Crimson Fury (Magic of Isskasala Book 2)

by Mirren Hogan

  Darai snorted. “Why do you talk like that?” he asked without thinking. Not that he was worried about offending a sorcerer.

  “Like what?” Afruen asked, seemingly unperturbed.

  “Like—fancy.” Darai couldn’t think of a better way to describe it.

  Afruen laughed. “I do not think I would call it fancy. I am from Serain, we talk differently to Mindossans, but up there I am considered—what is the word?—lower class. My parents had trades; my father was a carpenter and my mother was a pot maker. She worked with clay. She did beautiful work.”

  “You keep saying ‘was,’ “ Darai pointed out. “Are they dead?”

  “You’re very blunt,” Afruen remarked. “Yes, they died.”

  He didn’t elaborate and Darai didn’t ask. Instead he said, “And you came all the way to Dassane, to the sorcerer’s guild.”

  “Yes. I needed a change.”

  “Why?”

  “Why did I need a change? Oh, well Serain is very cold and isolated. The Serainin migrated from another continent and never really wanted anything to do with the rest of Isskasala. In fact there are rules. Suffice to say I did not want to live like that anymore.”

  “So, there are worse sorcerers than the guild?” That shouldn’t surprise Darai, but it did.

  “In a manner of speaking, because they endorse and enforce Serainin law,” Afruen replied. “The order of magika keeps the country under tight control. No one arrives or leaves without their approval, unless it is by unlawful means.”

  “Which you used?” Darai guessed.

  “Indeed,” the sorcerer agreed. “I am glad I did. Mindossa is a much more pleasant place, even if Auder is prettier and much cleaner than Dassane.”

  “You’ve travelled a lot?”

  “Oh yes, I have been all over the continent. I wanted to see it all before I joined the guild, in case they also wished me to stay on a permanent basis. By which I mean, locked down, like the order.”

  “So, you’ve seen some interesting places.” Darai stepped between two trees and saw the incline start to level out, just above them. A few more minutes and they’d reach the top.

  “Yes, I especially recall Mishtu, the capital of Azlim. They are a curious people. They like to keep their bodies meticulously clean, but their minds—” Afruen chuckled. “I have never seen so many brothels and gambling dens in one place before. Many establishments were both. The Azlim do not believe in the accumulation of wealth. They work, earn their gold, and spend it immediately. What does not go on necessities, they gamble away, and what they win goes on liquor and sex. That is why you rarely see an uptight Azlimer. Well, except those who reside outside Azlim.”

  That didn’t sound to Darai like a very nice place to live. Not that the people of Nageso were actually able to accumulate wealth. They lived each day as it came, hand to mouth. Squandering excess, especially on such frivolities, seemed like nothing more than waste. The more he learnt about the world outside Nageso, the less it made sense. He’d always thought that people were basically the same, with differences such as sex and age. Now he knew there were very many types of people out there, some much less savoury than others. Selling other people, drugging girls into selling their bodies, the gods only knew what else. He’d been better off at home, ignorant of it all.

  They reached the top of the rise, which proved to be a narrow plateau. The river wound across it before climbing back up into the mountains.

  “I do not suppose you would like to try levitating again?” Afruen sighed.

  “No—” Darai glanced up as several shadows passed overhead. “You did say you didn’t think dragons ate people, didn’t you?”

  “I did, but circling is not a good sign.”

  These dragons weren’t the same ones he’d seen down at the cave. They were larger by several hands, and their scales were darker. Even at a distance, the look in the eyes of one male as he swooped a little lower gave him chills. It looked like a hungry animal, nothing like the benign appearance of the smaller ones.

  “Do you think those other dragons were young ones?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the male. It was bigger than the rest, even the other males. His instincts told him that this was the dominant one, and thus the most dangerous.

  “I had not considered that, but I believe you are right. I know you would prefer not to use magic, but you may want to reconsider that stance. It is a long way to the next stand of trees.”

  Darai looked quickly. Afruen was right. Even if they started to run, they’d be exposed for several minutes.

  “Can’t you defend us both?” he asked. He wasn’t surprised that yet again a sorcerer had put him in a position where he might get killed. Perhaps they had a quota to fill and his not dying yet meant it wasn’t filled.

  “I am a healer and a tracer,” Afruen replied. “I have no skills in attacking or defending. Are you not a hunter?”

  Leave it to a sorcerer to twist this around on him.

  “Not things that big, that fly,” he retorted.

  “Well you might want to rethink that too, unless you can run really, really fast.” Afruen started off across the plateau, his staff lifted up just off the ground.

  Darai cursed the gods and started off after him, even though the sensible thing to do would probably have been to turn back and go down the slope. Only the thought of Adina prevented him from doing it. That and he didn’t want to be branded a coward. He’d spent enough time running away from things. This time he’d stay the course, although he’d probably end up dead.

  He hadn’t taken more than a few steps when the first dragon swooped. Darai ducked, his hands over his head. The dragon latched on to the only thing within reach, his spear, and pulled it out of his fingers. The friction of wood against his palm seared his skin before he thought to let go. He heard the crunch of the dragon’s jaw as it bit into the wood. Slivers rained down around him, followed by a bellow of anger. Apparently sticks weren’t to the dragon’s taste.

  Ahead of him, he saw Afruen stumble as a female dragon swooped at him. Her claws, like enormous knives, were out, aimed right at his head. For a heart-stopping moment, Darai watched her descend toward the sorcerer, then she lunged. Her claws seemed to pass right through his head, liked they were grasping at smoke.

  She flapped her massive wings and rose, beating the air and staring at the sorcerer who managed to remain on his feet and kept running. He appeared to be completely unhurt. Either she had missed by a hair, or he’d done some magic thing which kept him safe. Whatever it was, Darai was impressed.

  He only had a moment to think about that before the large male came for him again. He had no spear this time, and the dragon was obviously enraged. He felt the air shift as it passed over him, ruffling the hairs on the back of his neck. He ran with his upper body as low down as it could go, but he was still several dozen feet from the trees.

  The dragon let out a screech and dove.

  Using all of his instincts as a hunter, Darai threw himself to the ground just before the dragon grabbed him. He rolled over onto his back and watched the scales pass over him, a mere handspan from his nose.

  The dragon turned for another pass, and Darai knew he had nowhere else to go. He saw the determination in the creature’s eyes; it knew it had him trapped. He had two choices: he could close his eyes and prepare to die, or he could fight.

  Hating the necessity, he drew, feeling the magic channeling out of his surroundings and into his body like a warm drink. It filled him with power, and with need. He couldn’t contain the magic, he could only hold it for a little while before it wanted him to use it. It squirmed inside him before shooting out of his hands and hitting the dragon right in its face.

  The dragon screamed as its features burned. The air was filled with the stench of it, smoke and searing meat. For a long moment, it seemed to hang in the air, limbs flailing, tail whipping in agony. Then it started to drop, wings out, but seemingly frozen, unable to slow its descent. It landed with a thud and skid
ded several feet before coming to a stop, eyes open, staring.

  The impact startled the other dragons into retreating to the top of the slope. How long they’d stay back, only the gods knew. Darai jumped to his feet and ran the rest of the way to the trees, only looking back when he reached the safety of their tall trunks. The dragons were slowly returning, but they were hovering over the fallen male, licking their jaws with their long tongues. Apparently they weren’t picky about what they ate.

  They landed beside the large male and started to tear him apart with their jaws, rending flesh and eating chunks.

  “Better him than us,” Afruen said, panting lightly. “Nice piece of magic that.”

  Darai turned to look at the sorcerer. Apart from the evidence of his exertion, he was completely unscathed. Apparently his gods, whoever they might be, hadn’t abandoned him.

  He nodded. “Thanks. You too.”

  Afruen blinked at him, looking momentarily confused before smiling. “Yes, well, thank you. One does what one can.” He gestured deeper into the trees. “Shall we?”

  CHAPTER 42

  Tabia blinked. One minute the girl hadn’t been there, the next she was. Her sudden appearance drew a gasp from Isobel.

  “I’m learning,” the child said, looking pleased with herself, “to stay looking like me for longer.”

  “I can see that,” Tabia replied. “Well done.” She just looked like a normal girl, with no hint that she’d been changed into a magula at all. The change in her demeanour was remarkable.

  “Can you tell me how you managed this?” she asked. “Are there others? Did they teach you?”

  “I learnt,” came the reply.

  Isobel cleared her throat, obviously trying to overcome her fear of the creature. “Do you have a name?”

  Tabia didn’t think she’d get a reply, so she was surprised when the girl cocked her head and said, “Yikara.”

  “That is very pretty, is that a Chaqian name?”

  Yikara shrugged. “It’s my name.”

  Tabia looked at Isobel. She appeared paler than usual, but not scared. While Tabia was glad of that, she wasn’t sure how comfortable anyone should be around a magula. At least they knew her name now.

  “Yikara.” She turned back to her. “Are you hungry?” Beside her, she saw Isobel shudder. She regretted asking, but it was necessary.

  “No, not right now,” Yikara replied easily. “The more I stay like me, the less I need to eat.”

  That was good, perhaps she was starting to lose the excess of magic in her body. There was hope yet that the magula could return to normal and go back to their lives.

  “You’re going the right way,” the girl added. “Toward the mountains. There’s a cave, or a hole or— something.” She seemed confused by the details, but her assurance was reassuring.

  “How do you know?” Isobel asked.

  “The other told me.”

  “The other?” Tabia asked. “Is there only one other magula?”

  “Oh no, there are lots and lots, but the other knows.”

  “What else does the other—ay.” Without warning, Yikara was gone. It was more than a little unnerving. Had she left voluntarily, or had she been pulled away? “So—that was the magula,” she said lamely.

  “She does not seem too frightening,” Isobel replied. “She seems very young and scared.”

  “Yes, she certainly is young,” Tabia agreed. She turned to look over her shoulder to where Harshal and Ezeji trudged beside the wagon. Apparently they hadn’t seen a thing. Kwame and Adina, she knew, walked behind it, the older sorcerer speaking to the younger and training her as best he could as they went.

  She looked forward, in the direction they were heading. “We’re not going to be able to take the wagon much farther,” she remarked. The trail ahead was getting narrow and steep, and there would be no way to pass but to walk. Tabia could levitate, but the time it would take to move back and forth to get everyone up into the mountains, it’d be quicker to travel on foot, and less of a drain on her energy.

  Movement caught her eye a little farther up the mountains. Something circled. Several somethings. What birds were that big? Surely they were too large to be dappa birds. She squinted, but they were still only large flying dots. They seemed to startle, and they disappeared.

  “Did anyone else see that?” She turned to address the group, but they were all pulling their bags from the back of the wagon and shrugging their shoulders into the straps. When she looked back, there was no sign of anything having been there. She shrugged to herself and took her bag when Harshal tossed it to her. She suspected he’d been trying to catch her out. The grin on his face confirmed her suspicion. She rolled her eyes at him, but he was as unperturbed as ever.

  He stepped up beside her and nodded toward the road. “Why is there a track? he asked.

  Tabia followed his gaze. “What?” She couldn’t quite grasp what he was getting at.

  “If no one comes up here, then why is there a track?” he asked. “I mean, there’s nothing up here.”

  “I suppose people go over the mountains to Chaq or Azlim?” she suggested.

  “There’s a proper road to both,” he pointed out. “Well-worn ones which are much easier to travel on.”

  “Perhaps people from Azlim use it to escape their gambling debts?”

  He looked at her in surprise. “Did you just make a joke?”

  She snorted softly. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

  “It took long enough.” He laughed. “Still . . . ” He frowned at the road.

  “You’re really bothered by this, aren’t you?” she asked. That really wasn’t like Harshal. He took every moment of each day as it came, and was almost never rattled. That he was now made her stomach clench.

  He nodded. “I guess—if we’re going to find something hidden, it’s not going to be at the need of a track with a sign showing where it’ll be. The gods know it’d be handy.” He held out his arms. “Well, just ahead.”

  Isobel, who had been listening to the exchange laughed softly. “How are we going to know what to look for?” she asked.

  Tabia looked over at her. Of course there would be no sign, no guide to point the way, no huge building leading the way in. If they were lucky, they wouldn’t spend months looking. They couldn’t spare the time. The sooner they found the well and opened it, the better.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe Yikara will reappear and show us.” She knew better than to rely on a scared and lonely almost-child to guide the way, but what else did they have.

  “She always fills me with confidence,” Harshal said to Isobel. “But you know Tabia, she always manages to pull it off somehow. She’ll figure something out.”

  They both looked at her with such faith that it made her nervous. She didn’t want to let them down, or get them all killed.

  ***

  “There’s not much more I can teach you until we really sit down in a classroom.”

  Adina swung her bag onto her back and nodded. “I know, and I appreciate all you’ve taught me so far.” Unfortunately what she’d learned was that being able to channel magic through water was limited by the fact that water wasn’t as readily available as air or earth. She could carry some with her everywhere she went, but she’d have to open her water jar every time she needed to do something. Apparently she’d be able to levitate in time, as long as she had water and the water contained enough magic. Kwame had recommended against trying to rise too high, in case she fell from a great height by running out of magic. Water magic seemed to be the most unreliable skill to have, second only to fire magic, the existence of which no one had been able to prove. Not surprisingly, finding anyone willing to touch fire to see if they could draw magic from it, was difficult. If anyone had tried in the past, they’d either died or failed.

  Kwame had told her of some sorcerer in the past who had suggested having a healer healing the whole time the person’s hand was in the fire, but the guild had r
efused to let him try, deeming the risk too great and the potential gain too small to measure.

  Adina couldn’t blame them. Fire was pretty, but it wasn’t to be toyed with. Even if anyone could channel through it, a sorcerer couldn’t keep a fire burning all the time. No one ever said magic was practical. Still, she wished she had Tabia’s skill, or even Harshal’s, although his staff looked heavy and cumbersome. At least he had access most of the time, and didn’t have to look like a drowned rat to channel it.

  She sighed.

  “You’re not pleased with your progress?” Kwame asked, clearly misinterpreting her reasons for sighing.

  “Oh, I am, I just . . . ” What could she say that didn’t seem ungrateful?

  “You’d prefer to have earth or air magic?” he guessed.

  “Yes.” She flushed. “I’m sorry, it’s not that I don’t love using magic.”

  “Of course you do.” He patted her arm. “But being a sorcerer is about more than the ability to wield magic. Have you ever seen Sevele use any?”

  She frowned. “No, I don’t think so. But he can, can’t he?”

  Kwame laughed, a deep sound low in his throat. “Of course, or he wouldn’t be a sorcerer. Sevele is strong in personality and wisdom, but not so strong in magic. He can lift things, throw things around, and create images of past events, but that’s not where his power lies. His is here—” He tapped the side of his head. “—in his mind. His insight and scholarship are second to none, as are his compassion and ability to lead men.

  “In a battle of magic, he would lose. In a battle of wits, his opponent wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “Strength of magic alone doesn’t chose the leader of the guild,” Adina concluded. “How are they chosen?”

  “By consensus of the assembly,” Kwame replied.

  “But doesn’t Sevele make appointments to the assembly? He could just appoint people he likes and wouldn’t they then choose the successor he wants?”

  “No one said the system was perfect.” Kwame smiled. “But the assembly is rarely in consensus about much, so I’d imagine there would be lively debate on the matter when the day comes. The gods forbid that be soon.”