A Way with Magic (The Draakonor Chronicles Book 1)

by David E. Barber

  “That was more than five hundred years ago,” Sir Jon said. “Surely it can’t be the same person.”

  “Perhaps.” Loth said. “But the dark elves, like the elves, have very long lives. King Idhrenion himself is more than a thousand years old.”

  “Why is she helping him?” Finn asked. “Why would some ancient dark elf sorceress be helping an orc warlord to ravish the north? It makes no sense.”

  “She wants something of him,” Blayde said.

  “Bones,” Pilfer said. “She wants the bones.”

  “What bones?” Sir Jon demanded, growing even more agitated.

  “The dragon’s bones.”

  “Of course. They’re at The Rock.” Loth said. “The dragon’s bones are at Arrom’s Rock. That’s why—”

  “What do you mean?” Sir Jon said. “Make sense, damn you.”

  “The bones our friend is referring to,” Loth rubbed at his forehead, “are those of the great dragon Ashendraugnir, the most powerful dragon Ninavar has ever known. The dark elves unleashed it on Arrom’s Rock near the end of the Dreamland Wars, when Aedon and his army were encamped there. Aedon, with the help of Tiluren and Horgar, slew the beast, but its bones would still be there.”

  “But why?” Ander asked.

  “Perhaps the wyvern was only a test, to see if she could do it, to see if the magic worked.”

  They all stared at him, uncomprehending.

  “I don’t know how, but the sorceress means to bring Ashendraugnir back to life.”

  * * *

  Finn climbed the stairs to the parapet that ran along the top of the castle wall. He exchanged a few words with the guardsmen there, and then entered the gate tower, climbing to the top. From there he could see out across the city to south, east, and west. The sky was dark and filled with stars, and the air was cool. A lone figure stood at the battlements, gazing out into the night. She had changed into fresh clothes, donning a dark gray cloak and hood, and wore her satchel across one shoulder. In her hand she held her rune-etched staff, which somehow made her look very wizardly and wise.

  “What are you looking at?” Finn asked.

  “Orcs are roaming the woods beyond the Barleyrow, and there are more in the forest to the east and below Southside. That’s what the guards say anyway.”

  Finn followed her gaze. He could see the light of distant torches and thought he could just make out the sound of guttural voices. “That’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  The orcs had surrounded Nachtwald. They were making sure no one could leave, and that no help would come. That meant they planned to stay a while. Finn had never been in a castle under siege, but he had read stories written by those who had. Sieges could last months or even years. Somehow, he didn’t think this one would. From what he had just heard, Nachtwald’s forces were vastly outnumbered. When the orcs came there was little hope that Nachtwald would prevail for long. Somehow he could not imagine himself standing side-by-side with the soldiers on the wall. It just wasn’t his style. He wondered what his part in all of this would be and if he even had a part to play, other than dying a senseless death along with almost everyone he had ever known.

  “I went to see Father.”

  “How is he?” Finn asked, knowing the answer already.

  “Dying. Delirious. He thinks I’m Lady Katherine.”

  “You are in many ways.”

  “I couldn’t tell you.” Portia bowed her head. “I barely remember her. I was so young, and you were just a baby, a loud, squalling, and perpetually hungry baby. I can’t even remember what she looked like, not really.” She let out a slow breath. “I found it, by the way.”

  “Found what?” Finn asked.

  “The magic. The magic that Loth said was in Nachtwald. I... when we were in the street, when Ander was fighting the troll, I felt it...”

  “Really? Where is it? And what is it?”

  “Well, I don’t know where it is, not exactly. It was sort of just there. And there was more. There’s magic all around us, in everything, it’s just... I don’t know how to say it. But there is definitely something protecting this place, something very old and powerful.”

  “The Golden Phial perhaps?”

  “What?” Portia furrowed her brow. “Don’t be stupid. If the Golden Phial was in Nachtwald, I would know.”

  Finn stood quietly at her side, watching the night. He was glad to be out of doors, in the open air.

  “The Gutter Rats have all gone.” Finn placed his hand on the stone. It was still warm from the afternoon sun.

  “All of them? Lusive too?”

  “Like rats from a sinking ship.”

  “Where have they gone?”

  “I don’t know. I knew they were going. Lusive told me, but I didn’t think...”

  “Things have been happening too quickly these last few days,” Portia said. “There hasn’t been much time to think, only to react. Lusive is gone, and so is Zerabnir. It appears we are on our own.”

  “It’s probably time, don’t you think?” Finn looked at her in a manner more serious than she was accustomed to. “We can’t stay here forever, Portia. Neither of us is cut out to be lord or lady of Nachtwald, or Anhalth, or anywhere else. You don’t want to marry Holt, do you?”

  “No.” Portia rolled her eyes. “No, I don’t.” She rubbed her forehead. “Zerabnir suggested I go to Karavella, to study with Arch Mage Rudalias. I want to go. It’s just... It seems so far away, and, well, I just don’t want to go alone.”

  “Silly girl,” Finn said, his teasing manner returning. “I’ll go with you, if you ask nicely. Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

  “Oh,” Portia raised an eyebrow, “and who is going to keep an eye on you? Besides, what would you do in Karavella? How would we survive?”

  “I could steal things. I’m quite good at it. Just ask Father.”

  “What? Our lord father has never once mentioned you stealing anything.”

  “See.” Finn grinned at her.

  When he was ten, Finn had stolen his father’s seal so that Lusive could use it to forge official papers. Baron Cedric, ever the practical lord, had made a new one and changed the design. The second time Finn took the seal he kept it only a short time, crafting a duplicate and then returning the original. Baron Cedric was never the wiser.

  “Well, that’s not much of a plan. We can’t leave now, at any rate.”

  “Why not? I think I can get us past a few orcs.”

  “It’s not that,” Portia said. “It’s... I feel like... like I have something left to do. I can’t just leave Nachtwald at the moment when it needs me the most, when enemies surround the city. I hate it here, sometimes, but I love it too. It’s been home to us our entire lives. You know what I mean?”

  “Not really. But then, girls always want to make things more complicated than they are. I truly don’t know how your brains work.”

  She made a swipe at his head, but he ducked it easily. “I’m not a girl. I’m your sister. Your elder sister, I might add.”

  “Oh yes,” Finn said dramatically. “How could I forget?”

  They stood quietly for a time, looking out across the city, listening to the sounds of the castle below. The night deepened around them, the stars growing brighter, and the air colder. Portia looked at him and took his hand in hers. “Aren’t you afraid?”

  “Sometimes.” He met her eyes. “But Lusive taught me to control it, to use it, sort of. Fear is not meant to cripple you. It’s meant to keep you alive.”

  When Finn was eight years old he had wandered down an alley where he had no business going. A group of older boys had confronted him, demanding his money and his shoes. There were five of them, and even if he had tried to cry out, no one was near enough to hear. He did try to run, but they caught him, corralling him in a narrow courtyard behind some crumbling house. They did not seem to know, or even care, who he was or who his father was. To them he was prey, alone and helpless. He had reacted out of fear,
like a cornered animal, leaping onto one of the boys like a feral cat and doing his best to gouge out the boy’s eyes and tear at his throat with his teeth.

  They had beaten him bloody, of course, and might have killed him but for the appearance of an older man, a man whom the boys respected as a father, but also whom they seemed more than a little afraid of. The older man had commanded them to stop and they had quickly obliged him. The man offered his hand and helped Finn to his feet. That was how Finn had come to meet Lusive Picket and his band of street urchins.

  “You was stupid to take on five at once.” Lusive told him. “Better to have given them what they wanted, then tracked them down later, and dealt with them each in a place and time of your choosing. Never let a man see what you’re capable of. It’s much harder to avoid an attack that you don’t know is coming.”

  Finn had taken that advice to heart. In the castle, he had played the part of the inept squire, thwarting Sir Eris’ efforts to train him with gleeful derision while studying in secret with Lusive, learning the trade of a thief and assassin. One of his first lessons had been how to use his fear, how to use it to keep him sharp and keep him alive.

  “We’re all afraid sometimes.” Finn gave Portia’s hand a gentle squeeze. “The trick is to not let it stop you from doing what you have to.”

  Finn suddenly realized that Portia was right, that there was something to be done. He did have a part to play after all, and Portia as well. They would do it together, just like they always did.

  “By the way, we talked to some goblins this afternoon...”

  “What?” Portia dropped his hand and turned a wide-eyed gaze upon him. “What do you mean you talked to some goblins? Where?”

  Finn laughed, enjoying Portia’s consternation. “That’s what all the commotion in the courtyard was about. Rayzer and Blayde caught them below the water gate. An odd pair to be sure—”

  “The wood elves or the goblins?”

  “Both.”

  “You might have started the conversation with that bit of news,” Portia said. “Well, go on then. What did they have to say?”

  “They told us there is a dark elf sorceress hiding out at Arrom’s Rock and that she means to resurrect some ancient dragon to destroy Arkirius.”

  Portia opened her mouth, then closed it again, clearly taken aback by the statement.

  “Oh, yes,” he continued, “and that there are thousands of orcs and goblins—I believe they mentioned trolls and ogres as well—coming to destroy us in the next day or two.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes. Wait. No. There’s a wyvern as well, and their warlord means to ride it into battle.”

  “Now I know you’re lying. There are no more wyverns.”

  “No, honestly. There is at least one. May Aedon and all of his Nine Valiants strike me down if I am not telling the truth.”

  Portia stared at him, her jaw working. She let out her breath, and put a hand on her chest, as if she might faint. “That’s bad.”

  “Yes,” Finn agreed, “it’s very bad, but I thought you should know.”

  “Really?” She scowled at him. “How very considerate of you.”

  “We should go down. It’s getting late. You should get some rest while you can and so should I. The next few days are likely to be eventful.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll ever sleep again. Not with all that’s happening.”

  “Isn’t there a spell for that in your book?”

  Portia punched him lightly on the shoulder, shaking her head as she turned toward the tower door. “Magic isn’t the answer for everything.”

  “Did you honestly just say that?” Finn asked.

  She ignored him, descending the stairs and emerging out into the ward below. Finn followed her, his thoughts racing inside his skull. Halfway across the ward he caught her sleeve and turned her to face him.

  “I’ve figured out what we have to do. The way I see it, there’s only one thing we can do that will make any difference at all.”

  “What?” Portia asked.

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Probably not, but I can’t tell you that until you say what it is.”

  Finn looked at her, trying to think of a way to tell her what he was thinking without sounding like an utter fool and a madman. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “Well,” he said, drawing out the word. He took another deep breath, then, hesitantly, told her his plan.

  Chapter 14

  Blayde tossed in her sleep. Even in her dreams she could hear Sir Jon’s voice, cold and dismissive, calling her a foolish woman, questioning her right to wield a sword, questioning everything that she had come to believe about herself. Damn the man! Blayde had proved herself in battle more times than she could count. That very day she had slain at least twenty goblins and brought back two captives. Without her, they would all still be in the dark, and yet, even Loth, her kin, and Ander, whom despite all evidence to the contrary, she counted as a friend, even they had been dismissive, taking control of the situation, as they always did, relegating both her and Rayzer to the role of subordinates.

  When Rayzer had left to become one of the Yattiar, Blayde had been lost, without purpose or reason for being. Losing Rayzer for all of those long years had been like losing a limb, a part of herself. She had few friends among the people of the Rowanin. Being the daughter of the Rindaya and a child of the Chief of Chiefs had isolated her and made her a subject of scrutiny and gossip. But then Arias had come—Sir Arias—both a woman and a knight. Arias had believed in her. It was Arias who gave her a sword and showed her how to use it, Arias who had encouraged her and shown her the ways of chivalry and honor. But Arias never told her how difficult that path would be, that there was no sisterhood of knights, only brotherhoods, and that being elf-kind and a woman would forever make her an outsider.

  In truth, Blayde was jealous of the Briar Knights, jealous of their acceptance among the kingdoms of men. The Briar Knights were known throughout Ninavar for their service and good deeds. Blayde would have given much to be one of them, but it was plain to her now that she never would be, not as long as people like Sir Jon and Sir Henri remained in the order, not as long as men held all the power and influence in the world.

  When Arias left the Rowanin, that’s when the dreams began. At first they were just dreams, somehow more real, more vibrant than the normal dalliance of her subconscious, but still just dreams. She had walked down many roads, looked into the lives of people and places that were foreign to her, seen many things that she did not understand, but she had put it all down to imagination, the idle illusions of a girl missing her brother.

  Then the green knight appeared to her, an elven knight, but one who was small with bronzed skin, like the wood elves of the Rowanin, clad in strange armor that was emblazoned with the image of a heron. The knight spoke to her, but the words were confused, and she could only make out the words “night forest” repeated several times. He beckoned to her, urging her to join him in the darkness, but she was afraid and did not want to follow.

  Blayde consulted with Perlilithon, the village seer, and he told her the story of Sir Veryan Emrallt, one of the Nine Valiants, who served the human emperor Aedon Arturas. Sir Veryan was with Aedon during the Dreamland Wars. He was given rule of Kalridon, later to be called Nachtwald, and he was the father of their country, although many of his own people had forgotten him. Sir Veryan was among the first to come to the Rowanin and had strived to make of his people a great nation. It was Sir Veryan who conceived of the Yattiar and who trained the first Silver Leafs. It was Sir Veryan Emrallt who had come to her in her dreams.

  On the day that Rayzer finally returned to the village, Blayde had a vision, not just a dream but a waking vision, a thing that had never happened before. She saw her brother’s return and saw them setting out on a journey together. She saw them traveling with an elf, one who would turn out to be their elder brother, Loth. She also saw the night forest a
nd Sir Veryan waiting for her. The knight was beckoning to her once more, urging her to come.

  Blayde woke, sitting upright and staring into the darkness. She heard, or thought she heard, someone call her name, but the voice was far away. She looked down at the sleeping form of her brother, stretched out on the hay. He was half sprawled across a woolen blanket, in the opposite direction, his hand gripping Blayde’s foot, much as they had been when first they were brought from their mother’s womb. The fingers of his free hand twitched and his eyes darted back and forth behind his eyelids. Somewhere, in some dream world, Rayzer was racing through the woods, sword in his hand, as an enemy fled before him.

  Neither of the wood elves liked cities much. They preferred the woods and had, in fact, spent their first night in the nearby forest, but it was no longer safe to go beyond the walls. Not that Blayde was all that concerned about safety. Still, it seemed prudent to remain close to Loth and Ander in case trouble came in the night. So, the two had taken refuge in a loft above the stables, next to the Inn of the Three Legged Goat.

  “Blayde,” the voice said, “come to me.” There was a low hum in the back of her mind.

  Blayde rose, carefully disentangling her foot from Rayzer’s grip and moving stealthily lest she wake him. She went down the ladder and across the stable floor, slipping out a side door and into the night. The air was cool against her skin and stars blazed in the velvet sky overhead. Looking up the street she could see the city’s curtain wall, see torches and men moving along the parapet. For many this would be a sleepless night. After the events of the day, they were all watching and waiting for the hammer to fall.

  Blayde turned and walked down an alley between houses, emerging on a green sward beneath a handful of trees. Ahead of her stood an ancient tower that the townsfolk called the Drunken Bishop. To her right was the Blessed Church of Aedon. The church’s tower rose above the height of the houses to either side of it and a faint glow came from within, the light of a single candle.

  “Blayde,” the voice said again. “You have come so far. You need only come a little further.”