by Ron Collins
Braxidane expected things.
And Darien. And Sunathri, and the men and women of the entire Freeborn camp.
He thought of Darien’s inner strength. He recalled the purity of conviction in Suni’s gaze as she pressed him to join her cause—a cause she had created wholly from within herself. He remembered the force of Will’s youthful life.
They were all so full of hope. All so certain of things.
He wished he could be that way.
They did need him, though. He felt their need, and their expectation, as if it was a stone on his chest.
Their hope was false, though. Their expectation was wasted. He had no idea how to help beat back the orders’ aggression.
And Braxidane was right about another thing, too—if the other god-touched mages were anything as powerful as he was, they could be devastating in battle. No opposing force could stand against that kind of power in the hands of a mage of real status and real experience. If the orders were planning to take the whole of Adruin, the Freeborn would be destroyed.
“I can’t join the Freeborn,” Garrick said. “But I’ll do what I can.”
“That sounds like a start.”
Garrick set a defiant jaw. “I’ll take life only under just conditions, though.”
Braxidane’s grin spread over his lips slowly. “It will go better for you if you remember there is no such thing as justice.”
“Yes, there is,” Garrick said. “Justice is the natural consequence of abusing power.”
Braxidane opened his arms to the nighttime, and gave a wide smile.
“Who am I to argue with such logic?”
Garrick glared. “I’m not doing this to give you comfort in your logic.”
“I don’t care about your motives, Garrick. But since you have decided to help, you should know that the Freeborn are in Dorfort as we speak.”
Garrick nodded, glancing south toward the city.
When he returned his gaze to the planewalker, Braxidane had blinked out of existence.
The planewalker’s disappearance left both Garrick and Will in stunned silence.
Garrick looked at the boy and tousled his hair.
“Hey!” Will called, putting his hand to his head. “Who was that, Master Garrick?”
“I’ll tell you about him later,” Garrick said. “The Lectodinians will see through that illusion soon enough, so right now we had best move.”
“Yes, sir.”
He grabbed the rope around Kalomar’s neck and stroked the horse's flank.
“But, Will.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Just call me Garrick. All right? No ‘sir’ and no ‘master.’ Just Garrick.”
“Whatever you say, sir.”
Garrick glared at the boy, and Will giggled. “Sorry, Master Garrick.” He giggled again.
Garrick couldn’t help but smile. It felt good to be with the boy. They mounted up, Garrick first, then Will.
“So, are we going to Dorfort?” Will asked, his smile growing wide and toothy.
“Yes. It will be good to see the city again. I have some unfinished business there.”
“I’ve never been to Dorfort. Will it be very exciting?”
“Yes,” Garrick said as the boy settled back into his chest. “I’m sure it will all be very exciting.”
Chapter 10
“I don’t know what happened, Lord Superior,” Elman said with fear in his voice. “I’ve had my hands on Garrick twice now, and twice he has slipped away.”
The mirror before him showed Zutrian Esta. His eyes were sharp points and his lips were wrinkled up into webs of age. The lord superior’s gaze alone might burn holes into him.
“Tell me exactly what happened this time,” Zutrian Esta said.
Elman recounted the evening’s efforts. He described how he had captured Garrick, and brought him back to Caledena to make him available for the discussion that he and the lord superior were having right now, then having the mage, the boy, and the horse all disappear into thin air upon reaching the city.
Elman finished the story, his palms up, his voice nasal and whining. “He is god-touched, after all,” Elman said. “His magic is different from others.”
Another unhappy expression crossed Zutrian’s face.
Elman continued.
“I’ve been studying Garrick for some time now, though, Lord Esta,” he said, pausing to lick his lips. “As you might expect, this has become quite personal for me. I’ve had spies working his case, and I think I know where he will go. I would like authorization to hunt him down one more time.”
“Where will Garrick head?”
Elman’s eyes glittered in the candlelight.
“To Dorfort, Lord Esta. He has lived much of his life in that area. He will go to a young woman’s house.”
“A woman?”
“Her name is Arianna. The daughter of a farmer and blacksmith. Garrick had a relationship with her before this all began.”
Zutrian nodded slowly, information settling. He raised a bushy eyebrow.
“You have approval to follow your plan. But we cannot continue to fall on our faces before the Koradictines, Elman. Any error this time will result in severe punishment.”
“I understand, Lord Superior. I will not fail.”
Chapter 11
The sun was setting as Garrick and Will entered Dorfort, the city known as the crown jewel of eastern Adruin. It was a sprawling metropolis that grew along the Blue Lake, its architecture a mixture of brick, stone, thatch, and wood, an eclectic collection of architectures that stretched to the sky and hugged the coast. Smoke from forges, tanneries, bakeries and restaurants rose through air heavy with scents of harbor brine and the spices that were being unloaded from trading ships that were newly docked.
Will squirmed in the saddle. He was not used to such long hours on a horse.
“Are we going to see Lord Ellesadil?” Will asked.
“It’s too late, today,” Garrick replied. “Tonight we’ll settle into the city. Perhaps we can see the lord tomorrow.”
“Will we find your friends?”
“You mean the Freeborn?”
“Yeah, the Freeborn.”
The boy had asked incessantly about Darien and the Freeborn while they traveled. His eyes had gone wide as Garrick told of their adventures in Arderveer and how the Torean House had rescued them in Caledena. To Will the Freeborn were swashbuckling pirates, bigger than life.
“I don’t think we’ll have to find them so much as they will find us.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It will,” Garrick replied. “Until then, you’re just going to have to trust me.”
The answer didn’t really satisfy the boy, but he was used to being told what to do so he let it pass.
Garrick was happy for the moment of silence. Will was a young lad with a thousand questions about a thousand topics, and he had asked them all during their trip south. Though his questions made the trip annoying at times, Garrick saw the better parts of himself in Will—this boy with his blondish hair and the freckles on his cheeks. Will was old enough to fend for himself, but young enough that Garrick felt pain at the idea of him being alone.
Will was a problem, though.
Garrick wanted to keep Will safe, but that would be difficult when he could barely stay out of trouble himself. It was unwise to have a boy involved in his life now, but he didn’t know what else to do. Will reminded him of the other apprentices under Alistair. He couldn’t imagine leaving him behind.
He thought of this during the all-too-few quiet moments of their travels, but never came to any answers.
Eventually, they came to a business district and a tavern called the Golden Gourd.
Laughter came from its open windows.
“We’ll need a room for the night,” Garrick said as he slid off Kalomar. “Wait here.”
He slipped the proprietor a silver, then he returned to find Will staring with hungry eyes at the tave
rn section of the building. The smell of freshly baked bread and cooking meat wafted from inside. Voices rolled from an open window.
He helped Will off the horse.
“Get Kalomar comfortable in the stable, and meet me inside for dinner,” Garrick said.
“I’ll be right there,” Will said.
The boy took off to take care of his chores, leaving Garrick to enter the tavern alone.
Chapter 12
Garrick took a table at the back corner of the inn and sat so he could view most of the room. He waved the barmaid to bring food. It was warm with the heat of patrons who came and went in a steady flow. It was loud with voices. The smell of exotic tobaccos and roasted meats gave it a comforting veil.
He was not physically drained, but he was tired of thinking.
It was good to relax.
His mind wandered. His life force writhed within him, still active, still keeping the darkness of his hunger at bay, but it was fading. Slowly. It was like a timing glass inside him with its sand slipping silently away into the darkness.
He looked out the tavern’s west-facing window and saw the setting sun had streaked the high clouds with orange and lavender. It was about this time of day when it all started. He remembered it well, that evening with Arianna. Springtime had just begun to burst across the land.
Arianna.
Was she working at the Ladle this evening. He wanted to see her, but clearly that would be a disaster.
“I’m back!” Will yelled.
Garrick's heart leapt into his throat.
“Don’t do that!” he snapped at the boy.
Will’s face dropped. “I’m sorry, Master Garrick, sir.”
Garrick calmed himself. “It’s all right, Will. You were just having fun. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, but you caught me off guard, and you need to understand that there are times when I can … cause problems … when I get surprised.”
Will’s cheeks grew red.
“I’m sorry,” He said.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Garrick smiled and tousled Will’s hair. The boy complained about it, but Garrick saw he enjoyed it, too, so he did it as often as he could.
“But, please, will you drop the master and the sir?”
“Yes, sir … er, Garrick,” Will said, giggling again.
The barmaid brought sausage stew, boiled greens, and a loaf of bread.
Both Garrick and Will used the grainy bread to sop up what remained of the stew. When they were finished, Will’s face shone with new color.
“Garrick, sir?”
Garrick glared. “Yes?”
“I mean, Garrick.” Will’s grin was sheepish. “Can you teach me magic?”
Garrick reacted sharply. The boy didn’t know what he was asking. There was no way he was taking on an apprentice now. He glanced around the room. The tavern was filled, but no one seemed to have heard Will’s question.
“That is a conversation we can have someplace more private.”
“News!” a voice bellowed from the center of the room.
The speaker stood in the open center of the room, wearing a tunic of sun-faded cloth with sleeves that were ragged at the shoulders. His breeches were stained with grease. His hair was dark, his eyes so brown they disappeared into the shadows of his pupils. His browned skin, leathered by the sun, marked him as a sailor.
The room hushed.
“There is war in the west,” he announced.
Voices buzzed.
“They say Captain Parathay, a Lectodinian mage, has taken Whitestone and Warville! He’s got an army of hired blades and hundreds of his order at his command, and that by now he’s deep into the Wizardpeaks.”
“How do you know this?” a farmer asked.
“Seen the army with my own eyes, I did. I come fresh from Whitestone on a run of the freight galley Regent.”
The storyteller bent at the waist and peered into the crowd.
“The warriors in that city are hardened men. If’n you get in their way they’re likely to cut your throat as they are to hear you out. No man or woman in Whitestone leaves their cabin by moonlight now without being hunted for sport.”
“Ghastly,” a woman said.
The storyteller poked his finger in her direction. “’Deed it is, ma’am. ’Deed it is. But it gets worse than that.”
“Tell on!”
“I’ve not seen this with my own eyes, so I can’t vouch for it personally. But I hear tell stories that a Koradictine mage named Jormar el’Mor has another army collected in the northwest, and is running through the Badwall Canyons.”
“A Koradictine?” a man called.
“Magewar?” the woman said.
“’Swhat it sounds like to me. ’Swhat it sounds like, indeed.”
A deep voice interrupted the ensuing clamor.
“No magewar’s brewing today, least not between the orders.”
The voice belonged to a huge man with a bald head and a bristly beard who was sitting at a table along the far side of the room. He was dressed for the hills. A half-eaten slab of meat and a mug of ale sat before him. His sword lay across the table to his left.
“Why say you that, sir?” the storyteller said.
The ranger drank from his mug before speaking.
“Because the orders are working together.”
The room was quiet for an instant, then the storyteller chuckled.
“That’s a fair joke, my friend.”
The bald man shook his head.
“It’s no joke. Take a ride up Caledena way if you think I’m spinning tales. The viceroy is deposed and you’ll find rune-marks of both orders scattered about town.”
The original storyteller shook his head.
“Strange happenings, if that’s true.”
The bald ranger replied, “No stranger than talk of the mad Torean the orders are searching for.”
The air seemed to leave the room, and Garrick’s heart rose to his throat. He glanced at Will, then the storyteller, then back to the bald man.
The storyteller bowed to the bald man.
“Perhaps, fine sir, you’d like to take the floor? I, for one, am more intrigued by your story than by mine.”
The ranger turned so his back was against the wall. He picked his teeth with a fingernail.
“They could be the same story, my friend. Mine’s not complete, so I’m not sure what to make of it. But I was in Caledena when the Lectodinians and Koradictines took the city. And I was there two days ago when their place was torn apart by Toreans—a new banner, as I understand it, and a new banner the orders don’t much like. But mostly I hear that the Torean banner raided the city to retrieve a pair of mages from the viceroy, and I hear one of those mages has magic that rips souls straight from the bodies of them that own ’em.”
“Sjesko!” The woman up front gasped.
“And that boy out west,” said another.
“Could that Torean be the same demon?” the first woman asked.
“I don’t know those stories,” the bald man replied. “So I couldn’t say, but if the mage that done those was a lanky young man with wild hair, there’s reasonable chance they’re one and the same.”
Garrick shriveled inside.
He pressed himself back into the corner and hunched his shoulders.
“I understand the mage returned to Caledena last night, stole back his horse, and kidnapped a stable boy. And that he killed fifteen men doing it.”
Will’s expression grew animated as understanding dawned on his face.
Garrick gave him a tight-lipped shake of his head.
He glanced around the room. Fifteen dead mages was farcical. That news was probably Elman’s doing, information distributed to stir up the locals.
“It’s him,” a young female voice said.
It was the woman who served their food, standing in the kitchen doorway, her crooked finger pointing at Garrick.
Heads whirled to face him.
He was i
n shadow, but that wasn’t enough to hide him.
A month ago, perhaps even a day ago, he would have wilted or maybe played dumb by ignoring the accusation and hoping it would die away. Maybe a week ago he would have cast a spell and run. But Garrick felt something different now. He wanted people to know the truth. This was who he was now. He wanted to make things right. These people did not deserve to be toyed with. They deserved to know what was happening, and at that moment, Garrick felt he was finally in the very place he was meant to be.
He stepped from the shadows so that any in the tavern could see him.
The crowd gasped.
Stools screeched against the floor, and voices fell silent.
“You are right, sir,” Garrick said striding to the middle of the room. His tall form and his wiry body gave him an aura of intensity. These people would listen to what he had to say.
“The orders have bonded together, and they are hunting Toreans. I wish I could say things were going well for our independent house, but I can’t. I can, however, forewarn you that when the orders finish with the Torean House, there will be a magewar like none you have ever seen, and if it is not stopped now it will change the plane forever.”
“Demon!” the woman said. “You killed the boy!”
“It was an accident,” Garrick said. “Purely an accident.”
“Devil!” her husband joined, standing protectively in front of his wife and holding a talisman before him.
The room erupted.
Life force stirred within the chaos. Garrick pushed it back, though, and raised his arms as if to cast a spell.
“Stop it!” he yelled, his voice deep and powerful. “Just stop it.”
The room settled into an edgy and uncomfortable quiet. Fear crossed every face around the room.
“I am no demon. If I were, I would have already supped on your souls. I am merely a man, though. I wish no one harm.”
“What of the dead in Caledena?” the ranger asked.
Garrick turned to the bald man.
“If you’re going to tell stories about me, I suggest you get them right. Only a few men died in my raid last night, and those few died only because they gave violence to the boy who now travels with me. And before you feel for them, you might consider the thousands of people the orders slaughtered in Arderveer a fortnight prior.”
