Chased By War

by Michael Wolff

  “Mykel.” The librarian glanced up, saw Stromgald beaming at him. “Mykel LeKym, it has been a long journey. You have done well. You have survived, and that is a rare thing.” Knees flexing, Stromgald moved his horse aside, revealing Sylver. Smiling.

  “We are thus honored to give you this, the sigil of the Rangerhood.” Cradled in her hands was a crimson circle, chased with loops of golden fire. On instinct Mykel bowed his head, letting Sylver hang it about his neck. “Congratulations.”

  “You’re one of us, kid.” Raptor grinned from ear to ear. “Now you’ll never get rid of us.” Small laughter drifted through the tiny company.

  “No matter where you go, you will always be a part of us.” Stromgald said, locking gazes. “And us, a part of you.”

  “Thank you.” A sudden thought lit Mykel’s eyes. With one deft motion, he brought forth his slim journal. “Here.”

  “Are you sure I can take this?”

  “Don’t worry. I can always write more.”

  “Thank you, Mykel. You have saved my life. Remember that part, if the gloom is so deep in you.”

  Mykel blinked. The ranger team was grateful. All except for Orson, but he was grumpy to begin with, and thus his slight had no bearing to the librarian. Stromgald stepped back and raised his hand. Mykel took it and pumped it with a stirring of pride. “Thank you.”

  “No. Thank you.”

  From out of nowhere, Lazarus’s words sharp and piercing. “We must leave immediately.”

  Mykel blinked as the euphoria shattered. “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace safe.” Lazarus grabbed a piece of parchment from his jacket and began to scribble on it. Mykel did not care if it was the greatest story ever printed; he wanted to be away now. His shifting from foot to foot showed this plainly. With parchment in hand Lazarus strode to the rangers and placed it in Stromgald’s hands. The ranger captain nodded his understanding. “Good-bye, Mykel.”

  “Good-bye, John.”

  He watched rangers gallop away until they were specks on the horizon, idly toying the amulet about his neck. I’m the only one who won it for being a match-maker. If only Mother could see me now. The thought brought her face to the forefront, kind and wrinkled with worry. Then again, she would declare the amulet too cold on his chest. Best have it rest against a wool shirt. The librarian knew how her mother worked; it would be a mere pittance to swaddle Mykel with so many scarves and cloaks that his eyes would barely peek from the wool. She had done that and more.

  They met Shayna soonafter. Lazarus grumbled under his breath about fool stableboys and vanished into the twilight with eyes so sharp one could be killed with a mere eyeblink. Then they were alone. “It sure is pretty tonight.” Oh, smooth LeKym. You helped a friend win his love back. Why are you so tongue-tied?

  Shayna smiled as if knowing the slights bouncing against his brain. There was something warm to her smile, the sweet soft lips throbbing an invitation. Something of his eyes awakened the same in hers, and they began the slow pull of a kiss.

  Only she withdrew. Shame burned a hole in him. Shame and hatred to balance it. Samuel of House Etnad. For a moment, Mykel wished the bastard was alive so he could kill him all over again. And I tried...The rage seethed within his every pore, threatening, demanding release. I tried...Stupid idiot! I tried to kiss a raped woman. He was lucky she didn’t make him a eunuch.

  From the end of the hall came a dumpty, pear-shaped woman. Mykel expected her a servant – for the bland brown linen surely marked her so – but his brow climbed when she made a beeline for him. Strange tidings.

  “Milord.”

  “Don’t –” He stopped with a grunt. No matter how many times he voiced a complaint, the servants insisted on putting a title on him. It was the one order they seemed unable to obey. “What?”

  “Lord Lazarus wishes for you and Milady Shayna to meet him at the stable-yards.”

  “Both of us?” That gave Mykel pause. He glanced at Shayna to find her avoiding his gaze. She knows. That set his stomach to burning. She knows why and I don’t. “Come on,” he said roughly, and set forward so that the rage on his face didn’t show. Old man, what have you dragged us into this time?

  XVIII

  Once again in the matter of days the librarian walked crooked paths and rooms that he’d never seen before. The new chambers and their paths sprouted like mushrooms, yet hid within shadows as to belie their place in the castle. Finally, he came to a cellar door, and then Mykel found himself at the castle’s backside, where the gardens were tended. He took one brief look at the emerald maze within, and then doubled his speed. Time was of the essence.

  Outside, Lazarus was waiting with horses. Three of them. Him, me, and Shayna. Once again Mykel looked to Shayna and found her eyes downcast. “You got your Face on,” he said to Lazarus.

  For the first time the Khatari seemed perplexed. “What?”

  “Your Face. You wear it every time you have to deliver bad news.”

  “I don’t have any Face.”

  “Oh really? Is your news life-threatening or dangerous?” Silence. “I thought so.”

  Face steaming, Lazarus continued. “Some time ago you wished to know about Iga Aithru.”

  “Yeah. You didn’t feel like telling me. And now on the moment we need to run, you feel like a storyteller.”

  “Would you rather go in ignorance, boy?”

  Mykel’s jaw tightened so much he could hear the bone grating. “Fine. What’s so special about Iga Aithru?”

  “Iga Aithru is one of the last surviving Weirwynd colonies this side of the ocean. They have remained where others have died because they closed themselves against the rest of the world.”

  Not a bad idea. Sometimes the world was worth hiding from. “But where is it? Physically.”

  “It’s a lair of wizards, boy. It exists neither here nor there.”

  Mykel frowned. “But that doesn’t make sense.”

  “Think on it. Has anything since you woke up made any kind of sense?”

  Mykel sighed. He was right about that. “Then how do we –”

  “The entrance is hidden. But the Riftgate that leads to it is at Irismil.”

  Mykel couldn’t believe his ears. “Irismil?”

  “Irismil?” Even with Shayna there was a trace of reverence in her words.

  “Stop lolly-gagging, the both of you. It’s sickening.”

  But Mykel couldn’t help himself. “It’s only the greatest place in the world.”

  Lazarus chuckled. “When you reach my age, you’ll find places that exceed all your expectations and then some.”

  I’m going to Irismil. Then he glanced at Shayna, and a cold ripple of reality ran down his spine. “That still doesn’t explain why you’ve dragged Shayna into this.”

  “I’ve done no dragging, boy.”

  “But this isn’t a stroll through a garden. This will be dangerous.” He looked upon Shayna as one might a sick pup. “How will she defend herself?”

  It was the wrong thing to say. The rasp of steel whispering from leather filled the air, and suddenly Mykel looked cross-eyed at the sword-tip at the hollow of his throat. “I can take care of myself,” she said flatly. She paused a moment, then returned the blade to the diagonal over the shoulder sheath that Mykel missed seeing.

  “She’s coming along whatever you like it or not, boy. Her aid will be invaluable to us. Or more specifically, you. Only Frost can appease Fire.”

  “Frost?” His eyes took her in with disbelief. “You’re a Weirwynd? A celsius?”

  Shayna grabbed hold on the librarian, forced him to a nearby pond.
Finally, she looked at him, and her face was the very portrait of pitying. Spellcasting is a reminder. A reminder of what, Mykel could not say. But he wanted so desperately to embrace her and soothe the guilt away. If only he could. If only he could.

  Shayna touched the pond with a finger that came to life with an azure flash. A patch of ice rippled to encompass the whole pond. In the matter of seconds, the pond was a crystalline white, defiant to the day’s heat to melt or crack it.

  “Incredible. But how –”

  Again Shayna grabbed hold of an arm. Now that the librarian knew where to look, he saw fingernails painted a blue that shifted from sea to ocean to sky and back again. The fingertip shiisaa blazed azure, and a cool winter breeze ruffled the arm. “Ah.”

  It was not the right response, for suddenly the flesh became sheathed in an ever-spreading cast of ice. Ever after Shayna reversed the spell Mykel had to work the arm to get the blood flowing. “Thank you, Shayna. You’ve done your part.”

  “No, actually she hasn’t,” said Lazarus. “The spell is temporary. She will need to recast the spell before we reach Irismil. Now,” he paused to swing onto his horse, “if a certain librarian can roll his tongue into his head we will be off.”

  Mykel shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Iga Aithru, Irismil, Ifirit, everything seemed so mountainous. But there was nothing questions could do save for wasting time. Deftly the librarian undid the restraints on a third horse, and then they were galloping as if death itself was on their tail.

  Mykel kept an even pace with Lazarus, which was a very good thing, being that the horse he rode looked trained for races. The librarian sawed the reins when he needed to, kicked the horse faster when the path dictated, and basically clung to the horse for dear life.

  After a time, the scenery opened into a grotto. The sun came to lash invisible heat across their backs. Mykel didn’t mind it that much, though periodically he would feel the heat roll through him and be reminded of the beacon-spell roasting within its mythical cast. Now his thoughts twined about two dark things; the devil behind him and the Fire roasting his arm. No matter how much Mykel denied it, a part of him craved that power, craved the secrets that Ifirit still held. The librarian clung even tighter to the horse as if he were running from his own thoughts. It didn’t work, but that didn’t stop him from clutching tighter.

  Long into the day they rode, past grasslands and morrows, following paths that were a thin finger of dust and dirt. It gave Mykel time to think. Shayna. When he first met her at de Varin’s inn, she’d been a singer. Now she was a Companion. A Companion! He’d heard of them, of course. Bodyguard, scholar and warrior rolled into one. Trained from birth to be the Companion of royalty, their confidante in matters personal and political. The Citadel’s education rivaled Irismil itself.

  So how was it that a Companion end up as a singer in a random bar? Mykel examined the thought at every angle, drank in the details until the tapestry of events laid out in his mind’s eye. A moth-eaten tapestry, with a great big hole in the middle. He knew about Shayna the singer, he knew about Shayna the Companion. It was the middle – the transition from one person to the next – that laid the mystery. And as hard as Mykel tried, he found no answer to fill the moth-eaten void. Who are you, Shayna Kae?

  Finally, civilization came peeping from the horizon. Small huts shrouded in snow, with a deathly silence hanging like a pall over the air. It seemed somehow wrong that no children were about in play. But that was the ugly side of winter. Sometimes winter just killed.

  The manor ahead only deepened the frost. Polished to a glaring white, with slim columns ending in graceful spires and sculptures that shone gold in the sunlight, and the rows of runes curling about the towers. The cobblestones fit together to express a bull charging through a ring of Fire. At every tip, the red banner of the Bull – crest of Lucas Gaogin – rippled in the wind. The White House was indeed a wonder to behold.

  A wizened black man waited for them at the gate. At first, he sneered, but the mouth widened with the dingy yellow of tobacco. “Lord Lazarus! What a wonderful surprise!”

  “Hello, Norris. Is Lord Gaogin within?”

  The friendly smile wilted, and suddenly Norris took an interest to his own shoes. “Milord, I am afraid the Master is currently disposed. No one is to bother him. Would you care to take a room, sir? You must be tired with all that dust on you.”

  The chambers were...adequate. Norris apologized profusely, claiming everything from a lack of scullery maids to the excess fops keeping the castle up at all nights with their noisy rolls in the flesh-pots. “The castle might as well be a bordello,” Norris said heatedly. Then his eyes widened as he remembered where he was, and the company before him. It took a long time to convince the servant of his slip of tongue. “The gossip mill will be churning, heat or no.” Lazarus said. Nodding agreement, the aged butler led the company to meet his master.

  The dining room was beyond measure. Far beyond than the words of the Gaogin servant sent to guide them on Lucas’ behalf. Wall to wall there were portraits, banners, portraits of Gaogin men long since gone to dust. In other words, it was meant to dazzle the eyes of guests, as well as their envy. Even the plates had the alabaster gleam of ivory.

  “Thank you for joining me, my friends.” Gaogin welcomed them. “It is an honor to have valued people in my home. I cannot tell you how entertaining it is to dine with people of well-breeding.”

  Lazarus nodded. “I remember your father well, son. It was a great loss for everyone when he passed.”

  “Thank you, my Lord Lazarus. Yes, indeed. My father was a great man.” A quick flash of annoyance creased his face. It doesn’t mean anything, thought Mykel. It didn’t make things better to look at Shayna. She was fawning over the man. What the hell does she see in that jackass? And then, immediately after: Caryl, remember? The one you thought would love forever? Mykel ducked his head to shade the scarlet suffusing his face. A word peaked his attention. “Sprea.”

  Lucas started as though seeing the librarian for the first time. “What?”

  “Sprea. That’s the name of the barbarian tribes living on the continent.”

  “Ah. I thank you, my young friend. Sprea, did you say? I don’t know why the King does not sweep them away. They are a blight upon this fair country.”

  If only he knew the truth. Long ago, Amden’s best soldiers were shipped to other seas, other lands, to rule in the monarchy’s name. Kal Jada was but one of those lands. Lucas probably had barbarian blood in his veins. Mykel busied himself with eating the food. It was too dangerous to risk the nobleman’s wrath.

  After, Lucas offered Shayna his arm, which she took without hesitation. Mykel chose only a brief glance at the pair, and noted Shayna drew closer to Lucas only after meeting Mykel’s gaze. A chance incident, yet it ignited a long-dead hope that filled the librarian with an incredible energy. It took all the will Mykel could muster not to spring up and claim Shayna for his own upon some foolish notion of heroics.

  “She will fall into his hands.” Lazarus, his augur-tipped gaze suddenly an impossible sadness. He locked gazes with Mykel, but the latter knew Lazarus was looking at something else entirely. “If all you do is wait, she will slip from your fingers like sand.” His gaze hardened. “If you would listen to me only once, then listen now. Apologize. Beg her forgiveness, if you must. Don’t wait.” Like a ghost Lazarus glided from the room.

  That night found Mykel wandering like a newborn specter still clinging to the familiarity of its former life, mourning the things forever gone. Those who crossed his path thought him a naïve innocent until they met gazes. His eyes burned with a terrible fervor. More than one took flight from the baneful glare. They would never guess the cause for the dark gloom that surrounded him. He had not seen Shayna since dinner, and for some reaso
n that fact itched at him. She’s not mine. I made no claim to her. She can have anyone she pleases to her bed. And then, almost an extension of the comment: What the hell does she see in that bastard? What does he have that I don’t?

  “Mykel.”

  Shayna. The librarian took a moment to put on a decent face. “Shayna.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Walking.”

  “Where?”

  “Nowhere in particular.”

  “No. We’re going to the garden beds.”

  “Huh?” Somehow Shayna’s arm had hooked into his, and suddenly Mykel had to keep pace with the handmaiden’s stroll. The rose-scent from her hair mingled with the sweat beading from his pores. He wanted to take her, as the bulge in his pants announced to all who had eyes to see. And the way her breast brushed the dead arm made every hair come alive.

  Compose yourself, man. He mastered the suppression of emotions since before he could shave. It helped if he did not look directly at Caryl – no, Shayna – for even the briefest of glimpses lured his eyes to the lush curves straining against the fabric. Caryl, remember? Caryl. Only Caryl’s image became Shayna’s image, smiling with full lips and tanned skin that gave her an exotic beauty. The shadows of alabaster arches stood invitingly. No. Mykel was about to explode. “You must be cautious.”

  “Cautious? What do you mean?”

  “Everyone thinks you are Lucas’ leman.” Idiot.

  “I care not what others think of me.” A slight pause, a slight crack upon her defenses. “What do you think?”

  “Well, you’ve been hanging on his arm since we got here. He does have a lot of gold –” The world spun violently with a thunderclap. The librarian regained his balance, touching the cheek she’d slapped. “What was that for?”