Transcendent (Ascendant Book 2)

by Craig Alanson

  “No, please, sit,” Ariana waved a hand. “I’m sure you are weary.”

  The court wizard nodded gratefully. “Never before so in my life,” he admitted. “Or so it seems. Please, sit,” he pointed to a folding chair next to him. They were in a tent that had been set aside for the use of the wizards, only five of them were in the tent at the time. Paedris and Madame Chu were awake, slumped in chair and sipping tea, while Lord Mwazo and two others were collapsed on cots, snoring softly.

  “Thank you,” Ariana said, but she stepped over to check on the three sleeping wizards before sitting down. “Will they recover?”

  “After a while,” Wing was barely able to keep her eyes open. “We are concerned about Cecil,” she shared a glance with Paedris. “The burden of deceiving the enemy fell entirely on him; only he has that ability. He was able to fill the minds of the enemy commanders with confidence that they could easily push their way through the Kaltzen, and he made them think the Tiper pass was too strongly defended.”

  “He succeeded,” Paedris agreed, “at great cost to himself. And then he and Wing lent me the last of their strength to topple the Gates of the Mountains.”

  “We did,” Wing closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the chair.

  “You gave too much of yourself, my dear,” Paedris reached out to caress Wing’s hand, but the wizard from Ching-Do had fallen asleep. He took the teacup from her lap and put it on the floor. “She has the power of healing, which many wizards do not. Wing should have rested after we brought down the Gates, but she could not rest while people needed our help.”

  “You should have rested also, Lord Salva.”

  Paedris could not argue with that sentiment. “I am blessed with the gift of healing; I cannot ignore people who need me, simply because I am weary. Your Highness,” he smiled, “you said we should drop our formality when we were speaking privately.”

  Ariana looked puzzled; she herself was tired enough that her thinking was slowed. “Yes, Paedris.”

  “Thank you, Ariana,” he chuckled.

  “We won a great victory today, thanks to you, and your fellow wizards.”

  “Mostly due to Cecil’s efforts, I feel I must say,” Paedris drained his teacup. “Because he does not show his power in the form of fireballs, people think him a lesser wizard. They are wrong. I do not have the skill, or the strength, to wrestle with the minds of our enemy. Ariana,” he rubbed his eyes and could not stop from yawning, “we won a battle today, no more. I fear that, in fighting this battle, we may have lost the war.”

  “What? Why?” The Regent asked, shocked to her core.

  “You, and General Magrane, have now crushed two invasions of Tarador. One in Anschulz, and now here. The battle in Anschulz was merely a test for the enemy; to establish a crossing of the Fasse so that a much larger force could come across the border unopposed. The battle here was not the enemy’s intention; they were lured into fighting in Demarche because their commanders saw an opportunity that was too tempting to miss. Or, because Cecil persuaded them this opportunity would not happen again, and the enemy needed to strike before they were ready.” Paedris leaned forward and poured himself more tea, too weary to think of offering tea to the princess. “Our enemy is filled with cowardice and fear, Ariana. The demon’s heart is filled with destruction, and it fears destruction. It is ancient, it remembers a time before this world, a time before time. Because it is ancient, time means nothing to it, even though it burns inside to make this world its own. The demon has been content to wait until it is so strong, and we have become so weak, that it takes no risk in conquering us. It had been my hope to forestall the final battle until Koren,” he paused to make sure no one was listening outside the tent,” could sue his full powers in our defense. Now, I fear, the enemy has measured our strength, and found us lacking. We are weaker now than the demon supposed.”

  “What does that mean?” Ariana asked fearfully.

  “The final blow will fall on us, sooner that I had hoped. The enemy will not wait for winter; Cecil has seen this in the enemy’s heart. Orcs are coming down from the mountains in the north; already the dwarves are fighting desperate battles through their lands. Across the Fasse from Anschulz, the enemy readies a host that makes the army we crushed here today seem a mere battalion. The enemy now knows they can cross the River Fasse in Anschulz; they know where and how to do it. This time, they will not leave themselves open to counterattack, and this time, we will not be able to stop them. They are too many, they have prepared too carefully, and they have the power of a demon behind them.”

  “We have you, Lord Salva,” she reached out and squeezed his hand, more to reassure herself. “Your strength will grant us victory. Can you do anything at the river to-”

  “I will not be at the Fasse,” Paedris explained. “The time for pitting strength against strength is over; we would lose badly if we continue along that path. Wing,” he reached out to stroke that wizard’s cheek affectionately, “will remain with you. Cecil and I must embark on a perilous journey into the heart of Acedor, I fear.”

  “No! You must not-”

  “I must. We must,” Paedris insisted. Our only hope is to sow fear and confusion in the mind of the demon, so it hesitates to strike the final blow into the heart of Tarador. As I have said, I have no ability to do that, among us, only Mwazo does. He must be close to the demon to get inside its mind, and I must go with him, to conceal our presence in Acedor and to lend my power.” What Paedris did not say was that he and Mwazo likely would not be returning to Tarador; the hazards of the journey were too great for them to survive. Paedris and Cecil had not discussed it, even between themselves, but Mwazo expected they would be discovered in Acedor, despite the best efforts Paedris would make to conceal the two of them. In fact, Paedris suspected being discovered was part of Mwazo’s plan. When the demon detected two wizards from Tarador had slipped into its territory and gotten close, Mwazo hoped that would add to the demon’s sense of fear and paranoia. Finding two powerful enemy wizards on its very doorstep might hopefully cause the demon to pull back its army to protect itself. Paedris and Cecil would die, but they would buy time for Tarador, and for Koren Bladewell to become the incredibly powerful wizard they knew he would someday be. If he were sure Koren was safe and being guided into his power, Paedris could die happily. As it was, Paedris would die in the hope that Shomas would find Koren.

  “There is no hope, then?” Ariana was not ashamed of the tears which sting her eyes.

  The wizard squeezed her hand. “There is always hope. Koren is out there, somewhere, and Shomas is searching for him. While Koren lives, and he is not in the clutches of the enemy, there will always be hope.”

  “How long?” Ariana asked, forcing herself to put her emotions aside and focus on the practical need of keeping Tarador from being overrun by its ancient enemy.

  Paedris was confused, his tired mind not following her meaning. “How long for what?”

  “For Koren to become powerful enough to help us. To help you. How long will he need?”

  Too long now, Paedris wanted to say. He could hear there was more than hope for Tarador in her voice; she still longed for Koren to return. Return to her. “Only a few short months ago, I would have told you Koren needed five years, at the very least. He is still too young to control his power; it would be dangerous for him to attempt using it. His power could kill him now, even with an experienced wizard guiding him.”

  “We do not have five years.” It was not a question.

  “No. We do not. Even if Cecil and I are successful,” and likely die in the attempt, “the enemy would delay no more than a year or two.”

  “Two years? But Koren needs five years. You said we have hope?”

  “The hope is that, somehow, Koren is able to transcend the usual path followed by apprentice wizards. That he comes into his power, and can control it, with a speed far beyond that of any wizard before him.”

  “That is not much hope,” Ariana was
disappointed.

  “More than you may think, Regent,” Paedris said with a wink. “Only a few short months ago, I would have thought you could not come to power until your sixteenth birthday. Yet, you found a way to transcend the legal restrictions upon you, and now you have lead us to victory here. You were able to rise above the usual path of a crown princess. Do not be so quick to dismiss Koren’s abilities. You came to power with a speed far beyond any monarch in Tarador’s history,” he reminded her. “A thing is impossible only if it cannot be done. Koren has not even tried. Koren Bladewell is a mystery. His power is immense, and somehow, his power went unnoticed for years longer than it should have. Your Highness, I suspect that the normal rules do not apply to Koren. That is my hope.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  As the sun approached the ridge of hills to the west, the four came over a rise, and saw he source of the black smoke they had been walking toward all afternoon. It was a town, a substantial dwarf town, situated in a narrow valley. At the far end of the valley was the town; a jumble of stone, brick and wood buildings, all jammed closely together. Along both side of the valley, caves led into the hillsides, the caves being entrances to mines deep underground. And the near side of the valley was another mine; this one a pit. Over many years, the pit had been dug out to expose whatever the dwarves were mining. There were wooden towers along the rim of the pit, with cables leading from the bottom of the pit up to the rim. Buckets on the cables brought up rock. And what else, Koren asked himself. “Barlen, what are they mining?”

  “Iron ore,” Barlen replied with pride. “The finest iron ore in the world, we have up here. They bring up rock with the raw ore, crack the rock in those buildings over there,” he pointed to large, dark wood structure. “The rock we can’t use gets dumped down the hillside over there.”

  Koren peered over the edge, to where a pile of ricks was being dumped. “You dig a hole here, and fill in that valley below with the rock you can’t use?” The scale of the mining operation impressed Koren; he had no idea an industry of that size could exist so high in the mountains.

  “That’s the idea,” Dekma winked. “Mind your step and follow us, we’re going around the rim of the pit to the town. Don’t stand under a cable when there is a bucket passing overhead; sometimes loose rock falls from buckets.”

  “Oh, no.” Koren groaned when they reached the town. On the hillside above the town was a keep, with a tall tower made of a type of stone that glowed faintly in the light of the setting sun. It was a grand building compared to the rude structures that made up most of the town. It was also high above the town, at the top of a path so steep that parts of the path had steps carved into the rock. “We have to go all the way up there?” He was half considering the idea of finding a place to eat, a place to sleep, and walking up to the wizard’s tower in the morning.

  “Eh?” Dekma asked, puzzled. “Up where?”

  Koren pointed. “The keep. The wizard’s tower up there.”

  “Wizard?” Barlen pointed to the smoke-blackened rough timbers of the shop they were standing in front of. “This is the wizard’s place.”

  Koren’s eyes grew wide. “This wizard lives here?”

  “He lives there, next door,” Barlen jerked a thumb toward a modest two story house. “This here is the wizard’s workshop.”

  “Oh,” Koren’s face grew red. “I thought a wizard would live in a tower, like Lord Sal-” Too late, he realized he had said too much. “This looks like a blacksmith’s shop.”

  “It is a blacksmith’s shop,” Bjorn said, peering in the doorway. While the forge was cold and silent, there was no mistaking the tools and implements inside the shop. Although the shop held many strange things he did not recognize.

  “Yes, so?” Barlen said scornfully. “Lady Zara is a metalsmith wizard,” he explained. “Not all wizards cast fireballs and make silly potions.”

  Bjorn nodded. “Dwarven magic is why your metalwork is the finest in the world.”

  “Dwarven metalworking is a secret,” Dekma said without humor. “You’ll not learn our secrets here.”

  “I doubt you know anything about it,” Bjorn retorted. “I have worked as a smith, have you? We know what you call secrets, we know how you work metal. The reason we can’t create fine metalwork like you dwarves is not a lack of knowledge. What we lack is the best materials, the special equipment, and the techniques.”

  “Aye,” Dekma folded his arms across his chest. “And you’ll not get any of it on your visit here. If you came up here to-”

  Koren interrupted, wishing to avoid an argument. He held up a shiny, jagged black stone that he had picked up from a bin in front of the wizard’s shop. “What is this?”

  “That?” Dekma said as he snatched it from Koren’s hand and tossed it back into the bin. “It’s coal. And it is not any of your business.”

  Koren held up his hands to show he had meant no harm. “What is coal?”

  “It’s a rock that burns,” Dekma explained, glaring at Bjorn.

  “A rock that burns? Now I know you are joking with me,” Koren said sourly. Where they also joking about the blacksmith shop being home to a wizard?

  “It’s no joke,” Bjorn declared. “I’ve seen it before. The dwarves mine it out of the mountains up here. You see how few trees there are in these mountains? There isn’t enough timber to use for fires, they need what they have for building,” Bjorn nudged the wood timbers of the blacksmith shop with a boot. “Coal burns much hotter than wood, it’s one of the secrets to their ability to work metal. They also do something with coal that removes impurities from iron, to make stronger steel. That is something I don’t know about.”

  “Why don’t we use coal?” Koren bent down to pick up a chip of coal on the ground beside the bin. He handed it to Bjorn. A rock that burned?

  “We don’t have enough of it,” Bjorn examined the chip of coal and tossed it into the bin. “The only supply of it in Tarador is in Winterthur. I hear the smiths there use it. But the cost of transporting a wagon load of coal is too expensive. And there is plenty of firewood in Tarador, unlike up here.”

  Dekma still felt he needed to defend the honor of dwarven metalworking. “Coal isn’t our only advantage. We use magic also, magic your wizards don’t know how to use. Our wizards can make blades that never go dull. Blades that will not cut their owner, no matter how sharp their edges may be.”

  “I had a sword like that!” Koren exclaimed.

  “You?” Barlen cocked his head. “Where did you get such a special weapon? A blade like that would cost more than-”

  “It wasn’t mine,” Koren backtracked. He needed to remember to keep his mouth shut! “I, I only touched it,” he lied as Bjorn and the two dwarves stared at him. “I saw how it sliced through stiff leather, but when the sword’s owner ran his hand along the edge, it didn’t leave a mark. That was dwarf magic?” He asked the question to divert attention away from himself. “The Lady Zara makes swords like that?”

  “Yes, she does,” Dekma confirmed with pride, although in truth he had little knowledge of exactly what sort of magic Zara performed in her shop.

  Bjorn glanced at the sun, which was setting over distant peaks to the west. “Barlen, are you going to introduce Kedrun to this Lady Zara?”

  “I’ll see if she is in,” he said with doubt in his voice. When the wizard was at home, the forge was almost always glowing with fire. He knocked on the door frame. “Hello?”

  From a back room of the shop came a dwarf woman, with long, beautiful silver-white hair tied in a braid. “Yes? What do you-” She recognized the two dwarves. “Oh, it’s you. Hello, Barlen, Dekma. Who are your two companions?”

  Barlen bowed slightly. “Bjorn, Kedrun, this is Frieda. She had been Lady Zara’s most trusted servant for, nigh on forty years now?” He guessed.

  “You’re making me sound old,” Frieda said with a laugh.

  “Frieda, this is Bjorn, and Kedrun. They helped us kill a bandit who had been vexing our me
rchants for years. Kedrun has some business with the Lady.”

  “Eh?” Frieda looked at Koren with suspicion. “What sort of business? The Lady is not here, she has gone northwest, to assist with our defenses there. If you are not here to waste my time, I may be able to help you, young man.”

  “How can you help me?” Koren asked, disappointment clear in his voice. He had traveled so very far, and the wizard was not at home. “You said you are not a wizard.”

  “If I judge your need worthy, I can send a message to Zara. What do you want with the Lady?” Frieda asked suspiciously.

  “I,” Koren looked at his companions. “Could we talk inside?”

  “You can pay?”

  “Pay?” Koren was still uncomfortable with the idea of wizards charging for their services. “Yes,” he pulled out his purse and shook it. “I can pay.”

  “Hmm. Whether you can pay enough, for whatever you want, is the question.”

  “He can pay enough,” Bjorn growled. “I have a purse also, if needed.”

  That convinced Frieda. “Very well, young man, come inside.”

  “We’ll be going then,” Barlen told Bjorn. “There’s an inn down the street, you can seek lodgings there. Good luck to you.”

  As Koren followed Frieda into the shop, Bjorn settled to sit on the lid of a coal bin to take his boots off and rub his aching feet. The wizard not being at home was annoying. He had pledged to follow ‘Kedrun’, but he would like the young man’s business to be concluded successfully, whatever it was that Kedrun wanted.

  Then? Bjorn had no idea what to do next. He would figure that out later. Hopefully, the near future held a hearty meal and a comfortable bed. Beyond that, the future would take care of itself, eventually.

  In the shop, Frieda closed the door behind them, and gestured for Koren to sit at a rough but spotlessly clean table. The air in the blacksmith shop held a faint whiff of an acrid smell Koren remembered from when Paedris was practicing magic in his awkward old tower.