SongMaster's Realm

by Wolfram Donat

  FIVE

  Fender awoke with a start to one of the palace attendants gently shaking him. It only took him a second to orient himself, and then he was fully awake. “You asked to be awakened when the patient regained consciousness, sir,” the attendant said softly. “He’s coming around slowly.”

  Fender sat up quickly. “Yes, yes… Good. Have you woken the Warmaster yet?”

  The attendant nodded. “He’s waiting for you outside the room.” Fender stood and followed the attendant down the hall. He had fallen asleep in the main palace after leaving word that he wished to be roused when the patient awoke. Gaen had left similar instructions and went to his own quarters. Fender hadn’t wanted to go back to his own tower, preferring to stay close to the patient. Ordinarily he would not have taken such an interest in a randomly injured person, but something about this case was bothering him. Apparently Gaen felt the same way.

  The attendant and the magician rounded a turn in the hallway and came upon Gaen pacing in the middle of the passageway. As soon as he saw Fender, he stopped. “Good. You’re here. The infernal doctor won’t let anyone in yet – I thought maybe you could talk to him.”

  Fender smiled. Gaen tended to be a little impatient when it came to dealing with civilians, and had probably managed to alienate the doctor within several moments of arriving. Fender, for his part, was used to Gaen’s rough demeanor, and was also used to smoothing the way when necessary for his friend.

  The doctor was standing a few feet away, making notes on a scroll. As the palace’s head physician, he had seen more than his share of death and injuries. Perhaps because of this, he was a grim man who tended to look upon the people around him as potential patients who had not yet gotten sick. For whatever reason, Fender never got sick, and this had the effect of making him one of the few people whom the doctor treated with deference. He looked up with an annoyed expression as Fender approached. “I already told the Warmaster that the patient is not well.”

  “I know,” said Fender. “If you will let us in to see him, I promise I will keep the Warmaster calm and quiet. But we do need to speak with him to find out what happened.”

  The doctor snorted. “He’s coming around, so you can see what you can learn from him. No telling what he’ll remember –he took some blows to the head. I’m actually surprised he’s in as good a shape as he is.”

  “Is he going to be all right, then?”

  “No telling. I have done all that I can for him. The rest is up to him. Either he will live, or he will die.” He rolled up his scroll, spun on his heel and stomped away, after a scowl in Gaen’s direction.

  Gaen returned the scowl at the doctor’s disappearing back. “His bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired,” he muttered. “If I’m ever injured on the field, better just leave me to die than to be treated by that old codger. The cure would probably be worse than the arrow in my gut.”

  Fender threw an arm around his shoulder and led him toward the patient’s room. “You know he’s just looking out for the patient. Now I promised you would be calm, so if you don’t mind, I will ask the questions in here.”

  The injured man sat up as the two men entered the room. A good portion of his body was in bandages, and his left arm was in a sling. All in all, however, he looked much better than he had the day before in the great hall. He was a young man in his twenties, with a long narrow face and brown hair just past his shoulders.

  “Good morning!” said Fender. “You look much better than you did yesterday. I am Fender Ponske, the court magician, and this is Gaen, the Warmaster. We wanted to look in on you, check on your progress and see if you could tell us what had happened to you.”

  “Good morning, sirs,” the young man responded. “My name is Colin. And thank you, I am feeling much better, thanks to the good doctor.” Gaen snorted. “I am employed by the Duke of Brin as a standard bearer. The Duke’s party was on its way to the Grand Council when we were attacked.”

  “Attacked?!” Gaen exclaimed. “By whom?” Fender turned to him and held up his hand, reminding him to remain calm. “Brin is in central Asria – a straight, uneventful journey to Beláin. There should be no goblins or mercenaries on that road. Who attacked you?” The Warmaster was struggling to keep his voice down.

  “I don’t know, sir,” answered Colin, “and that’s the weird part. They weren’t goblins, and they definitely weren’t human. Actually, I saw creatures that day that I’ve never seen before. My brother is assigned to the Western Brigades, helping to keep the border safe, so I’ve seen pictures of goblins and the like, and these things were unknown to me.”

  Fender stopped him. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?” he suggested.

  Colin nodded. “We left Brin a little over a week ago and had been making good progress, even with the rain slowing us down. We had a party of about fifty – what we normally bring to the Grand Council.

  “Like I said, it had been uneventful until three – no, four days ago. It is Threeday, isn’t it?” Fender nodded. “The Duke and five of his soldiers, including me, went off on a hunt while the rest of the main group made camp. We had tracked what looked to be a deer into a dense thicket, when the bushes exploded with monsters. I watched two of the hunting party sliced in half directly in front of me before I could get to my feet and run towards the Duke. I was no more than fifteen feet from him when a huge creature with four arms grabbed him, slung him over its shoulder and disappeared into the trees. I was going to give chase but something hit me from behind and everything went black. I don’t know how long I was out, but when I woke up and staggered back to camp, it was horrible. Everyone else was dead. I should be, too. I tried to save Duke Allegast, sirs, I really did!”

  Fender could see that the strain of retelling the story was wearing the man out. “I’m sure you did. It sounds like you are very lucky to be alive. Can you describe some of these monsters?”

  “Made of darkness, sir. Horrible. The one that grabbed the Duke was ten feet tall if it was a foot, with four arms and not much of a face. There were little ones that killed the men in front of me. They were black, with fangs and small, curved sabers and strange, metal-worked armor. And there was something in the forest that we couldn’t see, but it sounded like it was really, really big.”

  “All right,” said Fender. “Thank you for filling us in. Rest now. I’m sure the Warmaster here will detach a garrison towards Brin to investigate.”

  Colin slumped back, obviously exhausted, and closed his eyes. Fender turned to Gaen, made eye contact, and slipped out of the room. Gaen was close behind.

  “Well?” asked the magician.

  The Warmaster shook his head. “I don’t like it,” he growled. “Strange new monsters, on a road that hasn’t had mercenaries or any other problems for hundreds of years. We haven’t had any other reports of trouble, and now an entire political party is slaughtered. Yes, I’ll send a detachment of troops, but damned if I think it’ll do any good. They can pick up the pieces, if the vultures left anything behind.”

  Fender nodded. “Agreed, it’s been a long time and there’s probably nothing left, but perhaps there will be some clues as to the reason for the attack. Did you notice anything strange about what happened?”

  “Aye. Why was the Duke carried away, instead of being killed outright like the rest of them?”

  “Exactly. It almost seems like the entire attack was staged simply to capture the Duke. But why? Brin is a quiet duchy with no history of political maneuvering and no familial ties to the throne. What possible purpose could kidnapping him serve?”

  Gaen shrugged. “Too much speculation and not enough facts. I must get that detachment mobilized and inform the King what has happened.”

  “And I shall take to my books and see if I can discover what manner of creatures might have attacked our friend. I will search you out when I know more.” The two men set off in opposite directions, each intent on his task.

  * * * * *

  The cool light of morning
slipped through Joel’s eyelids and quietly woke him. He rolled over and groaned. It had not been a good night. There was a root sticking in the small of his back, and there were cramps in his neck and his right leg. Now I remember why I’ve never been much of a camper. Groaning again, he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

  Immediately J’Mart popped into view by his right shoulder. “Morning! Nice of you to join us! Sleep well?”

  Joel grimaced. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could get a cup of coffee, is there? That was a rough night.”

  The Ramiken smiled. “I think that can be arranged, once we locate Mr. Magic Man. He was meditating for a while on the hill, but now I don’t know where he went.”

  “So why can’t you make all these things appear, like a fire and coffee and all that? I thought you were magic?”

  J’Mart did a back flip and landed upside down against the tree trunk. “I already told you, I’m as magical as they come, but I don’t do the heavy lifting. I leave that stuff up to you wizard types.” He rubbed his nose. “Come to think of it, I haven’t conjured up anything in… Let me think… Three hundred sixteen years, four months, two weeks and seven hours. But who’s counting?”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” interrupted Joel. “What do you mean, ‘you wizard types’?”

  “Did you, or did you not, almost start a fire yesterday?”

  “I suppose, but -”

  “Without matches?”

  “Yes…”

  “You’re a wizard type. Before you know it, you’ll be turning girls into toads and setting your hair on fire. Not that I recommend either of those things, however.” He stuck a finger in his ear. “Now, setting girls on fire and turning your hair into toads – that could be interesting, but it’ll get you arrested on at least seven different civilized worlds…”

  Joel shook his head and walked away to find Massar, leaving J’Mart standing on the tree trunk, muttering something about setting toads’ hair on fire. He found the wizard on the other side of the small hill on which he had arrived the day before. As he walked towards the other man, he realized what had been subtly bothering him since he awoke. The rain had stopped.

  Massar nodded at him. “Good morning, Joel. I trust you slept reasonably well?”

  “Not really, no,” he responded. “J’Mart said to find you if I wanted some coffee, which I would, if it’s not too much trouble.” Without a word, Massar made a small hand movement and a steaming cup of liquid materialized in the air two feet in front of Joel.

  “Oh, bless you,” murmured Joel, and took a sip. It tasted like a dark roast, black but tolerable. As he interlaced his fingers around the cup to warm them, he looked inquisitively at the wizard. “Can I ask you some more questions?”

  “You may.” The wizard seemed more distant today than he had yesterday. He looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept for a long time.

  Joel, however, was determined not to be intimidated further by the dark man. “You look tired.”

  The other man shrugged. “A consequence of my using more power than perhaps was wise. I thought it necessary, however.” He did not elaborate further.

  “Did you make the rain stop?”

  “Yes, I did. I believed the rain was unnatural and was being used, in a very clever way, to keep us under surveillance. The power I used was, I think, justified, but also tiring.”

  Joel sipped his coffee as he considered the ramifications of the wizard’s response. “So I’ve been watched this entire time? And you and J’Mart?”

  The wizard nodded. “Quite possibly.”

  “Wonderful. Although I haven’t really done anything worth watching, I suppose. But I have some more questions about my music. You keep mentioning the dangers with magic. Is that something I have to worry about, now?”

  “Unfortunately, yes, to some degree. You are just beginning to learn about your power, so your power is limited and you will not attract much attention while you learn. But it something you should always keep in the back of your mind. As your power grows, so will your attraction to those creatures that feed on magic and its users.”

  “And how powerful do you think I could get? I can’t even light a fire! Hell, I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact that I can do magic!”

  Massar gave a small half-smile, his first of the morning. “That may be so for now, Joel, but there is a lot of power present in your music. You must learn the basics of controlling magic before anything else can happen. With J’Mart’s help and instruction, I don’t think it will be very long before you are amazing yourself with what you can do.”

  Joel shook his head. “We’ll have to see. So where do we go today?”

  Massar turned and pointed at the road that Joel had noticed the day before, cutting through the forest about two hundred yards away. “That road leads directly to Beláin, the capital city of the country you are in, which is called Asria. If you follow that road all the way to the end, it comes to the palace where King Peter lives, along with his magician, Fender Ponske. Fender shares the dreams you experience every night. If you go to him and introduce yourself, I think the two of you may be able to work together to find the Duran.”

  Joel started. “Wait a minute. You’re coming along, aren’t you?”

  The other man shook his head. “I regret I am unable to, for a host of different reasons. I shall leave you in the Ramiken’s capable hands, and if fate allows it, I shall be checking on your progress.”

  “Now wait just a damn minute! You told me the story, got me interested, played on my hero complex, transmogrified me over here or whatever the hell you did, and now you’re going to just up and leave?!” Joel was almost yelling. “I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going! How am I supposed to get anything done when I’m completely lost? I understood that you would be coming along to help!”

  The wizard’s face remained impassive, although the aura around him darkened perceptibly. Maybe I went a little too far, thought Joel. When am I going to remember that this guy’s a friggin’ wizard?

  Massar did not respond angrily, however. When he did speak, it was almost as one would speak to a child throwing a tantrum. “Perhaps you remember, yesterday in the park, when I told you how I was forbidden to meddle?” Joel nodded. “Whether you consider this ‘meddling’ or not, I have done as much as I can. It may be more than I should have done, but my conscience would not allow less.

  “I am sorry I cannot help you more, Joel, I truly am. But my hands are tied for reasons I can’t explain, and that is why I introduced you to J’Mart. Although he is madcap and irresponsible, he is also a powerful magical creature. I can’t stress enough how important that is. Let him teach you about the magic. I have not known you for long, but I have observed enough to believe that you are an honorable, principled man that I can trust to finish this task, even though it is a task that seems at first to be both daunting and hopeless. I do have faith in you.”

  A feeling of disbelief was settling over Joel. “Can you at least tell me how far away this ‘Beláin’ is?”

  “I can. You should be able to reach it tomorrow morning. Just follow the road that way.” He pointed east.

  Joel surveyed the horizon. The road was only visible for a few hundred feet before it disappeared beneath the canopy of leaves again, but it seemed to be fairly well-maintained. He could not see a city in the direction Massar pointed, but the horizon was still shrouded in clouds. He turned back toward the wizard.

  Massar was gone.

  Joel spun around, surprised, looking in every direction, including straight up, but there was no sign of the wizard. It was as if he had never been there at all, save the coffee cup still in Joel’s hands. Joel flung the cup on the ground and marched back to the tree where he had left J’Mart, cursing under his breath.

  The Ramiken was occupying himself with watching a sparrow that had nested in the branches of the tree under which they had camped. He looked up as Joel approached. “Those are some curious words you’re us
ing. What do they mean?”

  “Never mind – they’re not very nice words. Massar just disappeared.”

  “Oh, cursing, huh? Kind of like ‘mish-mish’ or ‘barnallis.’ Makes sense that English would have developed a few new ones since I heard it last. But that last one was really different. How do you pronounce it? G –”

  Joel cut him off abruptly. “Never mind. Didn’t you hear me? Massar just up and disappeared on us. Said we follow the yellow brick road down there and off we go.”

  J’Mart shrugged. “Okay by me. If you ask me, Mr. Dark and Powerful kinda cramps our style, don’t you think? It’s kinda like having your father around all the time – ‘Don’t mess with magic too much’ and ‘Eat all your vegetables’ and ‘Dammit, for the last time, stay away from the kur-kur bushes!’” He gave Joel a sheepish grin. “Anyway, where do we go from here?”

  Joel pointed at the road. “He said we follow that road east, and tomorrow morning we should be in Beláin. That’s where we look for another wizard named Fender who can help us take the next step.”

  “Beláin, huh? Cool! I haven’t been there in a few hundred years either. Wonder if Wanda is still working the… Never mind. I vote we get started. I’m not a big fan of walking long distances. It’s hard on my tootsies.”

  Joel resisted the urge to point out that the Ramiken never walked anywhere, always floating instead or riding on Joel’s shoulder. He was beginning to wonder where the little man had been for the last few hundred years, but assumed he would talk about it sooner or later. He busied himself with putting out the fire and cleaning up the remains of the campsite. When he was done, he shouldered his guitar case and set off toward the road and Beláin, J’Mart sitting on his shoulder.