And how positively frightened she had seemed.
11
Morning at the Ragged Rogue began with a large tray of food brought by one of the Inn’s chambermaids. Peeled and brined hard-boiled eggs, sliced fruit, warm honeybread, smoked ham and rare roasted beef crowded the platter. A large pitcher of fresh milk accompanied the meal, as well as a smaller pitcher of the same sweet wine Niel had sampled the night before.
The group sat together at the common table, talking little, and Niel set himself to discreet observation as he ate.
Caleen helped herself to two of the eggs and a small piece of ham, using a knife and prong for both. Arwin mirrored her aptitude for the eating prong. Jharal never touched his utensils, but instead popped whole eggs two at a time into his cavernous mouth, then rolled slices of beef between his dirty palms and tore the meat from his fist like a hungry dog. Bits of fruit speckled his beard, and his fingers glistened with whatever his shirt failed to remove. Niel quirked his mouth in disapproval but managed to unquirk it just before Jharal glowered up at him. Meanwhile, Peck had chosen a single apple for his breakfast and quietly used his thumbnail to peel away the skin in one long crimson thread.
After a final gulp of wine that sent purple rivulets down his tree trunk of a neck, Jharal pushed away from the table with a grand belch which none at the table acknowledged despite how the stench put Niel off the rest of his own meal. The enormous man then strode to his bed and knelt to retrieve something from underneath. Caleen followed and took from Jharal’s up-stretched arm a sword and belt. She wrapped the thick leather around her waist and fastened the buckle, tugging down so it sat properly on her hips.
Jharal straightened, gripping a beige cloth sack bound tightly around what was clearly a massive battle axe. He rose, rotating the axe gingerly to stand on its handle then letting the huge, veiled blades rest flat against his chest. After several pulls at the drawstring and the cloth, the sack fell away, revealing a ferocious-looking weapon.
Each side of the axe’s symmetrical head mushroomed out about an elbowlength from the smooth, white pine stock. The metal had been scoured to a grim, dark grey, and the edges curved sharply back like the top of a bat’s wing. A thumbwide split ran down the shaft where metal enclosed wood. At the bottom, narrow leather strips in a tight, intricate weave served as the grip.
Jharal moved his palm lovingly over the flat of the blade, then noticed Niel’s attentiveness.
“Big, isn’t it?” he said, sliding a callused thumb along the edge.
Niel nodded and reached for his milk.
Jharal jabbed a sausage-like finger at Niel’s head. “You remember that.”
Niel set his cup down without taking a drink.
Caleen chuckled and gave Jharal a backhanded slap on his stomach. He sneered, then followed her out.
“I really don’t think he likes you,” Arwin said as he helped himself to another piece of ham.
***
Daylight painted a much more flattering portrait of Trelheim than had night. Farmers had gathered to sell their reapings for Market Day. A dozen or so merchants had set up either carts or small, garishly-colored tents to peddle their wares and services. Though a less sophisticated affair than that to which Niel was accustomed, the familiar sights and sounds brought some comfort.
Arwin strode through the crowd wearing a pleasant-yet-indifferent expression. He politely held up a hand to refuse an enthusiastic meat seller waggling two plucked fowl at him. Niel noticed Arwin’s other hand never strayed from the hilt at his hip.
Past the outdoor market, people in drab and tattered clothing moved briskly from one side of the street to the other, carrying parcels or tugging animals along. A few dirty children chased one another, winding in and out of foot traffic, being scolded, ignored, or swatted by passersby whose paths they crossed.
At the end of the street Arwin and Niel found the local hostler. The sweet reek of manure, mud, and fresh straw filled the air. In the forward paddock stood four horses, all bays, tethered to a post with just enough rope to let them nibble at the flakes of hay scattered at their feet.
A plump man squatted in the paddock, absorbed in scraping muck from the upturned foot of the animal closest to the fence. The young horse shifted constantly, prompting a continuous grumble of curses from the man.
Arwin pushed open the paddock gate. A tiny bell jingled. Seeing potential customers, the man dropped the horse’s leg and immediately switched from begrudged laborer to hospitable host. A broad smile filled his ruddy face.
“Good morning, friends, good morning!” the man sang, holding his arms out wide. For a moment Niel feared the sweaty man might embrace him. “How may Hallen serve you today?”
Arwin raised his palm in greeting. “A pleasant morning to you, Hallen. My friend and I were discussing the possibility of purchasing one of your animals here.”
“Then I’d say you’ve got a fine sense for horseflesh! These arrived three days ago from the Continent. Broken and trained by the best handlers in southern Lyrria.”
Niel glanced at Arwin, whose eyes never left the hostler and whose own smile never flickered a degree in sincerity. Arwin placed a gentle palm on the horse’s flank and ran his hand along the length of the animal as he examined it. “And how much, good Hallen, does one of the best-trained mounts from the Lands cost these days?”
“Let’s see now,” Hallen said, a finger tapping at his lips. The exaggerated performance made it clear to Niel that Hallen had decided on a price long before the two of them showed up. “What with the cost of transport and, as I mentioned, the training… let’s say thirty, shall we?”
Arwin’s hand dropped to his side. “Thirty? He’s going to fetch my slippers for me, too? I’d pay fifty for that! Otherwise, I think fifteen is fair.”
Hallen maintained his smile. “No, I’m sorry, my friend. I couldn’t possibly let him go for less than twenty-seven. Three others should have come over as well, but they didn’t make it. Nearly kicked the ship apart and had to be put down. Lost a lot of money, as you can imagine.” He shrugged. “I have to feed my family, you know.”
Arwin folded his arms over his chest. “What I know, good Hallen, is that I’ll pay you fifteen pieces for this animal here, and when we’re gone you can ride out to the Upper Valleys where he came from and capture more. It’s not two days from here, after all.”
Hallen’s smile fell away. The hostler considered them with a squint, then with a vague gesture of submission muttered an acceptance and walked over to untether the horse.
Arwin gave Niel a nudge. “Ready for your first lesson?”
Niel shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never ridden before.”
“Hence my choice of words, ‘first lesson’.” Arwin accepted the lead line from the hostler’s dirty hand. “Thank you,” he said to Hallen. “We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”
The roundish man turned and waddled up the short path to the barn, then disappeared inside.
***
Saddles were heavy, Niel discovered. He barely managed to lift his above shoulder height before he dropped it onto the horse’s back, which made the animal yank its head up with a loud snort and try to dance away. Arwin tugged the horse back toward them, then showed Niel how to soothe the startled beast. Once it had calmed, he demonstrated how far from the withers the saddle horn should rest and how to force the horse to exhale by pressing a knee into its side so the girth could be properly cinched.
“Even in the worst situation,” Arwin instructed, “unless you plan to ride bareback there’s always time to be sure your saddle’s on correctly. Making a quick getaway won’t do much good if your saddle’s loose and you break your neck.”
Niel suppressed a chuckle at an image of Arwin swinging from a castle tower, leaping onto his horse, then sliding off sideways to the ground as the castle guards gathered around him, hands on hips, shaking their heads in disgust.
After rocking the saddle side to side to test it, Arwin showed
Niel how to exchange a halter for a bridle, how to coax a horse to take a bit without getting his fingers nipped, and how to slip the bit from the mouth to let the animal graze without having to remove the bridle again.
Then he motioned for Niel to climb on.
With a deep breath, Niel hoisted himself up and settled his weight into the saddle, which felt much less comfortable than he thought it should. Arwin showed him how to hold his feet properly in the stirrups, heels down to help lower his center of gravity. Niel took the reins, trying to get a feel for how the horse responded.
A tremendous bang! echoed from the barn in which Hallen had gone.
The horse reared, kicking away from Arwin as he grabbed at the bridle. Niel shouted and clutched the saddle horn with both hands, clamping tightly with his legs. The horse’s front feet came down hard, making Niel crunch his tongue between his teeth; the horse’s back legs shot out, slamming Niel forward against the animal’s muscular neck.
Niel’s heart pounded as he became certain he would fall and be trampled, but as the horse bucked and reared he realized he’d yet to come anywhere close to falling—that his body now anticipated where and how the horse would move.
With fresh confidence he took the reins in both hands and pulled, bringing the horse’s chin down to its chest. After a few seconds more the animal relented, prancing nervously around the paddock before coming to a halt by the gate.
The animal trembled. So did Niel.
Arwin approached, making gentle shushing sounds as he took hold of the bridle.
“Are you all right, Apprentice?” he asked in a soft, placid voice.
Niel eased one leg over the back of the saddle and slid down into the drying mud.
“I think so,” he replied. He dabbed his tongue with his shirt, grateful there remained a tongue to dab and amazed to find no blood.
Arwin patted the animal’s shoulder. “Nice bit of horsemanship, friend.”
Niel shook his head. “More like beginner’s luck. I don’t know how I—”
He dropped the front of his shirt and stared at his wrist.
The bracelet.
Of course!
The charm he’d used had been from one of Biddleby’s old Canonic textbooks. He hadn’t bothered to specify it work only on water, simply that it help him keep his balance. It’d been a petty bit of magic, really, and its effects should have been equally modest. Apparently Niel’s invocation had been more potent than intended.
A large grin brightened his face.
“Care to share the joy?” Arwin asked.
Niel quashed his expression. “Oh, nothing. Happy to be in one piece, is all.”
Arwin raised an incredulous eyebrow.
“Suppose we should be getting back?” Niel asked.
The swordsman visibly considered pursuing the matter, then just as visibly decided against it. “In a moment.”
Arwin slid the bit from the horse’s mouth and gave another pat as the animal lowered its head to the water trough. “First, let’s see if Hallen hurt himself,” he said as he started for the barn. “And if not, let’s see what we can do about that.”
***
They arrived back at the room to find Peck cross-legged on the floor, a small pack made of black cloth splayed open in front of him revealing a bewildering assortment of vials, knives, and delicate-looking metal tools Niel did not recognize.
“Greetings, Lord Elder,” Peck said with a wink.
Niel smiled as politely as he could at being addressed so inappropriately. He presumed Peck meant it as playful, though likely offering a subtle snipe at the same time.
“Afternoon, Good Reverend,” he replied.
Peck rewarded him with a genuine laugh as he returned to his work. Even Caleen chuckled.
Arwin tossed his sheathed sword onto the closest of the beds. “How’s the axe, Jhar?”
“Merahves has it,” he replied. “Said she could fix it in three or four days.”
“You no doubt convinced her of your need for expediency.”
Jharal smiled, the same smile he wore while dragging Niel from the Inn to do who-knows-what to him. “She’ll have it ready first thing tomorrow.”
“Excellent.” Arwin turned to Peck. “And how were the donations this time around, Reverend?”
Without looking up, Peck pulled from his pack a fist-sized pouch—much larger than Niel would have thought the pack able to contain—and tossed it unerringly into Arwin’s hand. The pouch landed with a jangle of coins.
“The faithful were generous,” Peck said.
“Plus a nice-sized stone,” Caleen added, rolling between her thumb and forefinger a brilliant green gem larger than her eye. It reminded Niel of the colored rock candy Biddleby used to make.
“Where did you manage to find that?” Niel asked.
The question brought the others in the room to a sudden, awkward quiet, until Peck fluttered a hand toward the balcony. “Out there, of course. Just lying all over the place.”
Niel frowned. “Of course,” he said.
“Any reason we should leave town sooner than planned?” Arwin asked.
Peck looked up innocently. “Are we going somewhere?”
The jest made Arwin smile. “Well,” he said, “it so happens I was toying with the idea of a jaunt to the Gus after supper.”
Peck ticked a concurring finger at no one in particular. “Now that’s an idea worth being toyed with.”
Caleen flicked the gem back to Peck, who again pinched it easily from the air without looking. “Why in the world do you insist on going to that hole in-the-wall?” she asked.
“Been awhile,” Arwin said. “Plus, I think we could use a night out.”
“I’ll pass,” Jharal said from the back of the room.
“Don’t blame you,” Peck replied, “frightening as your lady friend is.”
Jharal’s growl was a distant but advancing storm.
“Then it’s settled,” Arwin announced with a clap of his hands. “Tonight, one last hurrah at the Gus before flinging ourselves headlong toward peril and prize.”
Niel tried to seem amenable. But an evening of drink with a band of thieves just didn’t sound like all that much fun.
12
The feather scratched unassisted across the coarse parchment, wagging and twirling, nimbly recreating the considerable volume of Thaucian’s handwritten notes. Ennalen’s eyes followed the nib, seizing up each word as it formed, pausing only long enough to provide the quill a fresh sheet when it stopped at the end of a page.
For more than a week she had pored over the Lord Elder’s research, and while she detested being cramped up again amongst books and scrolls, Ennalen had to concede the information created a certain intrigue. It seemed the Lord Elder had managed to decipher several key passages from the writings of Herahm the Mad. An impressive achievement, but like the assignment given to her, also steeped in coincidence: Herahm’s writings lay at the center of her own recent explorations.
When Herahm returned to the College following his infamous encounter with Uhniethi, he locked himself away in his rooms and refused all visitors. There he remained in seclusion, accepting only the writing materials he demanded night and day along with what bits of food could be stuffed beneath his door. When he finally emerged eighteen years later, Herahm, filthy and skeletal, offered a large, rotten grin to the attendant standing guard, and then fell over dead.
The late Lord Magistrate’s chambers had been packed so tightly with sheets of parchment that for him to exit it had been necessary to tunnel like a rodent from his desk to the doorway. More extraordinary than the mountainous mass itself was how that sides of every single page had been filled edge to edge with tiny, precise script. Though a number neatly marked each sheet, the contents were a discontinuous mayhem of arcane mathematics, illustrations both sublime and grotesque, poetry and prose in languages either archaic or unrecognizable, and minutely detailed diagrams all but impossible to follow. Even with the concerted efforts of
dozens of scholars, the hundreds of thousands of individual pages required years to be reassembled into their proper order. A popular joke at the time was if Herahm’s writings represented everything he might have otherwise said aloud in his final years, then thank the gods his tongue had been ripped out.
For a short while the intellectual community buzzed about Herahm’s great book. Back then, the College permitted academicians from all over the world access to its libraries. Professors, students, and artists made the trip to Fraal University to inspect Herahm’s work. But when the flood of pilgrims grew too deep and the accompanying scrutiny grew too uncomfortable, the Elders hid the books away and built College Gate to help cordon themselves off from the general public. The deluge of outside attention toward Herahm’s writings slowed to a trickle, and then practically to nothing at all.
In the centuries that followed, many within the Membership continued to grapple with Herahm’s work. Occasionally an especially resourceful or imaginative soul deciphered a minuscule portion, generating a temporary resurgence of interest that perhaps the key to unlocking the secrets of the remaining volumes finally had been discovered. However, over time the Energumen—as the tomes collectively and somewhat derisively came to be called—lost its intellectual allure even amongst magicians, relegating it to the status of historical novelty.
The pieces cited by Thaucian in his notes did seem to allude, albeit obscurely, to the Apostate. Most striking among them, a series of couplets written in an early, formal style Ennalen barely recognized from her literature courses:
Amongst you shall dwell a mage of none magic;
Amidst you shall ruin find retreat.
Upon you shall come a wielder of exile;
Upon you shall fall half his sight.
Behind one shall be bridged great chasms;
Behind many shall be bound leaf and sword.
A Mage Of None Magic (Book 1) Page 8
