A Way with Magic (The Draakonor Chronicles Book 1)

by David E. Barber

  Bundles of wood were added to the fires and a warm glow filled the hall. A cupbearer appeared, bringing each of the travelers mugs of spiced wine. Ander did not care for wine but was able to exchange it for a large mug of brown ale. It was the first beer he had tasted in some time and was as sweet to him as mother’s milk. He drained the mug in one long swallow and handed it back immediately to be refilled.

  The food was brought out in short order and attendants urged the lord and his guests to take their seats. Baron Cedric was given a high-backed chair in the middle of one table. His children, whom he introduced as Finnan and Portia, took places beside Father Moram and a moon-faced boy with a bald head, as far away from their noble father as possible.

  Ander couldn’t help but notice that the lord’s son, Finn, did not particularly resemble his imposing father. He was too small for one thing and had a feral look about him, with none of the baron’s confidence or bearing. In fact, if not for the fine cut of his cloth, Ander might have taken the boy for a street urchin or a cutpurse.

  The girl was a beauty without a doubt. Ander could scarce take his eyes off her, although he suspected their host would have him gelded if he looked too long or got too close. Ander had some experience with castle lords and their daughters, and those encounters had made him wary.

  Sirs Eris and Ardunn were not at table, but the three Briar Knights were, occupying one side of the long table next to Father Moram, Portia, and Finn. Ander, Loth, Rayzer, and Blayde, being honored guests, were given places at the other end of the table, with Loth sitting next to Baron Cedric.

  Father Moram started the meal with a short blessing to Aedon, the one-time King of Elathia, and later Emperor of the Elathian Empire, whom, according to most people in the middle kingdoms, had, upon his death, risen again to sit beside Enu on the Council of the Enuran, the Nine Judges. Ander had always considered these civilized men to be fools for worshipping Aedon, whom they referred to as the Sword of Enu, sent down from Mirid to restore order to the world. It seemed unnatural to him. Aedon was an extraordinary figure, no doubt, and had done amazing things in his lifetime, but Ander couldn’t get over the idea that Aedon was just a man, like any other. Ander and his people worshipped the Old Gods of Ninavar, mighty beings who had shaped the world with hammer and steel. Those were gods that a man could believe in.

  Attendants served them a thin broth with barley, warm and flavorful, loaves of dark brown bread, and ample supplies of butter and jam. Cupbearers appeared with flagons of wine, and the butler served Ander and the Briar Knights large tankards of beer.

  When all was cleared away, trenchers were placed before them, and they were served great slices of roast beef, dripping in red juice, with new potatoes and carrots. Ander, who had eaten little in the past few days except for hard tack and water, ate enough for three. The Briar Knights ate more sparingly, as did Loth, Rayzer, and Blayde, who were less than enthusiastic about roasted meat, but ate heartily of the vegetables and bread. For the final course they were served a selection of fruits, cheeses, and nuts. These too Loth, Rayzer, and Blayde ate with some vigor. Loth even appeared to approve of the baron’s choice of wine.

  Throughout the meal their host told them a little of the history of Nachtwald and revealed some of the reasons for their long conflict with Anhalth. Most of it had to do with broken promises and land grabs, much of which had been perpetrated by fathers and grandfathers going back generations. At one point Ander noticed Portia looking at him from beneath the veil of her golden hair. When their eyes met, the girl’s gaze held his and a hint of a smile touched her lips. Then she looked away, pretending to listen to her father’s speech once more. The brief exchange made Ander’s blood quicken in his veins. He made a promise to himself then. One way or another, he would get to know this young woman better, her lord father be damned.

  “I thank you, my lord, for your hospitality,” Loth said. “It has been a long while since we have dined so well.”

  Cedric nodded his head in approval and lifted his cup for the cupbearer to refill.

  “I must say that you’ve done quite well here,” Loth continued as the servants began to clear away the remnants of the meal, “I’ve seldom seen fields so full of grain nor livestock as healthy and strong as I’ve seen here. It’s most unusual. There appears to be no sickness in your city. Your people are all healthy and strong with nary a missing limb or blind eye among them.”

  Father Moram cleared his throat and coughed. Ander couldn’t help but notice that Loth’s words made the priest uncomfortable. He shifted in his chair, his eyes darting briefly to Baron Cedric, who ignored him entirely.

  “We have been fortunate,” Cedric said. “Our people work hard and are duly rewarded for their efforts.”

  “Aedon has smiled on us,” Father Moram added. “The people are devout, as is our good lord.”

  “Indeed,” Loth said, “The Enuran have blessed this place, and Aedon as well. But I can’t help but wonder if Sir Veryan may not have something to do with it as well. He too ruled Nachtwald, as I’m sure you know, and may have left something of himself behind. There is powerful magic here. I felt it as soon as we entered the city—”

  At that, Baron Cedric set his cup down hard, sloshing a bit of red wine onto the white linen. Father Moram had gone pale and both Portia and Finn looked up in surprise.

  “Uh, I only meant that, well...” Loth stammered, “Did I say something wrong?”

  “There is no magic here.” Cedric’s voice was bitter. “There is no magic in Nachtwald at all, and there hasn’t been for many years. We have no wizards, no shamans, and certainly no magic charms to make the crops grow. I do not allow such nonsense.”

  “But, my lord,” Loth said slowly, “the Priests of Aedon are, well, I mean—” He looked to Father Moram for support. The priest was staring at him with fierce intensity. He shook his head ever so slightly.

  “My apologies, my lord. I meant no offense.”

  Ander watched Cedric’s face go through a swift series of emotions, from fear to anger to sorrow, but then the baron managed a state of calm resolution. There was some deep-rooted pain that plagued Nachtwald’s lord, like the memory of an old wound. Ander couldn’t help but wonder at Cedric’s denial of such a fundamental part of the world as magic. The Priests of Aedon were well known for their use of magic, claiming their power came directly from Aedon. Usually they carried a ceremonial war hammer that they used to direct their god’s energies, but Ander realized that Father Moram did not have his.

  “No offense was given,” Cedric said. “The fault is entirely mine. I should have spoken of it earlier. I do not permit the use of magic in my kingdom. I am quite aware that the Priests of Aedon sometimes use arcane arts in their services to him, but in deference to me, Father Moram and his acolytes abstain from such... vulgarity... inside these walls.”

  “I’m very sorry,” Loth said to the table in general. “I had no idea—”

  “Why shouldn’t there be magic in Nachtwald,” Portia said. “Just because Mother—”

  “There is no need to speak of your mother to strangers.” Cedric growled. “We do not need to burden our guests with such tales. There is sorrow enough in the world.”

  There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire. Ander looked about the hall. A pair of cupbearers stood close at hand and a handful of servants busied themselves with menial tasks, hovering on the periphery in case they were called for. The other diners took no notice of the strained conversation at their lord’s table but continued with their whispered conversations, oblivious to all else.

  “So,” Ander said, without preamble, “what are three knights of the Order of the Holy Briar doing in Nachtwald?”

  Henri looked up and gave Ander a weak smile. “I am pleased that you recognize our order. We are here at the request of Baron Guthmundus to escort Lady Portia to Anhalth for her wedding.”

  Portia choked on the wine she was sipping. She set down her cup and wiped her mouth
with the back of her hand. She had gone suddenly pale and appeared a little frightened.

  “Wedding, is it?” Ander arched an eyebrow.

  “And long overdue,” Cedric said, eyeing his daughter.

  “Congratulations, my lady.” Loth smiled. “I absolutely love weddings. All the flowers and fine clothes, all the ceremony and everyone so happy...” his voice trailed off wistfully.

  “Well.” Portia wiped her mouth with a cloth, “if Nachtwald is indeed surrounded by goblins and orcs, and Aedon knows what else, I can hardly leave the city now to travel all the way to Anhalth.”

  “It would certainly seem unwise,” Finn agreed. “As our new friends have pointed out, the roads are not in the least bit safe—”

  “We will protect you, my lady,” Sir Henri said. “We have sworn an oath to Lord Guthmundus, and we have promised your lord father that we will deliver you safely to your new home.”

  “But, if Nachtwald is surrounded by foes,” Finn said, a bit too hopefully, “it is unlikely you’ll be able to leave. We may soon be besieged, and then—”

  “If it comes to that, then we will defend your city,” Sir Jon said, “The Knights of the Holy Briar could never stand by and let any city of the five kingdoms be assaulted without coming to her aid. We have, all of us, sworn an oath to protect the innocent—”

  Finn snorted, and everyone was suddenly looking at him.

  “Oh, sorry. It’s just, well, you’re not likely to find too many innocents around here.”

  “That is quite enough of that,” Cedric growled. “You will show some respect to our guests, and to your own people I might add, or I will have you removed.”

  “Yes, Father,” Finn said, seemingly chastened. “Of course.”

  “Nevertheless,” Sir Jon went on, undaunted. “If it comes to it, we will fight until our last breath to protect the good people of Nachtwald from harm. Defending the weak is what we do.” He looked to his fellows for support.

  “Aye.” Sir Henri raised his cup.

  Sir Ducar, who had consumed a large quantity of beer, was leaning, his face in his hand, and his elbow on the table. His eyes were half-closed and he did not appear to have heard anything that was said.

  Father Moram cleared his throat and began to talk, but it was Ander who spoke up first. “If it comes to a battle, then we’ll all be a part of it. As Baron Cedric pointed out, the men of the north do not run from a fight.”

  “You were doing plenty of running this morning,” Rayzer said, offering Ander a thin smile.

  “We must continue our search for the Rindaya,” Loth argued. “I have promised Rayzer and Blayde—”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Blayde said, “There will be plenty of time to look for Mother later. We’ve no idea where she is at any rate. It’s been more than thirty years since she left the Rowanin. I’m sure Rayzer would rather fight orcs than traipse across Arkirius looking for her, and so would I.”

  “My lords,” Father Moram said, “that is good news indeed. Your swords are most welcome—”

  “What about her?” Sir Jon said suddenly, looking directly at Blayde. “Does she intend to fight? I will not do battle beside a woman, even one of elf-kind. It is not proper.”

  “I must agree,” Henri said. “In Briganthan we do not allow women to fight our wars. Women are meant for... other things.”

  Rayzer let out a snarl. Blayde put a hand on her brother’s shoulder, but her demeanor had gone cold. She looked at the Briar Knights in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. There is no law that says a woman cannot bear arms or fight, or even become a knight. A Briganthan knight trained me. Lady Arias an Braith her name was, and she was the fiercest warrior I have ever met—”

  “An abomination,” Sir Jon said softly.

  Blayde rose and put a hand on her sword hilt. Loth shot her a warning glance, but she ignored him.

  “I’ll tell you what, Sir Jon, what say you and I go outside and see who is the better swordsman.” There was venom in her words. “I’ll wager I could probably kick your skinny a—”

  “Please!” Father Moram said, rising as well. “There is no need for this wanton display of violence. There are enemies enough in the world without you fighting each other. I’m sure the good sirs meant no offense—”

  “I will not stain my sword with the blood of a woman,” Sir Jon said.

  “Don’t worry,” Blayde shot back at him, “you won’t get the chance to.”

  “Enough!” Baron Cedric bellowed, standing and slamming his fist down on the table. “I will not have my guests threatening each other at my table.” He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze hard as stone.

  Sir Jon rose and stepped away from the table. He gave Baron Cedric a short bow. “My apologies, my lord. I should not have spoken so.”

  Cedric pushed back his chair and emptied the dregs of his cup. An attendant rushed forward to refill it but he waved him away. “Perhaps it is just as well that we call it a night, my lords. My scouts will leave at first light and then we will see what we see. Until then I encourage each of you to rest and prepare yourselves for whatever is to come.”

  Everyone at the table was now on their feet, save for Sir Ducar. Sir Henri nudged the knight who raised his head and looked around blearily. “Is it over?” he asked of no one in particular.

  At the next table the merchants and soldiers all stood, offering the baron their thanks and good wishes. Cedric, flanked by a pair of guardsmen, raised his hands. “Gentlemen, ladies, it has been a long and wearying day. I go to my rest, but you are all welcome to stay as long as you like. The comfort of my hall is yours.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Sir Henri said, “until tomorrow.” He grabbed hold of Ducar’s surcoat and attempted to haul him to his feet.

  “I’m good.” Sir Ducar waved him off. “I can stand on my own two feet, thank you.” His companions looked at him doubtfully, but they made no further efforts to assist him. With a curt nod to the other guests, Sirs Jon and Henri moved toward the door. Sir Jon’s eyes lingered on Blayde for a moment before he turned away.

  Sir Ducar looked around at everyone, his eyes focusing on Blayde with some difficulty.

  “Pray, forgive... whatever it is they said,” he muttered, nodding toward Sir Jon and Sir Henri. “They are good men. Just a bit old-fashioned.” He bowed his head, and rose unsteadily to his feet. “My lords and ladies, I bid you all a good night.” He turned and stumbled after his fellows.

  “I do believe he drank too much,” Finn observed.

  “Well, at least they’re not all pompous asses,” Blayde said. Her face reddened as she realized they were all looking at her. The boy sitting next to Father Moram was smiling at her, his eyes round, and his expression slightly amused.

  “Sorry,” Blayde said, not sounding very apologetic.

  Ander looked at Loth and let out a long sigh. It was clear that if trouble came, any alliance with the Briar Knights was going to be difficult. Blayde was not one to take such a blatant insult lightly, and who knew what she, or Rayzer, might do in the heat of battle. The two were unpredictable and often of one mind. Neither of them was likely to back down from a fight, or an opportunity to remove Sir Jon’s head from his shoulders should he persist in his opinions. And that would not endear them to Baron Cedric or the residents of Nachtwald.

  “Well,” Finn said, smiling brightly, “that went well.” He looked around at those who remained at the table. “More wine?”

  * * *

  Zerabnir woke to darkness. The sun had set some time ago and the tower room was shrouded in shadow, save for the dim, flickering light of the dying fire. The time had come. He knew it, as surely as he knew anything. It was time for him to leave.

  He did not really want to go. Nachtwald had been his home for many years and he had grown quite comfortable here. He would gladly have ended his days in this tower, in this very hollow, despite his differences with Baron Cedric. But he was getting too old for wars and adventures, and he was fairly certa
in that’s precisely what was coming.

  More to the point, he did not want to leave Portia, not now when she needed him the most. The desire to stay and protect her from danger was an ache in his chest that made him grimace in pain. Despite all his teachings, he could not help but feel like he had failed her, and her father as well. His intentions had always been good, but somehow events had a way of going astray. The death of Lady Katherine was as much his fault as it was Baron Cedric’s, but there was no going back. Some things could never be mended, no matter how much he wished it.

  “You should not have mentioned me to the girl,” said a low feminine voice that came from everywhere at once.

  Zerabnir raised his eyes, but did not turn. He remained seated before his fire. “The girl has a name, you know. And I did not mention yours, or offer any clue as to your nature.”

  “‘One acquires interesting friends along the way,’” the voice said, chiding him softly.

  “That was hardly giving you away, Aisa. I do believe you’re growing paranoid in your antiquity, but I did not think that was possible for an immortal.”

  The air around him crackled with energy and a cool, bluish light filtered into his periphery. Zerabnir leaned forward and, with some effort, managed to stand. He turned and was confronted by a great sphere of blue-gray light that was still expanding, as it grew to well past the height of a man. Within the translucent bubble was a tall slender form in an azure cloak and hood. The exposed hands, outstretched in greeting, were obviously feminine, but Zerabnir could see no more of the woman’s face than the tip of her nose and her pale chin. As he watched, the bubble dissipated like water receding with the tide, leaving behind the cloaked figure. But the blue-gray light did not fade. It emanated from the woman herself.

  “You should not have spoken of what is to come,” Aisa said. “You risk much, wizard. Your warnings and gifts may change things, and that we cannot allow.”