CHILDREN OF AMARID

by DAVID B. COE

  It was not until they had finished their meal, and one last wave of laughter had crested and receded, that Baden’s expression grew serious. He turned his gaze toward Cullen.

  “So,” the mage said, altering the mood in the room with the tone of his voice, “what do you make of what happened last night?”

  Cullen, who had been raising his goblet to his lips, stopped and carefully placed the glass on the table. He shook his head slowly. “I’m not certain what to make of it. We’ve all heard the talk. I didn’t want to believe it; I’m still not sure that I do. But I fear we’re reaching the point at which the question of its truth becomes secondary.” He stood up and moved to a window, gazing absently out at one of the stock pens and passing a hand over his creased brow. “You saw Leyton today. He believes that you razed the town square. And though it saddens me to say it, I don’t think that he’s alone. Regardless of who’s responsible for last night’s fire, or any of the other crimes attributed to so-called renegade mages, in the minds of many people, the Order can no longer be trusted.”

  Gayna looked at Baden. “Is it true that, in addition to the type of mischief we suffered, people have been murdered?”

  Baden nodded.

  “Arick help us,” Gayna breathed.

  “What about you?” Cullen asked, his blue eyes fixed on Baden. “You must have a theory as to who’s doing this.”

  “Yes, I do,” the mage replied cryptically, “but it’s just that: a theory. No more.”

  Cullen regarded the Owl-Master intently, but he did not force the issue.

  Jaryd listened to the conversation with increasing frustration, a question burning within him. He tried to remain calm, although the wine, rather than quieting him, had left him flushed and agitated. Finally, as Baden launched into a discussion of how elusive the renegades had been, and how they had managed to attack nearly every region of Tobyn-Ser, Jaryd leaped to his feet, nearly toppling the table.

  “If you’re so interested in who they are and where they’ve been,” he sputtered, “why are we just sitting around? They were here just last night! Shouldn’t we be following them?”

  Baden regarded him with a mild, slightly amused countenance. “How would you suggest that we follow them?”

  “I . . . I don’t really know,” Jaryd stammered.

  “Ah,” Baden nodded sagely. His features hardened. “Sit down, Jaryd,” he said sternly. “Pour yourself another glass of wine and relax. By the time we arrived here this afternoon, whoever lit the fire had a head start on us of approximately half a day. He or she could have gone anywhere. Taima sits on the edge of a great plain. Would you have us go north in pursuit of them? South? The Dhaalismin lies only a few miles from here. They might have had a boat. Or perhaps they retreated into the mountains. Are you ready to search every valley within a day’s walk of here? I could have sent Anla to search for them, but I chose to keep her with me so that I could heal those injured by the fire. Do you doubt that decision as well?” He paused to take a sip of wine. Jaryd, who had sat down at Baden’s command, stared at the glass in front of him, his cheeks and ears burning. “So, tell me, Jaryd, what should I have done? Where would you have had me search?”

  “I’m sorry, Baden,” Jaryd replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”

  “No,” Baden agreed, his tone still severe. “You shouldn’t have. I’ve been accused of many things in my life, but no one has ever mistaken me for a fool. If there had been a way to track this person—or these people, as the case may be—I would have done so.”

  Jaryd nodded. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

  Baden took another sip from his glass. When he spoke again, his voice had softened somewhat. “I understand your frustration, Jaryd. All of us within the Order feel the same way. This has been going on for too long.”

  “When was the first feather found?” Cullen asked.

  “Almost a year ago,” Baden responded, but he suddenly seemed distracted. After a long pause, he began to shake his head. “I knew I had been forgetting something. I may be more of a fool than I care to admit.” He turned to Jaryd. “Tell me about this dream you had last night,” he demanded with some intensity.

  Jaryd shrugged. “There’s not a great deal to tell. I saw a mage, or at least someone wearing a mage’s cloak. He walked toward me and handed me a black feather like the one Leyton had today. And when I grasped the feather by its shaft, it flared and turned to ash.”

  “Can you describe the mage?” Baden asked, his gaze still intent.

  “No. As I told you this afternoon, I couldn’t see his face.”

  Baden narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I remember. But each time you describe your vision, you use ‘he’ or ‘his’ to describe the person you saw. Is there something about the vision that made you think the mage was male?”

  “Not really,” Jaryd responded with some uncertainty.

  “But possibly,” the Owl-Master insisted.

  “Yes.”

  Baden leaned closer to Jaryd. “I’d like to try something. I’d like to see if I can induce the return of your vision. It’s perfectly safe; no harm will come to you. But it might improve your recollection a bit. May I?”

  Jaryd hesitated, and then nodded. Baden smiled reassuringly and then, gently, he placed his middle three fingers on Jaryd’s forehead. After a few seconds, the Mage-Attend’s vision of the room melted into blackness to be replaced a moment later by a new setting.

  Suddenly, Jaryd was no longer in Cullen and Gayna’s home. Rather, he was back in the Seaside Mountains, watching once more as the strange mage advanced on him. Every detail seemed clearer this time. The mage’s staff looked unnaturally smooth, and the stone at its top was the color of blood. The man’s bird—and yes, it was definitely a man—was tremendous, larger even than Jaryd remembered, and black as the night sky. Its eyes were golden; not yellow, like Anla’s, but actually golden. And they were alien in some way—indeed, the bird itself seemed peculiar, although Jaryd still could not put into words exactly what made it so. But the feather that the mage carried was just as Jaryd recalled; it was the same feather Leyton had showed Baden that afternoon. And once again, Jaryd watched as it burst into flame.

  Then it was over, and Jaryd sat at the dining table once more. Baden had withdrawn his hand from Jaryd’s brow, and Cullen and Gayna sat perfectly still, their expressions unreadable. Jaryd blinked his eyes as his vision cleared, and then he turned toward the Owl-Master. “I saw him again!” he said with some excitement. “He had on a green cloak, and he carried a staff just like—” He stopped, sobered by what he read in Baden’s eyes. “It didn’t help very much, did it?”

  Baden tried to smile. “It helped a bit,” he offered, but his tone said otherwise.

  “But not as much as you had hoped.”

  “No,” Baden admitted.

  Jaryd sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  The four of them sat in silence for some time. “Why don’t we return to the front room,” Gayna finally said, “and I’ll fix some tea before we go to sleep.” The men agreed and rose from the table. When they reached the front room, however, they heard a voice calling from outside the house, and, looking toward the window, they saw through the translucent curtains the light of many torches. Baden held up a hand, silencing Jaryd, Cullen, and Gayna. And as they listened, they heard someone calling in a singsong voice,“Owl-Master!Owl-Master!”

  The mage looked toward Cullen, a question in his blue eyes.

  “Leyton, I’d guess,” the grey-haired man said grimly. “And his friends.”

  Baden raised an eyebrow.

  “Despite what you saw today, Baden, he’s bright and persuasive, and he’s popular with the younger townsfolk. Don’t underestimate him or his influence.”

  The mage nodded slowly, seeming to consider what Cullen had said. He took a deep breath. “Well, I suppose I should see what he wants.”

  Baden lifted his arm for Anla, who flew to him from her perch
near the hearth. Then the mage opened the door and stepped out into the night. Jaryd followed him onto the front steps, as did Cullen and Gayna. A small group of people, perhaps thirty, stood in front of the house, most of them men, nearly all of them holding torches or weapons. At the head of the pack stood Leyton, brandishing a cudgel in one hand and his knife in the other. He had not yet cleaned himself or changed his clothes, and the wound on his arm still looked untreated. When Leyton spoke, Jaryd realized with alarm that the man had been drinking.

  “Owl-Master!” he said with mock courtesy, an invidious grin on his face. “So nice to see you again.”

  “What do you want, Leyton?” Baden demanded icily.

  “Isn’t it enough to just want to chat?” the man asked, his arms open in supplication. Then his voice dipped lower and grew more menacing. “We never had a chance to finish our conversation this afternoon.”

  The mage raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise. “Oh? I was under the impression that it had ended quite satisfactorily.”

  “Well, my friends and I disagree.” All pretense of deference had vanished from Leyton’s tone, leaving only the anger and malice that Jaryd remembered from earlier. “You see, we still don’t believe your denials of responsibility for the fire. And we don’t want you in our town any longer.”

  “So, you’ve come to make me leave?” The tone of Baden’s voice as he asked the question was a match for Leyton’s blade. “How do you plan to do that?”

  Leyton’s eyes flicked nervously to Jaryd, and then to Cullen and Gayna. “Maybe if you had no place to stay,” he said, not quite as sure of himself as he had seemed a moment before, “if something were to happen to the home of your friends . . .” He trailed off, allowing the naked threat to hang in the air between them.

  A low rumbling of dissent swept through the mob standing behind the man. “But, Leyton,” a voice called out, “you told us that no harm would come to Gayna and Cullen.”

  “Only the mage, you said,” another man added. “Only the mage.” Others nodded in agreement.

  Leyton whirled on his companions. “Fools!” he spat. “This mage burned our town and you want to spare the traitors who house him!” Jaryd saw vacillation in the eyes of Leyton’s companions. “Cowards!” Leyton growled in frustration. “Idiots!” The man spun back to face Baden, his eyes raw with rage and loss.

  “Go home, Leyton,” the mage commanded. “It’s late, and this is not a battle you can win.”

  “I’ll fight you, Mage!” he shouted. “I’ll fight you here and now!”

  Baden shook his head. “But I won’t fight you,” he said evenly. “I swore an oath when first I donned this cloak that I would serve the people of Tobyn-Ser. I won’t break that vow for you. But you shouldn’t doubt—none of you should doubt,” he added, raising his voice to reach Leyton’s companions, “—that I will protect this house and these people with all my strength. Do any of you believe that you’re a match for my power?”

  He stared out at the crowd, and none of those present met his glance. He turned his eyes to Leyton, who looked up at him defiantly for but a moment, before looking down at the useless weapons he carried.

  Many in the crowd began slowly to move away from the house and back toward the town center. Baden turned and motioned for his friends to reenter the house.

  But in that moment, Leyton dropped his cudgel, and, in one startlingly swift motion, grabbed a torch from the hand of the closest man and flung it toward the thatch roof of Cullen and Gayna’s home. Jaryd tried to cry out a warning. But before the words left his mouth, he was blinded by a brilliant flash of orange light. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the burning splinters of what had been the torch scattered on the ground well short of the house. Baden had barely moved. Leyton lay prone on the ground, where he had been thrown by the force of the mage’s blast. He climbed to his feet slowly, regarding the Owl-Master with awe, and more than a little fear.

  “Go home, Leyton,” Baden repeated, and, oddly, a note of kindness had crept into his voice. “Go in peace. My friend and I will be leaving tomorrow. And whether or not you believe me, I give you my word that we will find out who attacked your home. They will not go unpunished.”

  Leyton eyed the mage silently for what seemed to Jaryd a very long time. At last, the man nodded, almost imperceptibly, and turned to walk back into town.

  Baden and Jaryd watched him retreat into the darkness before following Gayna and Cullen into the house.

  Once inside, Baden turned to his hosts. “I’m sorry if we’ve placed you and your home in jeopardy. That certainly wasn’t my intention.”

  Cullen shook his head. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Baden. Gayna and I know you didn’t set the fires. So all you’ve done is heal the wounds of our injured and put a bit of fear into some young men who probably needed it. Besides, I don’t think we’ll have any more trouble from Leyton. Our influence in this community is considerable; most harbor no ill will toward us. And Leyton will do nothing on his own.”

  “You’re probably right,” the mage agreed. “Nonetheless, Jaryd and I will be leaving at first light.” He held up his hand to quiet his hosts’ protests. “It’s not just because of what happened tonight. Jaryd and I are a long way from Amarid and, after today’s events, I’m more determined than ever to be there for the opening of the Gathering.”

  Baden and Cullen exchanged a long look, their expressions unreadable. At length, Cullen smiled and nodded. “You will at least allow us to give you food for your journey?”

  The Owl-Master returned his friend’s smile. “I was counting on it.”

  After a few more minutes of conversation, Gayna led the Owl-Master and Mage-Attend to a guest room in the rear portion of the house. Like the rest of Cullen and Gayna’s home, the room was tidy and comfortable. There were two small beds, one on either side of the room, and a window between them that looked out onto the moonlit garden. Jaryd was exhausted. He wrapped himself in the warm blankets, enjoying the luxury of a real bed. He found, though, that his head was filled with thoughts of the day’s events, and, for the second night in a row, he could not sleep. He lay silently in the darkness for a long time, wondering if Baden had fallen asleep. After some time, he heard a rustling of blankets across the room as the mage turned over, and he hazarded a question.

  “Baden?”

  “You should be sleeping,” the mage said in a muffled voice.

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “So you thought you’d keep me up?”

  Jaryd said nothing. At length, he heard Baden roll over again. “I’m having trouble sleeping, too. What’s on your mind?”

  Jaryd hesitated. “Who do you think attacked Taima?”

  “You heard me tell Cullen that I didn’t know.”

  “I heard you tell Cullen that you had a theory, but little more,” Jaryd said, gaining confidence as he spoke. “I got the impression, though, that you have more than just a theory.”

  He heard the Owl-Master give a small laugh. “I see. And how is it that you’ve come to know me so well in so little time?”

  “As I told you the day we met,” Jaryd answered, smiling in the darkness, “you and my father are more similar than you might care to know.”

  “Ah, yes. I remember.” After a long pause, Baden relented. “Yes, I’ve an idea of who attacked Taima and who has committed the other crimes attributed to the Order.” He paused again, and, a moment later the candle sitting by the mage’s bed jumped to life, revealing Baden sitting on the edge of the bed facing Jaryd, his features looking even leaner than usual in the flickering light. “I tried to figure out who, within the Order or outside of it, might wish to discredit the mages and masters of Tobyn-Ser,” Baden explained, as if relieved to have someone with whom to share his musings. “I could think of a few within the Order who might be disgruntled. But none, I believe, would be bitter enough to do these things. And even if they were, there aren’t enough of them to explain the number of attacks that have occurred across th
e land.” As he spoke, Baden stared at the candle as if, Jaryd thought, he could see the key to this mystery within its dancing yellow flame. Jaryd kept utterly still, afraid that any movement might shatter the mood that had produced this rare moment of candor in his uncle.

  “And then I thought of the one person,” the mage continued, “the only person who would have both cause to subvert the Order, and the ability to do it.” Baden looked suddenly toward Jaryd, pinning his Mage-Attend with the intensity of his gaze. “I haven’t told anyone else of this, Jaryd, and, even when we reach the Gathering, I don’t want you to repeat a word of this without my consent. Is that clear?”

  Jaryd nodded, his heart racing with the excitement of the moment, and his elation at having been taken into the mage’s confidence.

  An instant later, however, when Baden spoke the name of the one he suspected, Jaryd’s exhilaration evaporated, leaving a cold dread that settled like a stone in the pit of his stomach. Baden blew out his candle, and Jaryd lay huddled in his bed, staring wide-eyed into the darkness and wondering why he had asked the mage any questions in the first place.

  Cullen woke them while it was still dark, opening the door to their room and allowing the light from a hallway lantern to spill across the floor. “It will be dawn soon,” he told them. “We’ve fixed some breakfast for you when you’re ready.”

  The mage and his apprentice rose and dressed quickly. Jaryd had slept poorly, but he was now as anxious as Baden to be moving again. When they entered the kitchen, they found Jaryd’s pack filled with dried fruit, salted meat, cheese, dry breads, and two extra skins containing the dark wine they had enjoyed the previous night. Baden thanked Gayna and Cullen, and Jaryd did the same, after he secured from the mage a promise that they would take turns carrying the pack.