A Way with Magic (The Draakonor Chronicles Book 1)

by David E. Barber

  Until she was a married woman, Portia would have very little in the way of rights, at least as far as Cedric was concerned. She was used to that but she couldn’t help but wonder if the threat posed by the orcs might not buy her some kind of reprieve from that ill fate. Holt was a decent boy, as far as it went, but she had no desire whatsoever to share a bed with him, or anything else for that matter.

  The four travelers stood at the front of the hall, occupying an open space at the base of the dais. Portia had seen elves before, but none had visited Nachtwald in a long while. This one was very tall and as brightly colored as a peacock. His white-gold hair and pale, nearly perfect skin made him stand out, especially in a crowd consisting mostly of peasants. The aura of his being glowed in the dimly lit hall, a swirl of color nearly as brilliant as his attire. Elves were an older race and great practitioners of magic. It was said that they learned it from the first people long before humans even existed. Portia did not doubt that this one had power.

  The two wood elves were even more of a novelty. The man looked as wild as an alley cat with a long mane of hair that fell down past his shoulders. He was strong and lean, and practically naked; Portia couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like completely unclothed. The woman had short-cropped hair and was armored like a knight, a poor hedge knight, true, but a knight nonetheless. Portia had never met a woman swordsman before, but she had heard tales of such. This one seemed quite fierce.

  And then there was the Northman. He was tall and heavily muscled, with smoldering blue eyes. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way, with dark reddish-brown hair nearly as unruly as her brother’s, and a beard covering his chin. He was hairy and wild looking, like a beast that had just stepped out of the wilderness. It made her knees weak just to look at him. His hands were large and no doubt strong enough to bend a sword in half. Portia imagined what it would be like to have those hands pressed against her, to feel those lips on her skin—

  “What are you doing?” Finn frowned at her.

  “What?” Portia said quickly. “Why do you ask?”

  “Are you blushing?” Finn eyed her with suspicion.

  Portia took a steadying breath and shook her head. “No,” she said, indignation giving her voice a sharp edge. “Of course not.”

  “Well, whatever you’re doing, stop it. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

  “Stop looking at me then, and pay attention to what’s going on. It might be important.”

  Sir Ardunn made a big show of returning the traveler’s weapons to them and introduced the various members of the court, including Father Moram and the Briar Knights. Cedric quickly grew impatient with the formalities and stared Sir Ardunn into silence. Cedric leaned forward in his chair, one hand on the pommel of a great two-handed sword he kept around for occasions such as this, as if to remind everyone who was lord of Nachtwald.

  “I’m sure our guests are weary from their journey,” Cedric said, “and would like nothing better than to skip all this pomp and get to the meat of the conversation.”

  “As you say, my lord.” Sir Ardunn bowed and withdrew.

  “My lord,” Loth said, bowing low, “we thank you for your understanding and for your hospitality. We have traveled far and been through many trials to come here.”

  “It is not often we have visitors from so distant a place as the Isle of Ellyldan,” Cedric said. “Welcome to my hall. Please, tell me something of yourself and what has brought you here. You should probably begin by telling me who you are.”

  “Of course. I am called Lothanarion Tharthian, after my father, Giltharthian Aquillean, a courtier of some renown and commander of the Seventh Legion of Idhrenion the Wise, King of Ellyldan. My mother is Aelotharia Filanderan, who is also known, to some, as the Rindaya, the Wanderer, for she travels the world in a cloak and hood of indigo silk, on a lifelong quest for knowledge and experience—”

  Cedric help up a hand. “Your names will suffice for now. We can go into more detail later... if necessary.”

  “As you wish, my lord. These are my kin, my half-brother and sister from the Rowanin. They are called Rayzinbarathonniel and Blaydocaldoren, but you may refer to them simply as Rayzer and Blayde. Most do.”

  “Unusual names to say the least,” Cedric said.

  Blayde offered the baron a short bow. “My lord. We do our best to try and live up to them.”

  Rayzer stood next to her, eyeing the baron coldly, and said nothing. He appeared to be contemplating the angle and trajectory necessary to reach the baron’s throat as well as calculating the time it might take to achieve such a maneuver.

  “Welcome,” Cedric said, his voice less than welcoming.

  “And this,” Loth clapped Ander on the back, “this is my good friend and long-time companion, Ander Inenyar, a Northman from the frozen country of Hithgowr. He is the bravest man I have ever met and has saved my life on numerous occasions.”

  “M’lord,” Ander said, inclining his head. “I have seen a good deal of the world and can honestly say that few places compare with Nachtwald. You have a beautiful city.”

  Ander. Portia repeated the name silently, tasting it as if it were a sweet she had been offered. The Northman had a voice to match his physique. It was strong and deep, but with a rough accent that was new to her. She felt as if she could listen to him all day.

  “I thank you for your praise,” Cedric said. “I fought beside warriors of Hithgowr in my youth. They were true men, fearless, and quick to rush into battle. You are most welcome in my kingdom.”

  “Thank you, m’lord.”

  “Now then.” Cedric took a moment to look out over the crowd. “What brings you to Nachtwald, aside from pursuing orcs that is?”

  “Ah, yes,” Loth said. “Well, that is something of a story. If my lord will indulge me?”

  Cedric frowned and his shoulders sagged a little. He let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair. “Or course. Let us hear your tale.”

  “As I mentioned before my mother is the Rindaya, a creature whose sole purpose is to travel and experience new things. She left Ellyldan long ago when I was still a child, and I have set myself a quest to find her. During my travels I have visited many places, but recently my path led me to the forests of the Rowanin. There I presented myself before their chieftain, Draugminaion, as was proper, and there too I learned of the existence of my young siblings.” Loth paused to nod to the wood elves who looked at their half-brother as if they had heard this tale repeated many times and were dreading having to hear it again.

  “Draugminaion admitted to having been my mother’s lover for several years, but that she had departed long ago, leaving behind her two children and nothing else. This may seem cruel to humans, but in elven culture children are raised by the community and not by individuals. It is our way.”

  Cedric shifted in his chair. “While this is all very interesting,” he said, his lips tight, “I don’t see what it has to do with your coming to Nachtwald.”

  “I am getting to that,” Loth said, clearly enjoying his role as storyteller. “If my lord will indulge me a little while longer.”

  “Go on then.”

  “Rayzer had become Yattiar, Silver Leafs I believe you call them, elite warriors sworn to protect the Rowanin. Rayzer spent a good deal of time with the Yattiar on the northern borders of that country and noticed that the orcs and goblins were growing in number and that trolls and ogres were abroad as well. After hundreds of years of relative quiet, the Dark Lands, as we have named the fallen realm of Ashalon, were again coming to life—”

  “Yes, yes, we call it that as well,” Cedric said. “And we already know about the growing number of orcs. That’s why both Arkirius and Briganthan established their own border guards. We have been keeping an eye on the Dark Lands for some time.”

  “Ah, well I know,” Loth said. “In fact, Ander and I spent some time up near the Arkirian border, near Elddon—”

  Ander nudged Loth and gave him a sharp look. “No one wants to h
ear that story.”

  “Damn right,” Blayde whispered.

  “Get to the bit about the prophecy, and the prince, and all that,” Ander continued, “before we all die of old age.”

  Loth shook his head. “I will never understand why humans are always so impatient, always in such a hurry—”

  “We don’t live for hundreds and thousands of years,” Ander said. “Our lives are short. We need to make the most of it. Now, get on with it.”

  Loth sighed. “As my friend suggests, this particular journey began with a prophecy.”

  “What kind of prophecy?” Cedric asked.

  “When Rayzer returned to their village to tell Draugminaion all that he had seen, Blayde was waiting for him, and she told him of a dream she had, a most potent dream—”

  “I had a vision,” Blayde said, “that on the day of my brother’s return the two of us would meet a lost part of ourselves and that we would set out on a quest together, a long and difficult journey that would begin in the forest of the night.”

  “Forest of the night?” Cedric said. “You mean Nachtwald.”

  “Yes,” Loth said, “as the name is translated from old Elathian. Ander and I arrived in the Rowanin on the very same day as Rayzer, fulfilling the first part of her dream.”

  Cedric scowled at them. “You’re telling me that you are here because your sister had a dream?”

  “The elves put great stock in dreams and portents,” Ander said.

  “And,” Loth added, “Blayde has had visions before that, so Draugminaion told me, and many have come to fruition. She is most prescient.”

  Cedric opened his mouth to speak but Ander spoke first. “That is not all, my lord. Blayde’s dream is only part of the reason for our being here.”

  “Well, go on then,” Cedric growled.

  “We have also been bid to bring word to you, my lord, from Prince Candellar of Asiron.”

  “You are a member of the prince’s court?” Cedric asked.

  “No, my lord,” Loth said. “In truth I have never met the prince, but came upon a member of his embassy when we were in Midderan. Learning that I and my companions were traveling in this direction, the ambassador asked me to deliver this.” Loth removed a sealed scroll from somewhere inside his cloak and handed it to Sir Ardunn. Sir Ardunn, in turn, delivered it to Cedric’s hand.

  The baron took it, breaking the seal, and scanned over the message written there. He read it again, slower this time, and then looked down at Loth.

  “A summit?”

  “Yes, my lord. As I understand it, Prince Candellar is calling for representatives from each fiefdom in all of the five kingdoms, as well as the Rowanin. He is also calling for ambassadors from Ellyldan and Khazik, to come meet with him in Midderan, to discuss a lasting alliance, and treaties for fair trade and commerce—”

  “The dwarves are separatist.” Cedric said, frowning. “They will never agree to attending some meeting in Midderan or anywhere else in Arkirius, especially one organized by the elves. Nor will Tragos or Dagallia, I suspect. It is a fool’s errand your prince has sent you on.”

  “Perhaps,” Loth’s voice was cool. “I am only the messenger. I did not come to debate policy, nor to try and convince you of anything. I agreed to deliver this invitation. What you do with it is entirely your own affair.”

  This answer did not seem to satisfy the baron in the least. He leaned an elbow on the arm of his chair and drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword. For a long time, he said nothing, and the entire hall held its collective breath. But then the baron’s face softened. He leaned forward once more.

  “Very well,” he said. “My apologies if I gave insult. I did not mean to disparage your prince’s good intentions, nor yours for that matter. I will take the matter up with the King.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Loth said.

  “Now that I know what brought you here, let’s get to the part where an armed company of orcs and goblins pursues you to my gates. What can you tell me of them? And, more to the point, where did they come from?”

  “Where they came from I cannot say for certain,” Loth said, “but I can tell you there are a great many more than those who pursued us. We encountered them three days ago, a random patrol from what we could tell, but I suspect a much larger army lurking in the hills. We fought our way through, but they, and others, pursued us much of the way. We came upon two villages, both of which had been burned and their residents taken or slain. Just today, in the hills to the north, we came upon a courier sent from a village called Woodhall asking for Nachtwald’s help.”

  A tremor of fear went through the crowd. Portia turned to look at Finn. He returned her gaze, a line of worry creasing his brow. Woodhall was the nearest village to Nachtwald and was known to many. Some in the city even had relatives and friends who lived there.

  “That’s not possible. We’ve had no word...” Cedric looked to his steward.

  Sir Ardunn, for his part, seemed as surprised as everyone else. “Nothing my lord. We have heard nothing from Woodhall in more than a fortnight. There have been no messages nor any signs of trouble.”

  “I would assume, based on our experience, that Woodhall is destroyed as well.” Loth said. “I am sorry to say it, but it seems likely.”

  “Nachtwald is far removed,” Ander said. “Your nearest neighbor is many leagues to the west, and it is no secret that there are tensions between Nachtwald and Anhalth.”

  “If an army of goblins and orcs is camping on your doorstep,” Loth said, “they can only be here for one reason. I fear that your city is in great peril.”

  A wave of shock and terror ran through the hall, save for the knights and the lord’s soldiers, who remained as stoic as before. Everyone in the hall began to talk at once. Father Moram raised his hands, urging those around him to remain calm, but no one heard him. Portia took Finn’s arm. He smiled at her and patted her hand reassuringly.

  “I’d say the wedding’s off,” Finn whispered. “At least for now.”

  “Silence!” Cedric roared. He stood on the dais, the great two-handed sword in his hand, looking every inch the lord and protector of his realm.

  “There is no evidence, as yet, that there is an army, or that we are in any peril. A handful of orcs is all that we have seen.” He gazed out at the assemblage, taking time to meet the eyes of those he perceived as leaders in the community. “We will send out riders to each of the villages, and we will learn the truth of this matter. Until we know more, I urge everyone to remain calm and go about your business.”

  “My lord.” It was Father Moram who spoke. “If I might suggest...”

  “Yes, what is it?” Cedric asked.

  “Our new friends are no doubt hungry and thirsty after their long journey. Would it not be better to set aside these matters, at least for a little while, so that we may accord them some measure of hospitality.”

  “Yes, of course,” Cedric was clearly grateful for a chance to end the conversation. “And my very own thought. All this banter has given me an appetite. Sir Ardunn, have the guards clear the hall and please,” Cedric emphasized the last word, raising his voice so that all could hear him, “remain calm. I urge you all to return to your homes and businesses, but to be vigilant. We will know the truth soon enough.”

  Baron Cedric relaxed by a measure. He looked down at the newcomers and said in a low voice, “My lords, we shall continue this conversation in private. I offer you the comfort of my hall. I shall have servants fetch water for washing and bring us food and drink.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” Ander said. “I feel as if I could eat a bull ceratu all on my own.”

  “Thank you, my lord. We would be honored.” Loth’s eyes went to the torn sleeve of his shirt. He frowned at it. “And, if it’s not too much trouble, is there a tailor in the city with whom I might speak? My attire is in a terrible state.”

  * * *

  Portia looked around as guards began ushering people from
the hall. There was a general murmur of conversation and many worried faces. Nachtwald had known peace for many years, but it appeared as if all that was coming to an end.

  She wondered again if this was what Zerabnir had hinted at and if he was aware of what had happened to the villages. If so, why did he not say anything? Why had he not asked for help? She was suddenly very worried about the old wizard. His tower was far from the safety of the walls, assuming he was still there. He had promised to say goodbye but might very well have gone off without a word. If he was gone, she did not know to where, or in which direction he might have set out, and he could easily have run afoul of orcs in the wilderness. Still, he was a wizard after all and could most likely take care of himself.

  Finn motioned to her from across the hall, anxious to discuss the day’s events, no doubt. A lot had happened in the past few hours and the future seemed suddenly fraught with danger and uncertainty. Part of her was excited by the prospect, but there was another part that just wanted to run and hide.

  Chapter 8

  Evening descended over Nachtwald and with it came the storm clouds that had been threatening all afternoon. A light rain began to fall and thunder rumbled overhead.

  Ander entered the hall dressed in borrowed clothes and a cloak given to him by a man called Grumm, the innkeeper of the Three Legged Goat where Loth had insisted on lodging, probably because it was in close proximity to the tailor’s shop. The tunic was a bit tight, and the cloak slightly frayed along the bottom, but Mrs. Grumm, the innkeeper’s obliging wife, had insisted, and the borrowed raiment was in far better condition than Ander’s usual traveling clothes.

  Hands and face scrubbed clean for the first time in many days, Ander stood in the midst of the great hall as long trestle tables were laid for Baron Cedric and his guests. Servants bustled about, readying the hall for dinner, while Cedric conversed with his guardsmen. Most of the townsfolk had retreated to their homes, but a few of them, the wealthier merchants Ander suspected, had been invited to join them.