped around in a half circle above the lizzies. Then he passed above the human lines. No one fired a weapon at him. The lizzies of course, worshipped him as a god. No doubt half of the humans rightly assumed that bullets would not injure him, while the other half assumed that he was on their side. Had he not grown up in Port Dechantagne, after all? Had he not been raised in a human household?

  Finishing his circle, the dragon shot up high into the sky, his shiny scales looking even more metallic in the light of the setting sun than the steel skin of the war machine. At a height of several thousand feet, he came to a stop, and performed a back flip that put one in mind of a ribbon tossed into the air. Then he shot down toward the ground with increasing speed. Stretching out his wings to their full width, he hit the crawler like a falcon hitting a hare. Though twice as large as the dragon, the machine went flying across the field, rolling over and over, pieces flying in every direction, to finally come to a stop as a pile of broken metal.

  “Ascan!” gasped Iolana. “Tiber!”

  Gunfire erupted now from among the human soldiers, the bullets making a “tink” sound when they ricocheted off the dragon’s shiny scales. Rearing up on his hind legs again, the be
ast opened his mouth and sent a great stream of fire toward the colonial lines. It ignited the grass and it ignited the trees, though neither Iolana nor Tokkenoht could tell if it, in fact, engulfed any of the men.

  The steel dragon leapt hundreds of feet up into the air, then spread his mighty wings again and once more circled the battlefield. This time as he passed over the lizzies, he opened his mouth and aimed it at them, but no flame erupted. Instead, a rain of tiny little sparkles, like stardust in the sun’s dying light, rained lightly down upon the lizardmen. Circling to the other side of the battlefield, he rained another spray of the little sparkling bits onto the humans, drifting down onto them as light as snow.

  “What in Kafira’s name is that?” wondered Iolana.

  “I have no idea,” replied the lizzie priestess. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  “What now?” asked the girl.

  “Now, we must speak to Yessonar.”

  Tokkenoht stood up on the branch, holding onto the tree trunk with one hand. With the other, she drew a magical shape in the air.

  “Uutanuhn, uutanuhn, uutanhn,” she recited.

  The dragon made a flying turn so sharp that it seemed impossible for such a huge body. Then he flew directly to where the two watched from the tree, landing at the giant pine’s base. Stretching up on his hind legs brought him only halfway to their height, so he began carefully climbing.

  “Do not fear,” said Tokkenoht at Iolana’s elbow. “He will not harm you.”

  “Imagine my surprise,” said the deep, rumbling voice of the steel dragon, his head, as large as both the girl and the female lizzie, suddenly looking them in the eye. “One of my favorite humans and one of my favorite lizzies together.”

  Tokkenoht gave the girl a steely glance.