Seeker of Magic

by Susanne L. Lambdin

  “You’re not angry with me?”

  “Not in the least. I love you,” he said. “Sweet dreams, my dear, sweet friend.”

  She rose and left his tent, wondering what manner of man he really was. If she were to judge by his actions, his tactics had been neither seductive nor threatening; he’d asked nothing of her, wanted nothing more than to renew their friendship, and had let her go. However, if he really wanted her to give him the sword and help him claim a throne, winning her friendship and trust, by not toying with her heart or mind, might be part of his strategy. Then again, he might actually be a man of his word, and mean precisely what he had said.

  Taliesin slipped into the tent, removed the raven feather from her pocket, and placed it on Zarnoc’s chest as he slumbered. “Here is your feather,” she said. “If your powers are great enough, give wings to our horses, little wizard, and in the morning, we’ll fly to the Cave of the Snake God.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Birdsong and a gentle breeze rustling the tent flaps awakened Taliesin. She lay between Jaelle and Wren, who were both still asleep. Rook’s soft snores mingled with Zarnoc’s, which whistled through his nostrils, and Hawk lay on his stomach, his face buried beneath a pillow, twitching every now and then. She lay quiet for a few minutes and listened to the grumbling camels and the Djarans cooking breakfast over small campfires. She became aware that Wren had opened her violet eyes and stared at her.

  “I dreamed about you and Sertorius.”

  “And?” Taliesin grinned. “Do I want to know?”

  “Had you stayed with him last night, he would have formally proposed this morning. I had a clear image of a gold crown on his head and one on yours; both of you were standing in front of a throne with every noble, knight, lady, priest, and magic-user kneeling before you. Do you desire to marry the prince?”

  Taliesin wiped sleep from her eyes. “Propose?” Clearly, she hadn’t heard right. “That’s madness, Wren. I just met him again...marriage is the last thing on my mind,” she said. “I’m flattered, but I would have turned him down. I do not want to marry, nor do I want a crown.”

  “Roland was in my dreams as well.”

  “Okay, now I am curious,” Taliesin said. Curious because she cared.

  Wren pushed herself onto her elbow and kept her voice low so the others weren’t awakened by their conversation. “The Eagle legionnaires were in a long line, the mountains at their back, and faced an enemy cloaked in shadow. I do not know who they fought, or if Roland lived or died,” she replied. “But I saw a bright light and hundreds of corpses lying face down. One moved, then another, and they turned into giant wolves. Roland was among them.”

  The implications of the girl’s dreams, Roland turned into a Wolfen and, least of all, Sertorius’ unexpected proposal, left her too troubled to comment. Taliesin slid into her boots and left the tent. She crouched at the water’s edge, a light breeze on her face, washed her face and hands, and used a small twig to brush her teeth. The Djarans were cooking, saddling their mounts, or standing around smoking pipes and talking to each other in hushed voices. None seemed interested as Taliesin checked on Thalagar. A snort from the black stallion caused Taliesin to slide her arms around his neck.

  “Morning, boy,” she said. “I hope you feel like flying today. You’re going to be turned into a bird, I believe, unless Zarnoc can attach wings to a horse. Would you like that?”

  The horse snorted again and gave a shake of his head. The replacement for Zarnoc’s missing mule stood on the other side of Thalagar. The sturdy Brennen roan would suit the wizard far better than a mule; though she knew Zarnoc was fond of Jenny, a stubborn mule seemed dangerous in the air.

  “You’re up bright and early,” Jaelle said, appearing beside her. She held two cups of strong coffee and offered Taliesin one. “The one thing I like about Djarans is their coffee. It’s hot, so be careful you don’t burn your tongue, Taliesin. The others are packing our gear, so there’s no need to rush. Enjoy your coffee.”

  Taking the cup of coffee, Taliesin took a sip and savored the deep, strong flavor. Jaelle reached into the pocket of her cloak and produced a handful of dates. Not quite what Taliesin wanted to eat, but she was too grateful to turn them down and accepted the fruit.

  “The Djarans will travel with Sertorius only as far as the sand stretches and no more,” Jaelle said. “Are you certain you do not wish to travel with them? We would be safer with an escort.”

  “We had one, remember,” Taliesin said, sucking the juice out of a date. She gazed at clouds drifting across the sky. “It’s better if we travel alone.”

  “I wish it was just us.”

  Taliesin considered Jaelle at that moment not as a mere companion, but as far more. She’d never been with another woman, but Jaelle was beautiful; her skin tanned to bronze, her gold eyes outlined with black kohl, and her lips painted dark red. The young woman smelled of an exotic blend of oils; if Taliesin were to choose a female companion, it would be her. Roland had offered to be with the two women that night in the gypsy wagon, and it seemed Jaelle still offered an exotic adventure.

  Taliesin tapped her cup against the gypsy girl’s cup. “You and me, off on adventures together, not worrying about men or their capricious natures,” she said. “Only our horses, the wind, the sun, and the sand. I grant you, we have become good friends, Jaelle. More than that?” She shrugged. “Right now, all I want is the Raven Sword. But who knows what the future will bring.”

  “At least you take me seriously,” Jaelle said.

  A loud noise preceded Hawk out of the tent. He was dressed in a ruffled shirt and pants, and he stretched before pulling on his boots and sliding into a leather tunic. He sniffed the air, got a whiff of coffee, and hurried to a small group of nomads to ask for a cup. Taliesin and Jaelle nudged each other, cups held before them, as Zarnoc walked out of the tent, followed by a floating tray with a pot of hot coffee, cream, sugar, several cups, and a pile of magical, warm scones. His complimentary breakfast brought Rook and Wren, still in their sleepwear, stumbling out of the tent to get a cup of coffee. Jaelle grabbed two scones, gave one to Taliesin, a smile on her face, and took a big bite out of the second as if she were starving. The dates had been plentiful and real, not magic-made, but the scone tasted delicious.

  “Your friends are more like a family,” a deep, resonant voice said coming from behind Taliesin. She turned as Sertorius approached, dressed in his silver chainmail and the black tunic of the Knights of Chaos. “Good morning, Ravens. Good weather today.” He thanked Wren when she offered him a cup of coffee with cream and sugar. “This smells sweet—I like sugar in mine. I’ve provided a horse for you.”

  “My mule,” Zarnoc said, sounding disgusted. “You traded the prince my mule for a horse for Jaelle. I should have stopped the fat knight with the red hair when I saw him lead my poor Jenny away; I’ve grown to love that mule. But Jenny would be too afraid to fly, and I don’t need her when I can turn into a bird. I still wish I’d been asked so I could have said goodbye; she’ll think I don’t care, and that’s not the case.”

  “We’ll treat her well,” replied Sertorius. He smiled over his cup of coffee. “You make a fine cup, Sir Wizard. I’ve provided supplies for your journey; food and water, enough for five days, at least. I might suggest you join me at Dunatar Castle when you’ve finished your quest for Ringerike. Duke de Boron will welcome you, I’ll see to that, as I intend to arrive well ahead of Master Xander. If and when you show up, I hope to have the lizard in a cage.”

  Rook’s eyes widened. “Really? Put that one in a cage, Your Grace, and you shall have my gratitude. I do not like Erindorians, especially not that man, nor the Duke.”

  “Aren’t you from the south?” Sertorius said, amused. “I could swear you look just like Duke Fakar—same eyes, same nose, same color. Your name is Rook, if I remember?”

  “It is, but I am from the Isle of Valen, and Islanders do not consider themselves mainlanders.
We are under the yoke of the Erindor dukes, but we are not like them. It would be the same as saying Djarans are Ghajarans; nomads and gypsies are similar, but not the same.”

  “I stand corrected, sir.” Sertorius finished his coffee and placed the cup on the floating tray, giving it a quick glance as he waved his hand under it. “Curious, magic. I’ll never understand how it works, nor do I want to be near it. The coffee will not turn to mud in my stomach, wizard? It is real coffee? It tasted real enough.” He winked at Taliesin.

  “Magic is real,” Zarnoc said. “Real enough to turn you into a lizard, young prince.”

  “Don’t do that!” Laughing, the prince bowed to the wizard. He straightened, glanced upwards, and nodded at the sky. Storm clouds gathered on the western horizon, and the scent of rain was on the breeze. “We’re riding into foul weather. Unexpected for this time of year. Be sure to avoid dry riverbeds, which will flood when it starts to rain. See me off, Rosamond?”

  “It’s Taliesin,” Jaelle said, muttering under her breath.

  The prince again bowed, and with his hand on Taliesin’s arm, he led her from the others. He drew his dagger, and without asking permission, cut a long, red curl from her head, lifted it to his lips, and then placed it carefully within a small black leather bag fastened to his belt. “A memento,” he said. “I don’t want to forget you again. Duty calls, but I will say goodbye when you are ready to depart...Taliesin.” He strode off, his long legs carrying him across the sand, to engage in conversation with his knights.

  While packing their gear and saddling the horses, Taliesin noted how eager her friends seemed to be that morning to reach the cave. Jaelle made a fuss over the feisty little roan mare the prince had gifted them. The gypsy girl slid a fancy saddle with tassels onto the mare’s back, stroked her soft nose, and whispered into the mare’s perked ears. She ignored everyone, made sure the saddle blanket was thick enough and fit comfortably on the mare, and took extra care packing their provisions. “I’m naming her ‘Cloud Dancer,’” Jaelle said, “for that’s what we’ll do when Zarnoc gives her wings and we fly through the sky.” Rook and Wren saddled their horses and cast such longing looks at one another that Taliesin knew without a doubt they had consummated their love during the night. They’d been so quiet about it, Taliesin didn’t imagine it had been exciting, but it had bonded the pair. When Thalagar was ready, Taliesin walked to Hawk, who was standing away from the others holding the reins of his horse. He had a hand on the hilt of his cutlass, and he gazed at the storm clouds, lost in thought.

  “So, what do you think of our chances?” Taliesin said, shouldering into her friend.

  “Reaching the cave before it rains? Or finding the sword before the enemy?” Hawk shrugged. “Depends on how fast winged horses fly, I guess. I’m a little nervous about the idea of flying horses.” Taliesin pointed at the wide-open flap of his pants. Horrified, Hawk quickly laced his pants, blushing from ear-to-ear. “Don’t want that flapping in the breeze,” he said. “I’m rather surprised Prince Sertorius is letting us go. I thought he was after the sword, as well as you. He’s not who I thought he was; Roland, and even Zarnoc, painted a rather different picture of the prince.”

  “I’m surprised, too,” she said. “Pleasantly so. He asked us to join him at Dunatar Castle. I’m considering it, but Xander and Roland may be there as well. What do you think?”

  “If we live through the day, then ask me again.”

  Zarnoc shuffled over, still pouting over the loss of his mule. “I have my feather,” he said, holding the raven feather. “Won’t take but a second to cast a spell on the horses, and don’t worry, Hawk; the wings won’t disappear once we are aloft. We’ll reach the cave around lunchtime, then it’s in, out, and on our way to Dunatar Castle for dinner. How’s that for a slice of royal, gold pie?”

  “It makes me nervous,” Hawk said. “You make it sound too easy, and I never said I agreed to go to Dunatar Castle, old man. I thought you said there is a big anaconda that lives inside the cave. I don’t like snakes.”

  “We can manage,” Taliesin said.

  “Why not take the Maldavians and Djarans with us? We might need help,” Hawk said. “Zarnoc, tell her what you told me. Tell her that bit about your magic, how it won’t be effective if there are lots of curses and hexes guarding Ringerike. In addition, what was that last bit, about ‘no one has ever returned alive from the Cave of the Snake God.’ My scone is still stuck in my throat. There are only six of us; we may need an army.”

  Taliesin frowned and shook her head. “I’m not asking him to come with us,” she said. “I don’t want to involve the prince. Besides, he said he’s not interested, so let him get on with his own mission. This was your idea from the very start, Hawk. Don’t turn chicken now.”

  Zarnoc stepped forward, waving his arms in the air and taking large steps on his thin, short legs as he made a wide circle around them. “Bring the horses to me,” he said, “but not too close—I don’t want to be trampled.” He kept walking, although now in a tiny circle, and muttered a spell as the five horses were led forward. A bony finger lifted and he pointed at each of the horses. A burst of sparkling colors shot from his index finger and struck each horse; in succession, each sported enormous, black raven wings, and the saddles changed shape and form to fit their new forms. Taliesin gazed in awe at Thalagar as the black stallion stepped forward, batted his wings to test them for strength, and lifted off the ground several feet before settling. The rest of the horses also tried out their wings, acting as if it was perfectly natural, stretched them to their full fifteen-feet-width, and exposed tapering feathers.

  With a soft cooing sound, Zarnoc calmed the horses, walking to each one and patting it on the nose. “They’ll take to the air just fine,” he said. “Nothing to it really.”

  “If I get killed, I’m going to be upset, Zarnoc,” Hawk said, as he climbed into the saddle. He placed his legs under the roots of the wings, the tips of his boots pointing at the stirrups, and he fastened a belt across his legs to secure him to the saddle.

  “I’m sure your horse will not throw you, Eugene,” replied the wizard.

  “They call me Hawk because I was born to fly!”

  Jaelle, mounted her winged-horse wearing an expression of great pride and eagerness to be in the sky. A more reserved Rook helped Wren into the saddle, secured her with the safety belt, handed her the bow and quiver of arrows, and went to his horse. He slid his spear into a specially-made sheath on the side of the saddle, where it wouldn’t stab the wing when in flight, and climbed into the saddle. Zarnoc snapped his fingers, turned into a large raven, flew to Jaelle, and landed on her shoulder. The gypsy girl wore a pleased expression at having been chosen to provide a perch for the wizard.

  “Nicely done,” Sertorius said. “We’d reach Dunatar Castle a great deal sooner if our horses had wings.”

  “I’d need a basketful of feathers to do that,” Zarnoc said, letting out a squawk. He flew into the air and circled around the camp, waiting for the group to follow.

  Taliesin walked to Thalagar as Sertorius followed, and slid her hands over a giant wing. The horse tossed his head and snorted when the prince took the reins. When she reached for the reins, her hand brushed across his, and his eyes filled with emotion. Taliesin saw regret, longing, desire, and concern in the cobalt depths. She was able to scrutinize his face in the broad daylight; almost too handsome, a woman’s beauty. Not a blemish, or even a mole, marred his skin.

  “I feel I should accompany you,” the prince said as his manicured fingers slid along her arm. “Leaving such a difficult quest to a woman...”

  “Leave my gender out of this, Your Grace. I can do whatever a man can do.”

  “Well, it’s not a man I want to kiss,” Sertorius replied. “May I?”

  Offered her cheek, the prince leaned in and stole a kiss from her lips. Taliesin heard Hawk snicker and put her hand up to keep Sertorius away. In the distance, thunder rumbled and a patch of lighting zigzagged acros
s the sky. She tied the reins together and tossed them over Thalagar’s head, then bumped into the prince, grinned, and slid into the unusual saddle. The stallion stomped his hoof and snorted as she lifted the reins.

  The prince nodded toward the west. “The storm is moving in fast,” he said. “Be careful, Rosamond. None have ever returned from the Cave of the Snake God, and I would see you again.”

  “We will,” Taliesin said. “Don’t worry.”

  Sir Morgrave approached. “I hate to interrupt, Your Grace, but if we are to stay ahead of the storm, we must leave now.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. I’ll be there directly.” Sertorius gazed at Taliesin and flashed his white teeth. “The invitation to join me at Dunatar Castle still stands, my lady. I hope you will not disappoint me. I will be waiting.” He moved out of the way.

  Taliesin cast one final look at the handsome prince as she fastened the belt across her legs and shouted, “Taveachi!”

  Thalagar launched himself into the sky, as if he’d been flying since he was a colt, and with the other horses joining him, flew over the oasis. Flapping his wings, the black stallion soared upwards, gaining altitude and creating an air current that whipped her hair about and made her grip the saddle horn, even though she was securely braced in the saddle. Her heart raced as the figures below turned into ants scurrying on the sand. Zarnoc, in his guise of a large raven, appeared beside her and had no problem flying through the air as fast as the winged horses. Talking was impossible when flying, and shouting was no better. Taliesin tried, but gave up after Hawk ignored her as he flew by them all. As she veered to the northeast, trailed by Jaelle, Rook, Wren, and Zarnoc, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Hawk turning in their direction, leaning low as his horse chased after the flock.