by Thomas Locke
“Could we stay a bit longer, lad? There’s something I’d like to address.” But when they had resettled on their rock perches, all the wizard said was, “I don’t know if I’ve ever enjoyed anything quite so much as catching those fish. It is perhaps the first time in a thousand years that a Long Hall mage has practiced real magic beyond the safety of his confines.”
“You made a light for our departure,” Hyam pointed out.
“That I did, and it was as much for the wizards who watched as for us. They needed to understand the time has come to set the old ways aside.” He settled back upon the ledge. “All humankind faces a grave peril. One we do not yet understand. There are records, ten centuries old and forgotten by all save a handful of dusty old scholars like myself. They speak of the coming of the crimson foes. That was how we first observed the dreaded Milantian mages. As cloaked riders upon roan-colored steeds.”
Hyam felt his gorge rise, threatening to bring back up his meal. “I may have a plan,” he said, but the confidence he had felt within the Ashanta assembly was replaced by a cold and empty uncertainty.
“I’m counting on just that, lad.” The mage stroked his beard for a time, then asked, “Perhaps I should offer you fealty?”
“What?”
“I’m freed from my vows as Master. I need to earn your trust. It is a crucial step, and not just to feed my voracious curiosity. I am certain you need my help. I feel it in my bones. But first you must come to rely on me, as we must on you.” The mage’s eyes glowed bright. “So I am offering you my fealty. If you will have me.”
Joelle spoke from the fire’s opposite side. “I want to do this too.”
32
I, the wizard known as Trace, formerly Master of the Havering Long Hall, do hereby swear fealty to Hyam, Emissary to the Ashanta.”
The wizard had worked out the wording, pausing now and then for Hyam to offer corrections, but he had none. They had all been moved by the simple preparations, though done in haste. The words’ authority left Hyam awestruck.
The mage knelt in the loam in the cavern’s mouth. His words were smooth, his delivery fervent. “I pledge my allegiance, my life, my talents, my powers, and my wisdom to his safety and the accomplishment of his aims. What he commands, I shall do. To the utmost of my ability, to the very limits of my strength. With my dying breath, if it is required of me. From this day forward.”
The glade was filled with birdsong and the waterfall’s melody and the sun’s midmorning heat. Hyam gripped the sword given to him by the Ashanta. He tapped the kneeling wizard first on the right shoulder, then the left, then the right again. “Arise, Master Trace.”
The old man did so, bowed deeply, and said, “My liege.”
Hyam found his vision had grown unclear as he turned to where Joelle knelt. He stood and listened to her intone the same words. When she hesitated once, the old man kindly assisted her.
Hyam tapped her shoulders as well, settling the pale blade to either side of where her hair fell. “Arise, Lady Joelle.”
She started to object to his granting her a title, but the mage shushed her gently. She stood and bowed and said, “My liege.”
They stood there, the three of them joined by more than a few quietly uttered words. And then Joelle smiled at him. It was a small thing, scarcely a trace of change to her features. But the day and the events all shone brighter still. Hyam wished he knew some grand words to offer, but nothing came to mind except, “Thank you.”
Their response was cut off by a gasp from Joelle, who took a step back and said, “Someone is coming.”
Hyam whipped about, sword at the ready. “Where?”
She pointed at the empty sand beside the pool. “Someone is here.”
“I don’t want to go up again,” Hyam decided. “We need to head into the city, and the magic leaves me drained.”
“You want me to speak for her?” Joelle asked.
“It’s a woman?”
She settled upon the rock at the cavern’s mouth and studied the sunlit air above the pond. “She says she is your childhood friend.”
“Bryna.”
Joelle nodded. “The entire Assembly talks of little besides your growing power. She asks if you will speak about this.”
In response, Hyam walked into the cavern and returned with his satchel. He released the catches and pulled out the orb. It glowed soft in the daylight, the light pulsing, the bond unmistakable.
The awestruck wizard reached out one tentative hand. “May I?”
Hyam saw no reason not to pass it over. The wizard cradled the globe, then raised his rapt gaze to Hyam and said, “Thank you, my liege.”
Hyam nodded, glad he had done the right thing. He related how the witches had attacked, leaving nothing out, not even the shameful error of his being drawn blindly into their trap. The dog heard Hyam speak her name and came over to nestle by his side.
When he was done, Bryna said through Joelle, “All the Assembly thanks you for this gift of trust. They would like to ask another question.”
“Anything.”
“You say you can sense the lines of fire. Would you describe this?”
“I thought all Ashanta could do this thing.”
“Some can. A very few. After much training.” There was a pause, then, “They seek confirmation of your ability but mean no offense.”
“None taken.” He described the sensation, the depth of the river, the drawing up of power, the orb’s ability to transform and focus and emit.
When he was done, Trace breathed, “The legends come alive before my very eyes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Occasionally one of our mages claims to detect the river of force beneath our Long Hall. But not many, and fewer still are believed. It is one reason why wizards do not travel. The Long Halls were planted upon these living currents and spaced about the realm so that their protection was everywhere in case the threat returned. The orbs serve as conduits to this power. Certain simple acts of magic are possible without the orb to those gifted in mage-work. To hold our talent means the acolyte can tap into the inherent force that comes with life. But what you are saying . . .” Trace continued to stare at the orb. “Never in my life have I met another wizard capable of identifying the location of these earth currents.”
Hyam resisted the urge to correct the old man and declaim the title of wizard. Then Joelle intoned, “The Ashanta offer you trust for trust. Our treaty lands are placed where they are for the very same reason. Our Guardians hold the ability to draw upon this same force and cast certain spells. But it takes a number of them acting together, and never for very long. And very few of us can actually detect the rivers of power. One of our oldest legacies was this ability of the Ancients. That and the orbs are our only clear sign that they ever existed at all.”
Hyam asked, “You’re saying I’m somehow tied to them?”
“We do not know. Only that your heritage is hidden from us.” Joelle went silent for a time, then said, “They are all gone but the woman.”
“I say,” the wizard groused, “that’s rather abrupt.”
“It’s their way,” Hyam replied. “They speak no words of greeting nor leave-taking.”
Joelle went on, “Bryna wishes to tell you that the child you loved is fading. With the next full moon she begins her training, first as Sentry, then as Seer. At that time, the one you knew will vanish entirely.”
He had no reason to feel such a keen loss at the news. “I understand.”
“She desires to forge a new bond. One between the man known as the Ashanta emissary and the woman she will soon become, and through her with—” Joelle covered her face with her hands.
Hyam said as gently as he could, “Tell me the rest.”
“With me.” Joelle raised her tear-streaked face. “Bryna asks if she might become my friend.”
33
They set off again, only this time with the ease of close companions. Hyam’s distrust of everything to do with the
Long Hall was not erased. He simply no longer counted Trace as belonging to that group. The mage was right. He had never been more in need of allies.
When the trail widened and the main road came into view, Hyam asked, “What can you tell me of the nobles allied to House Oberon?”
“They are disgraced, one and all. Those who were not defeated in the wars against the new king.”
“What about your family?”
“Oh, they’re well enough. The clan’s fiefdom is too small and poor to be of notice. Besides that, my oldest brother is a ditherer. He has always found it easiest to postpone all decisions. For once, his inaction served the family well. The Oberons lost power before my brother answered the call to arms. He swore fealty to the new king and saw his holdings increase as a result. I keep in touch with my sister, who is wed to the former chief man-at-arms. A lovely lady with a fair hand at her letters.”
“How many Oberon allies survived the battles?”
“I have no idea.” Trace glanced down from the horse. He had been riding since they arrived at the forest’s verge. “Do you have a plan?”
“Maybe,” Hyam replied. “The tiniest fragments of one.”
They rode and walked and joined the flow. Master Trace slipped from the horse and waited while Hyam helped Joelle into the saddle. The dog was sufficient to keep other travelers well away.
The mage asked, “This sensing of the flow, it comes easy to you?”
“More than easy,” Hyam replied. “It feels natural.”
“Wonder upon wonder.” The mage tugged on his beard. “Those mages who can detect the power require much fasting and purges and trials. The practice is considered so difficult and so unprofitable, few accept the challenge. Why should anyone bother? It’s not like we’re going anywhere or establishing more Long Halls. After all, we possess all the surviving orbs.” He shook his head. “What utter buffoons we’ve been.”
“Which explains why your Long Hall was built on the wrong spot,” Hyam said.
“What?”
“There is a tiny rivulet of power beneath the settlement. A narrow creek.” Hyam could not suppress his grin. Nor did he try very hard. “And on the meadow’s other side, over where the forest begins, there is one of the strongest currents I have ever felt. That’s what I drew on when I captured your orb. And that is why I overpowered your mages.”
To his surprise, the old man cackled. “I hope you don’t feel any need to share this news with my fellow wizards.”
“Not particularly.”
“Oh, good. Let me.”
“You have a particularly nasty laugh, old man.”
The wizard cackled his reply.
The innkeeper was so relieved to see Hyam alive and safe that she actually wept a few tears. “Them nobles kept sniffing about, then they drifted off quiet-like. I was ever so afraid they’d caught up with your honor.”
“I’m here,” Hyam replied. “And I need your help.”
“Anything, your lordship. Long as it’s legal.” She revealed a surprisingly girlish smile. “And maybe even if it’s not.”
He waved Joelle and Trace over and introduced them as his trusted associates. “Whatever their request, whatever they need, I ask that you treat it as coming from me.”
“That’s certainly within my doing, good sir.” She glanced about. “But if you’ll excuse me for saying, these two won’t be enough to keep you safe.”
“I’m coming to that. But first I want to take over one entire wing of your good establishment.”
“That’s doable as well.” She gave a delicate hesitation. “Though the private wing holds five rooms on two floors.”
“I’ll take them. Strip two of beds and replace them with tables from your front room and some chairs. Next, and more importantly, do you have any connection with officers who once served in the company of disgraced houses?”
“You mean . . .”
“I’m after professional soldiers who have lost their postings and are looking for service. And I can pay.”
“You’ll trust men whose loyalty you can buy?” the mage asked.
“No,” Hyam replied. “I’ll trust soldiers who may never have another chance.”
There was no attempting to bar the banker’s door in Hyam’s face. This time, when he presented himself at the main portal, the financier himself scurried forward to usher him and his associates inside. He was mighty reluctant to discuss the matters at hand in the company of others. But this diminished when Hyam introduced the old man as his personal aide and secretary. When the banker’s gaze switched to Joelle, Hyam explained, “The Lady Joelle has been assigned as my attaché.”
The banker took in the purple cast to her eyes, and his aplomb vanished. “But . . . the Ashanta never travel.”
“That is all I will say on the matter,” Hyam replied. “Except that whatever these two ask of you, please treat it as coming from me personally.”
He looked from one to the other. “I shall need that in writing.”
“Give me parchment and quill and you’ll have it.”
When Hyam completed his task, the banker inspected the document, stowed it away, and declared, “I’ve received the most remarkable set of instructions. As has every other Ashanta financier in the realm, or so I’m led to believe.” He lifted a paper from his desk, adjusted his reading spectacles, and read, “‘Any and all requests for funds by the emissary Hyam shall be granted without delay or question. Any request for assistance will be treated in the same manner.’”
Hyam had no idea what was expected, so he simply said, “Excellent.”
The banker dropped the paper. “I suppose you realize this will make you the wealthiest individual in the realm. If that’s what you want.”
It wasn’t, but Hyam knew the man counted money as a measure of a man’s worth. “How much gold do you hold here?”
“Quite a lot, actually.” The words were accompanied by a hint of mocking humor. Clearly the financier felt a faint disdain for this rough-hewn lad with his two associates in peasant garb. None of whom had any idea of money. “How much do you need?”
“I’ll take two purses now. And either I or one of my associates will be by shortly for more. Now please shut the door.” When the banker had done so, Hyam said, “Tell me everything you can about this new king.”
Late spring rains set in that night and washed over them for the next three days. Hyam welcomed the rain like a farmer, knowing the season’s uncommon heat had parched the earth, even in a land as well-watered as this. He stood for hours in the inn’s gateway, sheltered beneath the stone arch. These were the first easy moments he had known since traveling to the Long Hall. It left him feeling almost guilty.
The innkeeper proved a strong and capable ally. The message he gave her was sent out quietly through the city, passed from one trusted friend to another. While they waited, Hyam ordered a tailor to fit them all out in a noble’s idea of traveling garb. All their outfits were to be trimmed in violet and bear the Ashanta seal sewn onto the breast.
Hyam asked Trace to continue instructing Joelle in the mage’s arts. “Our survival might depend upon it,” he declared. There was a moment’s silence, then to his relief both agreed.
They took their meals in the room they had turned into Hyam’s office. A fire burned in the grate, and their isolation was a comfort. Over dinner that night, Trace said, “It wouldn’t hurt for you to train some yourself, lad.”
He had a hundred reasons for declining, most especially how he reveled in these few quiet hours. And said so.
But Trace was insistent. “There are any number of reasons why you should heed my advice. Spells are shaped around a certain form, and the first aim of each is to keep the mage alive. The orb carries sufficient force to burn a wizard to a crisp. Your actions are astonishing because you do what has not been done before.”
“And survived,” Hyam pointed out.
“But for how long? And to what point? Would it not be better to understand the s
tructure behind shaping spells?”
Hyam disliked this invasion into his idle moment, but he said, “All right.”
The next morning, Trace started them on simple exercises used to train young wizards. For Hyam it was as senseless a task as watching the rain, but he did not mind, especially after Joelle lit up with unbridled delight at her every success. All that day she continually bathed them with her joy.
Twice the orb’s power faded to a dull hue, so Hyam walked away from the inn, along the riverbank to where he detected an underground current. Any onlookers would have merely seen a traveler out walking his wolfhound and tossing stones into the River Havering’s rain-dappled waters. The satchel Hyam carried was made bulky by the blanket he’d wrapped about the orb so that none of its gleam might be detected.
On the third night he dreamed of his mother. Not as she was in those final hard months, when all her attention was focused upon the unseen door. He dreamed of how she had been during his childhood. Calm and intent upon each chore in turn. A mage in her own way at the loom. Turning threads she dyed herself into fields of magical beasts that almost danced off the cloth, and often did in his mind. She was never one to scold, not even when he deserved it, which was often, for as a boy he had loved nothing more than testing his own limits.
The dream revealed her working upon the last of her tapestries. Only in this night, the horse cantered with rippling muscles across a field turned violet by the orb’s light. Hyam wore what he now recognized as the emissary’s garb. The orb rested atop a tall wooden lance, one fashioned so that it gripped the globe in a tight wooden fist.
His mother stopped in her work and turned to him, and said his name. Hyam. And in that single utterance he was returned to the joy he had known every time he had stepped through their cottage door. Knowing that here was a place where he would always belong.
