Spirit of Magik (The Dothranan Chronicles Book 1)

by Richard Cluff

  “They can't Thorel. Why do you ask?” Ari said, sounding irritated by the question.

  “Because I can see two right over there,” he pointed to them. “They seem to be aware of us, and they aren't attached to anyone.”

  Ari looked where he'd indicated, and took a step back as some of her personal guards were climbing through the trapdoor. She raised a strong Magikal shield and said; “I don't see any spirits, but I do see some kind of Magikal distortion. It is indistinct though, I almost missed it,” her hand was on her dagger now.

  Thorel could see that both men had a weapon in hand now. He gripped his staff in a combat stance, relaxed and ready.

  “Mistress, my apologies,” Siri said with an unpleasant look at Thorel. “Show yourselves, I command it.”

  Thorel watched in wonder as the two men sheathed their weapons and pulled necklaces out from their shirts. The men materialized into normal sight: he could see now without the colors being washed blue by his spirit sight that their clothing was black, and their weapons had been dirtied somehow to reduce their shine significantly.

  Ari took a step back, along with everyone else on the roof when they appeared. Many blades cleared their sheathes instantly.

  “STOP!” Siri yelled, louder than Thorel could have believed she could in a commanding tone. “They are not enemies, they are our allies.”

  “They are yours, Siri?” Ari said with a look of amazement on her face.

  “Yes Mistress. They will make certain the innkeeper and her people do not betray us,” Siri said calmly.

  “I would be very interested to know how that is done. It is said invisibility is impossible. There have been many accidents in the attempts to change that,” Ari breathed, with wonder in her eyes.

  “When we are finished here, Mistress, we will be able to discuss this matter in detail, as well as the terms of my contract with House Dothranan, which affects this matter. In the meantime, in order to keep a breach from occurring, I must ask that you order all of those here not to discuss what they have seen under penalty of death,” Siri said firmly.

  “Of course,” Ari nodded and gave the order. “Yes, Mistress,” Thorel and the guards said as they sheathed their weapons somewhat reluctantly, and Siri told the two men; “Be about your duties. Do not fail me.”

  The two men nodded to her and one at a time they simply dropped through the trapdoor. Thorel did not hear either of them strike the floor below though.

  “What the hell was that?” Korin asked Thorel quietly. “I couldn't see them until they just appeared.”

  “Something I have managed to keep secret for a decade. You would be wise to respect my wishes on this matter, Mr. Quedesham,” Siri told him in a deadly serious tone.

  “What, no threats this time, Miss Fenel?” Korin asked her in an uppity manner. Thorel was taken aback by Korin's antagonistic tone. But Korin stood firm with his hard eyes on her.

  Siri stepped right up to him quickly. “Do I really need to say the words, Mr. Quedesham? I'm quite certain you understand the value of what you have just seen, as well as the fact that this secret is worth more than my relationship with you, or Mr. Tangarth,” Siri said looking at each of them like a viper ready to strike.

  “Aye, I do at that. Peace, Miss Fenel, I can keep a secret. We both know that I've had to keep a few,” Korin said seriously.

  “When we are finished, I'll take your oath on that,” Siri said firmly, but she was visibly more relaxed.

  Korin nodded to her respectfully. Thorel wondered; what secrets did Korin keep that Siri knew of? He didn't like Siri's tone just now, but Korin had definitely instigated the incident. It embarrassed Thorel, but he knew very well the two of them had history he wasn't privy to.

  “Enough of this distraction,” Ari said in a commanding tone. “Thorel, it is time,” she stood near the edge of the roof facing northwest. Thorel saw her activate an invocation he hadn't seen before: it seemed to concentrate in her eyes when the Magik settled.

  “Yes Mistress,” Thorel said as he walked to her. She offered him her hand, and he took it.

  “Open your power to me now, Thorel,” Ari said as she closed her eyes. Distant thunder punctuated the moment.

  Thorel took power from the woman's spirit that he had acquired and fed it to Ari as she had shown him last night. It was just a trickle at first, but then he pushed more of his power through his hand into Ari's.

  From here, Thorel could see the eastern inner wall of Quarrel's Hold. He saw Guards on the wall with bows watching about every ten yards. Fortunately, they were outside of bow shot. He could see Quarrel Manor standing tall and majestic in the center of the northern Hold.

  “Give me more, Thorel!” Ari snapped at him, and his attention instantly came back to what they were doing. He was already pushing more power into her than he had ever held himself.

  “More?” Thorel asked, incredulously.

  “Yes, more, and do it quickly! You're only giving me half of what you can!” She snapped impatiently.

  Thorel was stunned: it was already a great deal of work to give her what he was giving her.

  “Yes Mistress,” he said quietly, closing his eyes and concentrating fully on the task. He pulled as much power as he could out of the woman's spirit, feeding it to Ari. He could feel the beads of sweat forming on his brow and the ache in his head. Fatigue began washing over him.

  “Good. Hold it there,” Ari said, sounding satisfied.

  Thorel chanced opening his eyes: now that he had achieved what she wished, he felt he could hold it there without such deep concentration. “Ari, I can't hold this for long,” he warned her quietly.

  “Hold it,” Ari ordered him firmly as she began forming a complex Magikal weave, the likes of which Thorel had never seen. It was a layered lattice of Magikal power that was more intricate than anything he had ever seen before now. He had no idea how she could be keeping track of all the threads.

  “Silene, select a volunteer to go, quickly,” she said as the complex weave solidified and a distortion visible to normal sight appeared. It looked like a shimmer of heat on a hot stone: except it was in the air itself.

  “Yes Mistress. Jaqin, go through and scout,” she ordered.

  “Yes Ma'am,” he saluted and walked forward. Ari raised her and Thorel's joined hands as an arch. The man took a deep breath to steady himself and stepped into the distortion beneath their hands. The man vanished instantly.

  Thorel was feeling his fatigue rapidly closing on him. “Ari, I don't think I can hold this any longer.”

  “Just a moment longer,” she said as she shielded her eyes from the sun and looked towards Quarrel Manor. “Yes!” Ari said quietly.

  “All of you! Go now! Quickly!” She ordered.

  Silene and the other guards went through immediately in an orderly manner, followed by Siri, with Korin behind her. One by one, they vanished from the rooftop.

  “You can stop now, Thorel,” Ari said. Thorel gratefully released the power he had been feeding her and sank to his knees. He wobbled a bit there, but Ari caught his shoulder. Thunder boomed distantly in the south, reminding Thorel of the urgency of this.

  “I know it was difficult to hold that much power for you. Your reliquary is like any other muscle in your body: it becomes stronger with use. It will get easier for you, Thorel. But for me to apport that many that far would have taken ten times the power it did if we hadn't done this,” she said.

  Thorel sucked in air as if he'd been swinging a maul non-stop for an hour and said: “It would have been easier if you could have sent them all at once.”

  “I couldn't risk it, Thorel. This has never been done before, to my knowledge. I had to make certain they would arrive safely,” she said seriously.

  “You mean you didn't know for sure? What if it hadn't worked?” Thorel asked in shock as a healing Magik from Ari washed his fatigue away from him.

  He looked up at her as she put a finger on her chin and looked at the sky thoughtfully. “He would
have died. Quickly to be sure. It would have been quite messy I think. While I checked my formulas many times, an apportation gate like this has never been made that I know of.”

  Thorel just looked up at her, looking wistfully into the sky. “I can't imagine ordering someone to take that kind of risk, Ari,” he said as he stood up.

  Her attention snapped back to him, her eyes intent. “You need to start considering it then. You are going to be the Master of this House, Thorel. Doing this will help me end the war and save hundreds, maybe thousands of my... our Holders. I would risk one for that. You need to be able to make the same kind of choice. We will discuss it in detail later. Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” Thorel said, in wonder at her strength and the sheer weight of the responsibility she bore. The responsibility he would soon share with her. He wouldn't have considered such a risk to a person's life worth it, but she was far wiser than he was. It would definitely be better to grieve the loss of one than one-hundred. He didn't look forward to a time where he might have to make such a choice.

  Ari took his hand in hers and kissed him lightly. It was just a short press of their lips, an affirmation of their feelings. He longed for more, but they had no time to waste.

  “This is going to feel a bit... strange Thorel,” she warned, looking into his eyes. He saw her begin channeling Magikal power.

  Thorel wondered what she meant by that when suddenly Ari's face seemed to stretch; then there was nothing but blackness and a sense of disconnection. His body did not exist at this moment, it was everywhere, and nowhere.

  The most disconcerting part was that he experienced these opposing feelings at the same time.

  * * *

  Lother sat on the ground beside Draem, gulping water down as the thunder boomed overhead. He was the only person besides Lea from his column that wasn't dead or wounded that he knew of. She was busy helping with the wounded though, as bolts of lightning from the Magikal storm would alternate between landing among their formation and Quarrel's.

  He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. Lother was numb inside and out. He could barely feel his arms. He hadn't even realized his wooden shield had split down the middle until they had been pulled from the line about twenty minutes ago. Someone had brought him a new shield, short sword, and spear: his own short sword was so dinged and pitted now he couldn't even slide it into its sheath. A woman took his battered shield and blade with a nod of respect.

  He'd seen some others getting pulled from the line: what was left of them in many cases. Sergeant Fekral hadn't been able to be moved from under the horse before he'd died of his injuries. The fighting was fierce there. Lother didn't think it likely he would have survived even if they had been able to get the beast off of him.

  What had struck him hardest as they walked through the bow line, was seeing Shara being carried on a litter. Her sword arm was gone and there was a stench of burnt sulfur wafting from her cauterized stub. He'd tried to go to her, to see if she still lived, but Draem had stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “They aren't moving the dead, man. If you get in their way, she'll have a lesser chance.”

  That was when he realized what he said was true: they weren't moving the dead. Only the living. “Why aren't they moving the dead?” He'd asked angrily.

  “They aren't gonna be any more dead if we leave 'em for now. Don't worry, they aren't going anywhere,” Draem said tiredly, with a look of sympathy.

  Lother watched her being carried off and nodded to Draem: he wasn't going to make another man's man joke for the rest of his life after this day. He and Draem had fought shoulder to shoulder for what seemed like forever. He knew for a fact that he owed him his life at least a half dozen times now. Fortunately, he'd been able to return the favor a few times himself. The man was fierce in battle.

  He looked up at the black-clouded sky, with the chill wind sweeping over him as the thunder rolled. He asked himself: Why am I still alive? Why did so many that were better fighters, nobler in heart, and more worthy fall and leave me to live in their place?

  He knew there wouldn't be an answer to that question though. It just was. He intended to make the best of the gift he was given, even if it didn't last more than an hour. He would kill more of those Quarrel bastards and make them pay for Spen, Fekral, Shara and all the others.

  His thoughts were shattered like the boulder that had been sailing through the air towards their position. The dust that remained showered down harmlessly among the bowmen. He looked to see the Wizard, an older woman lost in her arcane arts, wearing her rune embroidered robe. For now, this was the safest place to be on this whole battlefield: she wasn't going to let the bombardment touch this area if she could help it, he was sure. He had never been trusting of Wizards and their powers, but today he was grateful for them.

  Without them, they would have all been slaughtered by the enemy and their Wizards. He was certain of that.

  He looked around at the remains of the fourth company of the first army: less than half of their numbers remained it seemed.

  “Hey Gwin, why don't you like men?” Draem asked him from out of the blue.

  Lother's thoughts fell out of order immediately at the unexpected, inappropriate question, and he sputtered. “I don't know. Why don't you like women?” He asked his comrade irritably.

  Draem simply smiled and started laughing like he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. He managed to wheeze out during his outburst; “I don't fucking know, man.”

  Gwin joined his laughter and clasped his hand. “It doesn't matter. You're my brother now. And we're both going back to the barracks tonight.”

  Draem's laughter cut short, and he looked into his eyes. “Yeah, we are. And we're gonna drink the share for everyone who can't drink for themselves too, brother,” He gripped Lother's hand firmly.

  Tears threatened to roll from his eyes. His returned the man's grip and said; “Yes,” Quietly. He could see Draem's feelings etched on his hard features. No more words were needed.

  That's when he heard the shouted command: “Fourth company, first army! Get in formation!” punctuated by the booming thunder. Lother and Draem got up and went to assume their places. What remained of the fourth company assumed standard formation, then tightened their ranks to account for all the dead and wounded. Looking to his left, Lother could see no one from the first platoon on the field at all.

  The first through fourth platoons of the fourth company had been hit the hardest by the Quarrel Cavalry charges. Draem and Lother's column had been the eighth column of the fourth platoon. He could see Commander Ginri walking with another officer towards the center of their line.

  Commander Ginri was a big man, well-muscled and clean shaven. He stood tall in his unmarked armor. It stirred Lother's anger to see him standing there like that: he obviously hadn't been involved in the fighting at all.

  “Officers! Relay my orders! How many of you do we have? A show of hands!” He shouted.

  Lother saw hands going up through the ranks: there were a lot less than there should have been, that much was certain.

  “Alright! All of you, disperse evenly among the formation so you can cover more of our soldiers!” He shouted. He waited a few moments while the officers sorted themselves.

  “Now, how many here have the first tier mastered? Everyone with at least their first tier of mastery, step forward!” He shouted. Lother heard officers relaying the orders, and to his surprise, Draem stepped forward.

  “I didn't know you had your mastery!” Lother hissed quietly. Even after his two years in the Legion, and nearly a year in the Dothranan Guard, he'd only attained the seventh rung of training. That meant Draem must be older than he looked.

  “You never asked,” Draem shot over his shoulder, equally quiet.

  True. He'd spent most of his time avoiding Draem, he'd grown sick of being pursued by the man. He would make it a point to address that issue with him if they lived through the day.

  “Alright! All of you with yo
ur mastery, doff your shield and spears! We'll be using our long swords, fourth form!” He yelled.

  Lother went to assist Draem in removing his shield and was surprised when he saw a smile on his friends face. “What are you smiling about? Long swords won't be worth a shit up there!”

  “You've got a lot to learn, Gwin,” he said with a smile as he looked down the line and saw the other companies doing the same as the fourth company was. “If we do this right, those Quarrel bastards are gonna bleed more than we have.”

  Lother could only guess how a long sword could be used in the close quarters in the front, but he knew he could trust Draem with his life. And if he'd thought it was a terrible idea, he wouldn't be smiling about it.

  “Alright, soldiers! The rest of you are going to form ranks behind the master's rank. We'll be going in first, you'll be supporting with your spears, just as you're used to. If the master ahead of you falls, use your training, and your short blade! Don't try to imitate us! Officers! Organize my ranks! I'll take center!” He shouted to officers relaying to the far parts of the six-thousand plus formation, drawing his own long blade.

  The next few minutes consisted of the officers organizing them. Lother made it a point to form himself up behind Draem: he wasn't going to let the debt owed to him stay uneven.

  “March!” The order was repeated down the line, split by thunder. The remains of the fourth company moved forward, spreading out so they could pass through the archery lines. Going through, they would have to stop occasionally to let a litter bearing a wounded soldier pass. He fervently hoped they would all recover.

  Unlike Shara; he thought bitterly. Losing an arm isn't something one recovers from.

  They were arrayed in three ranks now. They made their way through the reserve ranks of the front liners. A bolt of lightning fell upon soldiers near the center of the lines, accompanied by a crash of thunder. By the spirits, he hoped he didn't get killed by one of those strikes. It seemed as if the Wizards were fighting for control of the storm, the way the lighting struck on each side of the lines, seemingly as random.