Human Mage: Book Three of the Highmage's Plight

by D. H. Aire

  “I understand. But you will take, uh, my blessings with you, of course.”

  Lucian sighed, “Thank you... If those blessings are anything like the runes warding the altar, then you will have given more help than anyone might have reason to expect.”

  Placing a comforting hand upon Lucian’s shoulder, the priest grinned, “Oh, how can I refuse? After all, I will be marrying you this very day. That young lady would never forgive me were I to forebear the Temple’s gift upon such an occasion.”

  Swallowing hard, Lucian weakly nodded. “About this wedding…”

  “Dad?!” Aaprin anxiously called from the other room.

  Lucian unhesitatingly rushed to him, noting that Irin had crept up to the archway, likely trying to overhear them.

  “Yes?”

  Irin came up to him, the aged human priest noted with some amusement. The young wisp of a woman frowned. The tension between Lucian and his fiancée was thick in uncertainly. That was often the case, he knew. Life was not easy in the Seventh Tier and marriage offered opportunities to better people’s lives.

  Smiling, the priest put his arms around Irin’s and Lucian’s shoulders. “Aaprin, it is good you are awake. I think these two art to marry this very morning.”

  Irin and Lucian both gaped, while Aaprin smiled crookedly, uncertain about a good many things, but if his father and Irin were in love he would not stand between them and happiness; he worried that matters couldn’t get much worse.

  Gallen still wondered at the task the priest set him upon as he carefully removed the well-worn jerkin from the “blessed” bag that Father Tem had provided that morning. Glancing left and right, the sun well risen into afternoon, he tossed his burden down the sewer access. The pants had found as unfavorable a new home in the bay. Whomever the hapless individual might be that the garments once belonged must be in serious trouble for the priest to resort to this mischief. Gallen hurried away from the scene, knowing the objects were now open to scrying. Alas, ill luck upon the seeker, the urchin thought with a grin.

  Gallen hurried across the Tier in search of the next place to leave the bag’s now remaining contents. He was happy to be able to help the priest and whoever the aged man had given his protection. The old priest gave his urchin Pack food and blankets whenever there was need. As Gallen rushed to complete his task and find a most particularly unpleasant repository for the shoes he could feel within the bag, he thought again of what he had seen at the taproom and worried about the missing girl, Irin, no less a friend than Father Tem.

  The bag under his arm began to feel oddly warm at the thought of her, which brought him up short. He just stood there a moment and stared at the bag, sensing the shoes within which called to his mind an image of Irin, an adolescent elfblood, and an elf with a crooked hand. It was Irin he was somehow helping. She was at the temple, he was suddenly certain. He redoubled his efforts. He soon found a disreputably covered well and tossed the shoes into it, then raced circuitously back toward the temple.

  Overhead a pale falc had idled, watching Gallen’s strange actions throughout the afternoon. It squawked, disgruntled at “hearing” the mental command to follow from her foster father’s computer staff. ‘Am,’ she squawked, a bit indignant.

  Lucian had fought to smile before ushering Irin out of the room, leaving the priest to remain at Aaprin’s side.

  In a terribly hushed voice, he rasped, “Joke’s over, Irin.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think he’d perform the ceremony, here and now,” she exclaimed just as quietly and no less shocked by the priest’s announcement that they would marry this very morning.

  “You don’t understand,” Lucian shook his head in frustration, massaging his crippled hand. “I can understand your wanting to get away from Rolf— especially after everything that’s happened, but this marriage business has got to stop.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” she whispered, wanting to scream at him.

  The priest paused in the archway, “You can talk as loudly as you want. I’ve placed a sleep charm upon Aaprin’s pillow. He’ll sleep more quietly now. Poor lad is thoroughly exhausted but afraid to give in to it. He’ll hear nothing more.”

  Lucian stared at him. “Tem, just what do you think you’re doing?”

  The priest looked at Irin, “Tell me, young lady, do you wish to marry him?”

  She swallowed, “I’m just a girl.”

  Father Tem shook his head, “That is no answer— especially here in the Seventh. Age has little meaning. People live their lives too fast to delay what happiness they may find. Girls younger than you are bearing their first child.”

  “Not in this District,” she harshly assured.

  “So naïve, lass... Rolf kept you well protected in that taproom of his. Even in this district such things occur, though, the marriages may be under duress. I do not officiate over such things, but the two of you do not strike me so.” She struggled to find the words to answer.

  “You’re not being fair, Tem,” cried Lucian. “Irin doubtless wants her freedom from her father. She grew up knowing me for a friend, then learned I was to be her tormentor. Rolf just threw her at me. After I’ve refused to play that role, she sees me as some kind of glamorized, rescuing, elf!”

  Father Tem saw Irin’s look of shame at Lucian’s words. “So, Rolf finally did it. Not enough to work you as stud in the name of helping those who were desperate to meet his price, if it meant leaving this place. He wanted you as stud for his daughter?”

  Lucian could but nod.

  “It seems you have, at last, forbore the role. Why, Lucian? Does your son out there need you less? What rationalization have you for acting as you have?”

  Lucian lowered his head and turned away.

  There were tears in Irin’s eyes as she tentatively reached out to Lucian. He brushed her reaching fingertips aside. “You don’t understand,” he replied. “You can’t even imagine the differences between us. I thought when I married… that marrying a human woman would be as nothing. I was in love, desperately in love. Yet… she died… died far too young. Do you realize that… even if she had not… then I would still have had to watch her die? I’ll be young for years and years— not even close to reaching an elvin natural span of years. To me, your existence is ephemeral. Even Aaprin, a halfblood, will out-live Irin and still appear young, when she is old and frail.”

  Irin wiped the tears from her face, stiffening. She understood, but the logic behind her joke felt… right. “You made a deal with my father.”

  With a groan, Lucian shrugged his shoulders, “I’m sorry, but it is madness!”

  “Do you still intend to fulfill that oath?” she rasped, eyes wide and seeming to blaze with intensity.

  “How can I answer that? If you wish it, then one day… when you are older…”

  “The priest seems to think me old enough. Would you fulfill that pledge here and now?”

  “No,” he replied firmly.

  The aged priest unconsciously nodded as Irin shouted at him, “Why?!”

  Lucian just as angrily shouted hack, “I care about you! I would not harm you so!”

  Irin settled back a step and turned to the priest, “Well, I hope you can help me find something more suitable than this cassock to wear as my wedding dress.”

  Lucian stood open mouthed in astonishment, while the priest laughed. “Oh, I’ll just go and see what I can do.”

  Tracking an Errant Witness

  5

  It was late in the afternoon when Terhun returned just as Balfour and Cle’or entered the waiting coach. Three dwarves accompanied them, axes strapped across their backs.

  While the Imperial Guards stationed there watched, two climbed up next to the disconcerted driver, and the third chose to perch atop the coach roof.

  “Je’orj awake yet?” Terhun called to the elfhlood healer about to leave in the waiting coach.

  “Yes, though, I advised otherwise,” Balfour replied grimly peering out from the coac
h window as his dwarven bodyguards climbed aboard. “I hope you have good news for him.”

  Smugly, Terhun nodded, “Of that we shall see. Where are you off to?”

  “Call it a commission.”

  Terhun’s eyes widened slightly, “Then I fervently wish you the utmost success.”

  Balfour nodded faintly as Cle’or knocked upon the ceiling. The coachman slapped the reins, sending the coach toward the gate.

  Terhun thought the dwarves guarding the estate looked rather menacing, today armed with their hammers and, he blinked, shovels. As he approached the entrance, Se’and opened the door and gestured him to enter. “Lord Je’orj has been expecting you.”

  Chuckling, Terhun half bowed, “Lady, what the man asked did not come cheaply. Such matters normally take a great deal of time.”

  “Then I should think you have returned rather quickly, which I hope does not bode ill,” she replied as the Lyai’s spy entered the house.

  George, his staff ablaze in his cradled hands, muttered seemingly to himself, “Understood.”

  Fri’il and Me’oh were silently watching the human mage, who abruptly sat back with a sigh. He immediately turned to meet Terhun’s gaze. “Well, do you have it?”

  “Such a welcome, my friend,” Terhun chuckled, reaching into his tunic and withdrew a scrolled parchment, “This cost me a hundred Gold Imperials.”

  With a guffaw George shook his head, “Seventy-five.”

  Terhun coughed and suddenly hedged, “Well, I’ve got to make something on the deal. The Imperial Service encourages us to spend from our own purse rather than theirs, as often as we may.”

  His gaze alight, reflecting the staff’s now wan glow, George grinned. “And the other matter we discussed?”

  “Still working on it. So far, no luck. But, for my contacts, it’s only a matter of time.”

  Peering at the parchment, George nodded and half mumbled, “Se’and, pay the man his one hundred— for the Imperial Service’s sake, of course... Not precisely what I was hoping for, but the fact it could be purchased suggests very interesting things.”

  Rolling up the parchment, George asked Se’and Fri’il to have the coach brought around. “Terhun, don’t take too long a break while I’m gone. That other task is critical.”

  “Aye, milord,” Terhun replied, his eyes greedily gleaming as Se’and counted out the coin for him, her obvious displeasure reflected in her attitude.

  Balfour entered the grounds with a sense of familiarity that brought a silent pang. His uncle awaited them by the main entry, a stalwart human guard informing them that they could now proceed.

  They nodded as Master Ofran and an elder servant led Balfour and Cle’or to the stricken Highmage. Carwina sat at her father’s bedside and turned not at all as they entered. Master Ofran quietly went to Carwina and whispered, “You will have to leave him for a time.”

  She shook her head, “I’ve permitted this. That doesn’t mean I have to like it. I’m staying.”

  Uncomfortably, Balfour watched her rise and move to the window, never for a moment meeting his gaze. Cle’or took the woman’s full measure. So, it seemed as Me’oh had surmised.

  Balfour approached his patient and frowned. The Highmage seemed to be encased within the depths of the night sky. His body was scarcely visible; something Ofran had remarked had been growing markedly more noticeable of late.

  It was almost mesmerizing to look down at the man embodied by the Gate, which was his charge as its Guardian. Stars twinkled across the galaxy, their light silhouetting the frail figure. A drop of blood seemed poised to drip from one of his uglier clawed lacerations left from the wyvern’s attack as he fled the Gate’s antechamber after summoning Je’orj from Earth. Balfour could feel the suspension that apparently had slowed time, infinitesimally, around the embraced Highmage.

  Warily, Balfour closed his eyes and mentally reached out to the fatally wounded elf. Stars and night flooded his perceptions and, for a dizzying moment, he fought to reach Alrex to heal what damage he might be able.

  His last impression before the stars seemed to explode within his mind was of Alrex opening his eyes with a wistful smile. He even thought he heard the mage mutter, “No, lad, my time is nearly done. Save your skill for what is to come.”

  The falc settled upon the temple roof, glancing at the sun edging toward the horizon. Its feet tingled, feeling the presence of the wards. The belfry posed the quickest means of entry. With a flapping of wings, the black crested pale falc swooped beneath the bell and shimmered.

  A naked girl rested where a moment before the bird had been. There was a mental touch. She closed her eyes and answered, then a sense of it being out of reach. With a

  sigh, she grasped the handle hard and yanked. The rusted latch broke and down the wooden ladder she climbed, uncertain of what she would find.

  The old priest had been coming up the back stair when he heard voices, which gave him pause. Cautiously, he peeked into the sanctuary and noted the strangers.

  Beside him something dropped softly to the floor. He stepped back and gaped at the black-maned tawny furred beast. He blinked in surprised recognition, then whispered, “Hmm, welcome to the Temple of Unity.”

  Raven canted her head and padded closer to the entry to the temple, proper, yet kept to the shadows. The priest frowned, moving to listen as well. Raven backed away, padding quickly down the stairs as the priest straightened his cassock and marched into the sanctuary.

  Raven picked up Aaprin’s scent and followed it until she reached a warded doorway. She sniffed at the lock and concentrated, shimmering ever so slightly. There was a quiet click. Shouldering the door aside, she entered.

  Her flesh tingled as she passed through the wards, which glowed as they sought to bar her way. With a shake of her maned head, she shimmered again. Now in the room, rising on her haunches, she completed her change. Now a naked girl, she saw the startled stares of the elfblood boy, an older elf, and a very young woman. “Aaprin,” Raven sighed, “you in trouble.”

  He swallowed as his father and Irin gaped. “Tell me about it.”

  Gallen had entered through the rear entrance and began crossing the sanctuary, wondering if he were mad. “Father Tem!” he called.

  “He doesn’t appear to be here, lad.”

  Gallen spun. A cowled stranger rose from his seat in the pews. “Perhaps, we can wait together.”

  “Uh, I don’t think so,” Gallen replied, quickly turning back toward the doors, but found his way blocked by another cowled figure. When he glanced left, there stood another.

  “Oh, do sit down. I am quite interested in that activity the priest seemed particularly intent you accomplish for him today.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Gallen replied.

  The stranger shook his head, “Child, I don’t particularly want to hurt you, but I most certainly will learn the answers to my questions.”

  Father Tem swallowed, casually walking up to the altar. All eyes immediately trained on him. “Priest!” one stranger shouted, as two of his elvin companions rushed toward him.

  The priest squinted, raising a hand to his ear, “Who’s there?”

  Gallen immediately shouted, “It’s me, Tem!”

  “Congregants!” Tem shouted, casually touching the altar, and its framing runes. They flared. The temple burst with light, blazing in reflection of the altar.

  The nearest figure struck the altar’s invisible perimeter and fell back, stunned.

  “Ooh, that must have smarted,” muttered the priest. “Gentlemen, if I were you, I would be a bit more respectful of the fact that you stand on sacred ground.”

  Gallen had taken several steps back during the confusion, yet the leader of the group had moved quickly to forestall his escape. “Priest, we mean you no harm!”

  Tem frowned, “I will so inform my superior.”

  Frustrated, the figure lowered his cowl. Gallen stared at the elvin face, “We seek answers, Priest. Lord Senas
on has been murdered. There is a lad… a mage’s apprentice. His father lives in this district. I believe he came to you for help.” Pointing at Gallen, “Your effort to help conceal his whereabouts using this urchin to scatter his clothing may help. There are likely those who would do the lad harm. We are not among them.”

  Father Tem shook his head, “I know nothing of what you speak.”

  The elflord trembled in anger, “Priest, my friend and liege is dead. The lad is the only witness. We would see him safely to the Empress!”

  Gallen struggled to think of a way to break the tableau before him. The elflord, Sianhiel, began to chant a spell, which made the priest hurry to touch the altar runes in a particular order. Lightning flashed before the altar.

  “Priest, tell me where to find the boy!”

  The altar glowed preternaturally. The aged human straightened, “Do not mistake the powers inherent in the Unity, Elfbrother”

  Lightning peeled from the elvin mage’s hands as he chanted his spell. Gallen and the other elves dove for safety. The urchin struggled to watch from behind a pew as bolt after bolt shot at the heart of the altar, only to be deflected harmlessly away. “Would you rend the very world?” asked the priest mildly.

  “Tell me where he is!” raged the elf.

  “Right here.”

  Lucian stood beside his son, a young woman in a matching robe, hardly more than a girl at their side. The elf lowered his hands, his companions cautiously rising.

  “Aaprin Summerfelt, at last,” the elflord said.

  The lad looked up at his father, who shook his head and said, “Not so fast, Sianhiel.”

  “We mean the lad no harm, cousin. You have my word that we will protect him.”

  Canting his head, Lucian raised his crooked hand, “Your word? You threatened me. You would have used my son to spy for you. “

  Sianhiel shrugged, “And I was right! Look what has happened! His own master murdered Senason!”

  “Did he now?” replied Lucian as the other elves warily took the three of them in tow and ungently brought them across the room, while both Gallen and the priest looked mutely on.