Seeker of Magic

by Susanne L. Lambdin

  “I don’t understand why you don’t believe me, Hawk,” his sister said. “I was right about being captured by pirates, and I was right about being rescued by Rook, and I’m right about the Wolfen.”

  “If I’m such a bad brother, then maybe you should have gone with Master Osprey,” Hawk said, but he immediately changed his attitude. “Did you dream about the Raven Clan, too? You know something. Will Osprey and the clan reach Eagle’s Cliff? Tell us if you know.”

  Taliesin felt sorry for Wren. Hawk had a strong influence over his sister, more so than Rook, and she pictured the girl as a bird trapped in a cage.

  “I have only dreamed about Wolfgar,” Wren said, sounding embarrassed.

  “Horse manure.” Hawk downed his ale. “You dreamed the guy has fangs, and now you all think he’s a werewolf. I don’t know what you think you saw, Taliesin, but until I see one change in front of me, I can’t believe any of this.”

  Rook made a gesture at Hawk that caused the young man to look greatly offended. He reached out and placed his hand on Wren’s shoulder. Wiping tears from her eyes, Wren gazed at the mute with undisguised love. Taliesin was touched by the return look Rook gave the girl and, when he placed his hand over hers on top of the table, in plain sight, she wondered if the door to Wren’s birdcage had finally opened.

  “Rook thinks you are foolish,” Wren said, angrily. “The people of the Isle of Valen avoid the mainland and keep to the sea because of their fear of werewolves.”

  “Werewolves can’t swim?” Hawk laughed without humor. “Look, I know the Wolf Pack is intimidating, but these guys are not supernatural creatures. I killed a Wolfman at Raven’s Nest with my steel cutlass. The one in your room chewed off his tongue and choked on his own blood. He died right in front of both of us.”

  The innkeeper was listening. Taliesin gave him a stern look. The man grabbed a glass and wiped it with a dirty rag, but she knew he was paying attention. Giving Hawk a fully-detailed picture of what happened no longer seemed prudent, not unless she wanted wild rumors to get out…and that was the last thing she wanted. Rook, however, had plenty to say and moved his hands in front of him, his gestures eloquent but frantic.

  “There are many supernatural creatures in the world people claim do not exist,” Wren said, translating for Rook. “Things that swim in the oceans or live in the mountains, hiding away from the world. Werewolves used to come out only at the full moon, but Rook says they are evolving, like many creatures that now walk on land instead of swimming in the ocean.”

  Reaching behind her, Taliesin picked up the red leather scabbard, pulled out the silver sword, and placed it on the table. The hilt was plain, lacking Mandrake’s usual engravings, and had not even a pommel stone. Rook handed her a cloth and she cleaned the blade, rubbing it to remove all traces of blood.

  “This sword was used by a Knight of Chaos. I found it at a battlefield, but I know it’s a Mandrake; I recognize his work. When I used it on the Wolfmen, I was able to slice right through them like a piece of cheese, and they stayed dead afterwards. Call me crazy, but I believe this sword has magical properties I somehow summoned. Wolfgar called me a witch, and well, maybe that’s what I am.”

  “I don’t know why you worship Mandrake,” Hawk said, watching her. “How do you know he forged this particular sword? I see no marking, and I never heard Mandrake forged magical swords. He was born fifty years ago, Taliesin, long after magic was outlawed, which means your sword isn’t magical. You were just frightened at being caught off-guard, and you killed a few men, that’s all there is to it.”

  “Mandrake always marked his swords with his personal emblem,” Taliesin said, turning the sword over and pointing out the small icon. “Each has a small winged dragon holding an ‘M’ etched where the blade meets the crossguard. Finding one is very rare, and I found one, so don’t argue with me. I know my business, Hawk. And I know this sword is silver and killed those things dead.”

  “Fine. Whatever you want to think. But I bet you don’t know Mandrake was commissioned to make five swords for the sons of King Frederick.” Hawk brushed a lock of black hair from his eyes and laughed when she looked surprised. “Five silver swords for Almaric, Dinadan, Galinn, Konall, and Sertorius. Pity your sword isn’t engraved with one of the prince’s names. I suspect Mandrake was killed before he finished the job, but that still doesn’t mean your sword is magical. Nor does it have a name. The sword is not that special.”

  “It is to me,” Taliesin said, defensively. Hawk could be stubborn as well as stupid at times. Silver swords were valuable, regardless of the swordsmith, and the weapon had value. “And I bet you didn’t know magic swords are named to represent their powers, like Doomsayer, and it was certainly magical. You saw what happened when I picked it up.” She set aside the rag and slid the sword into the scabbard. “That’s why I’m now going to call this sword Wolf Killer, for it has a thirst for Wolfen blood.”

  “Whatever. I think you’re all drunk,” Hawk said, rising to his feet. “I’m going to see if Grudge has arrived yet.”

  Taliesin watched Hawk walk across the room. She hadn’t noticed a hooded man in the corner of the inn, drinking ale, but she did when Hawk opened the door. The man’s hands were wrinkled and speckled with age spots. He looked harmless. An old, yellow dog sat beneath the table, looking no more aggressive than its owner. The innkeeper’s wife went over and set a boiled chicken in front of the customer, cut it into small bites, and then started to feed him with her own hands. Taliesin looked again and realized the old man’s hands were crippled with age and unable to hold a knife and fork. Small bits were given to his dog as well.

  Taliesin remembered what Hawk had told her, about the old man who had drawn the map to where the sword was. She couldn’t shake the feeling the old man sitting in the corner was the same one Hawk had met. Unsure, she made a point to remember to ask Hawk later.

  “Why do you favor Mandrake over any other swordsmith?” Wren asked.

  “Because John Mandrake was my birth father,” Taliesin said. Rook and Wren looked surprised. “On the night my father was murdered, Master Osprey appeared and took me away. I don’t remember much about my childhood, but I remember we lived in the shadow of Tantalon Castle. My father stayed up late at night, hammering away at his anvil, and taught me how to recognize the quality of each swordsmith. He told me in the days of magic, sorcerers were hired to place spells on swords, and that wasn’t that long ago. Hawk can think what he likes, but I do know what I’m talking about because Mandrake is my true father.”

  Hawk returned. “Did I hear right? You? Mandrake’s daughter?” He laughed until he turned bright red and tears welled in his eyes. “You’re nobody. We’re all nobody. Next Rook will be telling me he’s the son of an island lord, and will one day inherit a vast fortune and a throne of his own. I might as well say I’m a pirate prince and Wren is a pirate princess.”

  “I don’t care what you believe, Hawk. I am John Mandrake’s true daughter. That’s why I can identify swords so easily, that’s why I have a knack for finding only the best ones on any battlefield, that’s why Osprey took me in, and that’s why you asked me to come with you to find Ringerike.”

  Hawk sat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I believe you. About everything. I can’t help being the way I am. You might as well know Wren and I come from a small fishing town in Erindor. Our father had an apothecary shop. My mother died when I was born, and our father remarried a healer. Wren knows the name of every herb and the uses for them.” He touched the dangling pearl hanging from his earlobe. “We were only with the pirates for a few months before we managed to escape one night when we came into port. We swam to shore and hid in a cave, and that’s where we met Rook.”

  “Rook is from the Isle of Valen,” Wren said. She made it sound like it was the dreamiest place in the world. “His father was an important man, and they did live in a palace. I’m not sure why he decided to leave; he never said, but thanks to Rook we made it to Raven’s Nest.”
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br />   “A very touching story,” replied a deep, growling voice. Everyone looked to the entrance as the tall, imposing figure of Grudge came in through the door. He appeared unharmed, a bit worse for wear, and he’d apparently washed off most of the muck outside in the horse trough, for he was still damp about the ears.

  “Grudge!” Taliesin went to kiss him. “You had us worried. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Grudge said throatily. He took off his cloak, tossed it over a chair, and sat at the end of the table. “You started drinking without me. Well, there’s still time for me to make a toast.” Rook pushed a tankard of ale toward him. “Innkeeper, bring me whatever was in these bowls—smells like beef stew. Bring me a big bowl.”

  The innkeeper sent his wife over with a pitcher of ale and a bowl of stew. The old man and his dog were no longer in the corner; Taliesin wondered where they’d gone, but she soon forgot about them. Grudge eyed the food, picked up a spoon, dug in, and ate quickly. He dipped chunks of bread into the bowl and consumed his meal in seconds, then he reached for his tankard, downing it just as fast.

  “I suppose none of you noticed the silver talismans hanging outside the inn,” Grudge said. “Wards off werewolves. That was a narrow escape. Tonight I intend to get drunk and sleep very soundly.” He refilled his tankard.

  “You were not harmed?” Wren inquired.

  Grudge gave her a comforting smile. “No, my little Wren, I was not harmed,” he said. “But I think it’s time we took a look at that scroll, Taliesin. Let’s see what the Wolf Clan is so eager to obtain. Put it right on the table and everyone gather around.”

  Turning, Taliesin reached into her pack, pulled out the wooden cylinder, and faced the table as she unscrewed the cap. She pulled out a rolled parchment, which she laid on the table and spread open. It lay flat without curling up, which Taliesin found quite strange. Hawk leaned forward, trying to reach for the parchment, but Grudge came around to stand behind Taliesin and knocked his hand away.

  “It’s just an old piece of parchment,” Hawk said, disappointed. “Why would Wolfmen want a blank piece of parchment? This makes no sense at all.”

  “Hush,” Taliesin said. She leaned over and peered at the parchment as a tiny line appeared. More lines appeared, making a pattern. “Interesting. It’s a map. A fully-detailed map of the realm.” She leaned aside, letting the others get closer looks. “Do you see how the lines are moving? It’s as if the map is deliberately changing land formations. I can’t imagine why, but I can tell you this map has dark magic—I can almost smell it. Can’t you?”

  “It’s a Deceiver’s Map. That’s why it’s playing tricks,” Grudge said. He was excited. He pointed out the dukedom of Aldagar, which was now visible. “Not many were made, and they are very rare. Only those trained in magic or natural-born witches can read them. I happen to have been trained to read magic scrolls. This is us, right here, smack dab in the middle of the plains of Aldagar. See these little red stars that seem to appear at random positions on the map? I bet each represents something of importance, waiting to be found.”

  “I wonder who was carrying this at the Battle of Burnlak.” Taliesin said. “The Eagle Clan knows Wolfgar is working for Prince Sertorius, and the prince is headed north. But is he? I suspect both Sertorius and Wolfgar are after Ringerike. If they are, then you can bet the Eagle Clan is as well, and that’s why everyone came to Raven’s Nest looking for it. They just wouldn’t admit what it was because they were afraid I’d go after the sword.”

  “That means they are all looking for you now,” Wren said.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Hawk replied. “Everyone must believe you really are a witch, Taliesin, and they certainly believe you have the Deceiver’s Map. It certainly is better than what I was given; at least I think it is, because I still can’t see a damn thing.”

  “It’s better.” Taliesin smiled. She remembered the old man who had been sitting in the corner moments before. “There was a man here earlier, an old man, but he vanished when Grudge came in. Did you get a look at him, Hawk? Was he the same man who drew you the map?”

  Grudge, Hawk, Rook, and Wren looked at the corner. The old man and his dog were gone, but his dirty plate and tankard remained on the table. Hawk walked to the table, sniffed around, and returned. “Nothing,” he said. “I thought maybe there would be a clue or something, but it must be your overactive imagination, Taliesin.” She glared at him but said nothing more on the subject.

  “King Morgus rounded up the witches and sorcerers two hundred years ago,” Grudge said. “All known magical weapons were collected and destroyed, or disenchanted if they belonged to a noble family. It is widely believed there was no more magic left in Caladonia. The only ones left practicing magic are phony soothsayers and gypsies, and even then, they have to stay one-step ahead of the hangman’s noose. Magic is outlawed, and this map is a dangerous item to have.” He lifted his tankard. “But I’m glad we didn’t burn it. I can read it well enough, but I can’t control it. I don’t have any magic. You do, Taliesin. You must.”

  Wren looked offended. “I’m a soothsayer,” she said. “I have visions.”

  Grudge laughed and set his drink on the table. “Can’t say I’ve met a soothsayer before, but you must take after your mother. Magic is usually handed down on the maternal side; your skills will be helpful, as well.” She smiled at him. He pointed to a star that appeared on the left of the map. “See this, Taliesin? I’ll venture a guess this star indicates the exact location of where we are headed. It’s in the middle of the Salayen Desert, and could be where we’ll find Ringerike. We’ll have to pass through Aldagar to get there, although I’m not sure if Duke Volund has sided with the king.”

  “We are still going,” Taliesin said. “I want Ringerike.”

  Grudge’s dark eyes found Taliesin’s in the firelight. “You realize if Sertorius gets his hands on that sword, no one can stop him from claiming the throne. He’ll be invincible.”

  “I thought Sertorius supported his brother Almaric,” Taliesin said. “Or is that not true either?”

  Grudge shrugged. “Can’t say for certain.”

  “The trick is not to get caught,” Hawk said, sitting on the bench. “I’d say that’s reason enough for a toast. Let’s drink to good fortune.” He grabbed his tankard. “Well? Lift your mugs, my friends!”

  Everyone tapped their tankards and drank. It tasted so good to Taliesin that she finished it off and refilled it to the top. She was excited and frightened. That combination, and her luck at finding the very map they needed, made her indeed feel magical.

  “Let’s not get too carried away here,” Grudge said, always the downer. “Deceiver’s Maps were made with dark magic. I’ve read my fair share of books on the subject. Books on magic are just as hard to find. But I read something about these types of maps, and I know they can’t be trusted. You have to be able to control magic to use it accurately. It will take some practice, Taliesin. I think you have a better chance than Wren. Her magic is different from yours.”

  “So, the map will lie to us?” Wren asked. Grudge nodded. “That’s not good.”

  “My finding this map is not a coincidence,” Taliesin said. “Someone planned for me to find it.” She put her hand on the map, and the images vanished. “No more games, Grudge. Who were you before you joined the Raven Clan? You know too much to be a mere thief. Are you a spy working for the king?”

  “You’re very demanding,” he said. “What do I get out of it?”

  “I told you before what you get in return,” she said, hoping Grudge wanted her enough to tell the truth. “Everyone else has revealed their past this night. It’s your turn. Who are you, Grudge? Why did you leave Fregia to come here? I know that’s where you come from, but I don’t know what you did there. Farm boys don’t learn magic, and sheepherders can’t handle a sword the way you do. You must have been a sword-for-hire. Is that it?”

  “That’s right,” Grudge said, hunching over his ale. “I�
�m really a man of many trades, but what I want is to grow old, fat, and rich, and die with grandchildren seated at my feet.”

  “Rich and fat,” Hawk sighed. “I’ve always dreamed of being rich.” He placed a finger against the side of his nose. “Maybe we’ll find Trembler. The sword was made for Landau the White, a master sorcerer who would fly into the rooms of the prettiest women and seduce them at night. I’d like to find that one. Wealthy and well-loved, oh yes, that’s for me.”

  “Landau drowned, by the way,” Taliesin said, unimpressed with Hawk’s knowledge of magical folklore. “He took the sword with him to the bottom of the sea. Flying isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. For someone who didn’t believe in werewolves an hour ago, you certainly are gobbling this up. Grudge, you still haven’t told me anything I didn’t already know about you. Guess you’ll be sleeping alone tonight.” She rolled the map up, grabbed her sword and saddlebags, and stood. “I’m calling it a night, folks. You should do the same.”

  Heading to the bar, Taliesin glanced at the innkeeper as he stepped forward. “You can have any room upstairs, ma’am,” the man said. “Just don’t pick the one at the end of the hall. Old Viktor has that room, and his dog has fleas. Any other room will do just fine.”

  “Who is Viktor?” Taliesin asked. “You know him well?”

  “Just a peddler,” the innkeeper said. “He comes through now and then. He’s not a werewolf. Heard you talking. Wolfmen aren’t allowed here. Don’t like them.”

  Climbing the staircase, Taliesin noticed cobwebs in corners and dust on the old paintings hanging at odd angles, showing the innkeeper’s wife to be a lazy maid. She picked the third door on the left and opened it, revealing a modest room with a large, puffy bed and one window with closed shutters. She set the candle on a small table and tossed her gear onto a dusty, red-velvet chair. She placed the map into the pouch on her sword belt, kicked off her shoes, and sat on the bed. Someone had recently laid out clean sheets, and the top blanket smelled like soap. As soon as she’d removed her clothes and gotten herself situated beneath the blankets, the door opened, and Grudge stuck his head in.