by Markus Heitz
“No, I said nothing of the sort!” Timanris said. “You must have misheard!”
“It doesn’t matter what you said or how much you deny it. I shall seek an audience with the Inextinguishables and lodge a murder accusation against Sinthoras. I’ll interrogate your father and his whole household. I’ll cross-examine all the neighbors and all the island fortress teams. There’ll be someone else who will have seen him. You have given me a good tip.” Polòtain kissed her on the forehead. “This almost makes amends for what you did to Robonor.” He turned away from her and left the room. Samusin, this is true justice indeed.
“No!” she cried. “No! Don’t do that. I beg you, Polòtain!”
He halted and looked at her again.
She stopped short on the threshold, clinging to the doorframe for support, sobbing; her body was trembling “Please—”
“You have no right to ask any favors of me. You have given shelter to a multiple murderer and that is enough to bring you and your entire family down, Timanris. But because Robonor loved and worshipped you until the very day of his death, I shall spare you and your father. I shall find the witnesses I need to confirm that Sinthoras was in Dsôn and then my revenge will strike him! He will lose everything! Everything! That includes you. If you don’t want to be sucked down into the maelstrom of his downfall, then wash your hands of him. For the sake of your father and your family. Prove that you have not abandoned all your senses!”
Polòtain returned to the hall, his heart thudding with excitement. There would be no problem getting the hated nostàroi recalled from the army. It would be quick. It would be dirty. Every citizen in Dsôn Faïmon would hear about his deeds and they would repudiate the one-time hero out of hand. This is for you, Robonor!
Elated, he re-entered the ceremonial room where the Comet and the Constellation supporters had been debating their next course of action. They were now being served supper. Nobody else had left.
Polòtain took this as a good omen. “Forgive me. I missed our discussion.” He made his way back to the top of the table and stood waiting. “So, what is it to be?”
Tark Draan (Girdlegard), in the Gray Mountains,
4371st division of unendingness (5199th solar cycle),
early autumn.
The trio gasped and wheezed their way up the steep side of the Split Anvil, a peak half a mile away from the uninterrupted chain of mountains to the west of the Stone Gateway.
“Vraccas, according to the dwarves, was supposed to have forged the rest of the mountains on this very peak and then he split it down the middle so that other gods would not be able to use it,” said one of the women. When she spoke, little white clouds accompanied her words. “The Anvil seems to me to be both a warning and a greeting at the same time. Wanderers are told: this is where the dwarf realm begins and if you don’t know your way around here, turn back and stay on the path.”
Famenia leaned forward with her hands on her hips and looked down. The mountain was flattish on top and had a vertical fissure that ran to its base, creating a narrow gorge with a path leading through it. They had come off this narrow road and climbed up to get a better view. Famenia’s lungs were hurting as badly as her legs, but she did not want to let on. The couple who had brought her here were older, but coping better—and that was embarrassing.
Having escaped from the broken remains of the fifthling kingdom and the älf who had attacked her in Halmengard, she had gone to Simin the Underrated, a good friend of her master’s. Simin, for his part, had consulted Ortina the Omnipresent. Then the three of them had decided to investigate for themselves and get an accurate picture of the situation before alerting the various monarchs.
Famenia had the impression that there was one particular item in her report that had concerned everyone and so, to prove her story, she had had to accompany Simin and Ortina, even though she was convinced the undertaking was nonsensical. What good are two magi and a famula against the enemy hordes? We need a whole army! It would be better to speak to the rulers and persuade them to act.
She certainly could not understand why they were struggling to the top of the Split Anvil. There was nothing to see but sheer cliffs, a perilous platform and a million ways to kill yourself. The terrain was so difficult that not even the dwarves had tried to post a lookout point.
“Nearly there.” Simin held fast to a boulder and took a look back. “What a wonderful view! We must be at least 800 paces high!”
Famenia did not bother to look down again. She was getting exceedingly impatient. “Forgive me, honored magus, but what are we doing up here?” She was panting hard. “I’m no mountain goat and not used to hopping from rock to rock.”
Ortina gave a cheerful laugh. “You’ll see in a moment.” She made her way carefully behind a jutting rock and disappeared around the corner with Simin following.
“Ye gods,” murmured Famenia, doing her utmost not to lose the others. As she struggled to keep up, she thought over the little she knew about her two companions.
They were both at least one hundred cycles old and were well liked by their subjects in the neighboring enchanted realms of Siminia and Ortinaland. Simin spent his time doing research on human senses, experimenting particularly with optimizing hunting skills and farming techniques: the magus was keen to make people’s lives easier. Ortina, on the other hand, was involved in work on speed, trying to see if it were feasible to travel swiftly without a horse. Apparently she was able to make certain objects fly, from carpets and broomsticks to larger items such as benches and coaches.
If that’s true, why on earth do we have to walk and clamber about like this? Famenia rounded the jutting rock and saw the two of them standing on an outcrop from where they might well have been able to see the entrance to the dwarf realm if it had not been so very far away.
“Over here!” cried Simin.
Famenia was convinced her next step was liable to be her last. The wind was dragging at her clothing and the sudden gusts made her unsteady, so she was hanging on to the cliff wall for dear life. It took her ages to reach the others.
“Now look at the entrance and tell me what has happened.” The magus pointed in the direction he wanted her to look.
“But how—” She felt his finger touch her right temple and in the blink of an eye her eyesight had improved so much she could see all the way to the entrance. “By the gods!” she exclaimed. She could see the battlements, the gate, the path . . .
“A little spell to sharpen your vision, that’s all.” Simin’s voice did not betray any special exertion on his part. “Our sight is as good as that, too. Tell us what happened.”
Famenia retold the story of her escape, about the óarcos that had found her, about the false elves and the doll-like stuffed dwarves that had been placed on sentry duty on the walls. She could see the mechanical things moving on the battlements. They were nothing but empty shells. It was sheer abuse of the dead.
“This means that the demon has not yet used his power,” said Ortina, when the famula had finished her narration. “Otherwise they would not need that performance with the dwarf corpses.”
“Or perhaps it’s not that kind of demon, after all.” Simin removed his finger from Famenia’s temple; she blinked and found her sight had returned to normal. The gate was gone. “There are so many possibilities.”
“We’ve come because you want to find out what this mist-demon is really like?” Famenia asked. “But you’ll need to get into the mountain, and I can’t tell you where he is to be found—”
“You told us the dwarves you spoke to mentioned strange events, child,” Ortina broke in. “Where did these things happen?”
Is that what’s worrying them so much? This horror story? The famula had to think hard to reconstruct the exact words she had heard from the dwarves. “They said that when they were fighting the älfar at the Stone Gateway, the dead would come back to life if their heads were not severed from their shoulders. But this was not a widespread phenomenon, it only
occurred in that area.” She tried to remember more details. “Oh yes, they also said that the moss on the walls had gone gray and died.”
The magi exchanged meaningful glances, communicating without speech.
Simin tightened the scarf around his neck. “That indicates that the demon did not join the big push into Tark Draan. If he did—or does in the future—we would be dealing with enemies who could not be truly defeated unless we incinerated them.”
“Or beheaded them,” added Ortina.
“So . . . you think the dwarves were telling the truth?” Famenia was horrified.
“More or less,” said Simin. “I presume the demon changes the land that it conquers, altering the characteristics of the place and the creatures that live there, but I would have to study him more closely with my magic to be sure.”
Famenia was at a loss to understand. “So, there really are beings as awful as that?” Simin and Ortina laughed. It was not meant scornfully, but the young famula was upset by it nonetheless. “It’s not my fault that Jujulo did not have much to do with the powers of darkness. He was—”
“. . . more cheerful by nature, I know,” said Ortina soothingly, laying her hand against Famenia’s cheek. “I know, child. We all treasure his memory.”
“The question we’re faced with is this: what does this demon look like?” Simin stepped back out of the wind. “I think we should seek the advice of Grok-Tmai the Worrier. He never talks about his research. Who knows what powers he experiments with?”
“He’s not the right person to go to!” Ortina objected. “He’s forever philosophizing about the world; he’s not happy around other people and is certainly not one for danger. It’s Hianna the Flawless we should consult. She pretends she’s only concerned with her own beauty, but I don’t believe it. She has a hidden secret, I’m sure.”
“What about Fensa the Inventive?” Famenia suggested. “Jujulo thought a great deal of her, even though she shrouds herself in an aura of mystery—”
“He meant an aura of alcohol, child,” commented Ortina drily “She likes a drink. It’s said her magic is at its best when she’s downed a bottle of wine.”
Simin chuckled.
“Oh,” said Famenia. Great. “Then we’ll have to discount her.”
The magus focused on the distant gate once more. “How shall we proceed?” he asked Ortina. “We must keep the demon from leaving the mountains to join the army of evil or there’ll be no way of stopping them.”
“There’s no point thinking about destroying him, but we could use our combined power to stop him or trap him.” Ortina turned to Famenia. “It is only thanks to you that we have learned about this threat, child.”
The famula shook her head. “No, it was Jujulo who sent me to the dwarves.”
“Your modesty becomes you.” Simin graced her with a fleeting smile. “We will leave it up to you to decide who you wish to complete your studies with. Any magus or maga in Girdlegard would be happy to take you on without the usual selection process. It is no more than you deserve.”
Jujulo would not have wanted that. Famenia bowed. “With your permission, I should like to walk in the footsteps of my master. I was his most senior famula and had nearly qualified.” She took her amulet from under her thick winter coat and held it out to them. “He named me as his successor. I never thought that I would be assuming the office so soon.”
Simin and Ortina looked surprised. “That is a heavy burden that you are taking on,” said the maga slowly. “You are still very young.”
“And you won’t yet have developed any one particular character trait to use as your magic name,” added Simin. “But something tells me that it will be happening in the not-too-distant future. Perhaps you will be the Brave One or the Courageous, but certainly not the Optimistic.” He winked at her. “We will discuss it at our next assembly.”
“Until then you’ll have to put up with my calling you child.” Ortina laughed.
“I wouldn’t want that as my extra name,” Famenia said. She had been afraid that her youthfulness would disqualify her for Jujulo’s office. I wonder what will happen at that assembly. “So, what is to be done?”
Simin placed one foot on a boulder. “I’m going in,” he announced. “I’ll find a way to get past the monsters, secure the exit point and, with any luck, prevent the demon from leaving if he tries to invade.” He registered the concerned expressions of the two women. “Oh, don’t worry. Remember I am the Underrated One, not the Overrated. I am perfectly aware of what I am capable of. If I come to the conclusion that the demon is too powerful for me I’ll come straight back.” He looked at Ortina. “You two let the others know what’s happening and bring them to the northernmost part of Hiannorum. Send out messengers to all the high rulers of Girdlegard. They must assemble an army, recruiting every single man capable of bearing arms. We”—he said, drawing a circle in the air around the three of them—“will take on the demon.”
Famenia was pleased to be included, even if she did not show it. Jujulo would be proud of me!
Ortina was skeptical. “The humans will never manage to assemble an army; the monarchs are always at each other’s throats. The south will say it’s not their problem; the Lake Lands in Wayeern never get involved in anything.”
“Leave that to me,” said Famenia. “I’ll be best at explaining what happened in the Gray Mountains and describing the army that threatens us. And I can warn them about the awful power of the mist-demon.”
Simin nodded. “So that’s settled: I’ll keep the demon occupied, Ortina will contact the rest of the magi, and Famenia will warn the kingdoms and persuade them to work together before it’s too late. May the gods protect us!”
They all shook hands.
As she clasped the hands of the other magi, Famenia thought she felt a tingling sensation through her leather gloves: a certain strength flowing through her. It was an exhilarating and unforgettable moment. Up there on the heights of the Split Anvil she felt she had become a real maga. I have yet to earn my magic name. I intend to work hard for that honor.
The wind blew colder now, cutting icily at the exposed parts of her face.
“Let’s waste no time!” said Ortina. “Evil won’t wait for us. We all know what is at stake—” But as she spoke she coughed suddenly and staggered forward, frowning. Blood spurted from her mouth and she sank down between Famenia and Simin—a long, black arrow stuck out of her back.
“Get under cover!” Simin pushed Famenia so that she fell backward just as a third arrow passed close by her own neck, slamming into the rock face.
Where are they? She looked over to the other side of the narrow gorge and saw an älf with a longbow in his hand. Several orcs were arrayed around him, staring at her. Four of them were starting to climb down. They will try to cut off our escape!
The älf took aim and fired once more. The arrow’s flight was strong and true despite the buffeting wind.
Famenia attempted to warn Simin, but his hands were raised to begin a spell and he could not break off in the middle of the incantation.
The arrow struck him in the throat. At the same time a flaming blue sphere the size of a cow’s head appeared from between his fingers and hissed its way across the gap toward their enemies.
“Master!” Famenia sprang over to Simin and caught him as he fell. The arrow had pierced his larynx, but had missed the neck vertebrae. His eyes were wide open and he tried in vain to speak.
A clap of thunder sounded from the opposite side of the mountain.
Famenia glanced back over her shoulder and saw blue flames where the älf and the orcs had been standing. Fire danced over the rock, growing in intensity; their enemies turned to ashes in its wake or tumbled into the depths. They can’t hurt us now!
She pulled the bloody tip of the arrow off and then attempted to remove the shaft. She concentrated on the only healing charm that Jujulo had taught her. Simin’s blood flowed warm and red from the wound on his neck.
The
amulet on her breast grew warm, releasing energy. Magic could not normally be stored unless it were in the body of a magus or maga, but Jujulo had dedicated his life to finding a way to instill magic power into certain alloys. His research came to Simin’s assistance now.
As Famenia watched, the wounds stopped bleeding and closed over. Keep it up! I have to be sure! She redoubled her efforts, although it caused her to feel slightly giddy.
Four heartbeats later the magus spluttered and took a breath. He grabbed Famenia’s arm. “Thank you,” he said, sitting up. “Jujulo was correct in choosing you.” His fingers brushed the healed wounds in his throat while he stared at Ortina’s dead body. “Ye gods, how could they?” His voice was thick with fury and grief. Rubbing his eyes, he wiped away tears.
“What now?” Famenia was at a loss. She felt sick to the stomach. Numbness overwhelmed her. All her strength had dissipated. The spell had taken its toll.
“We can’t . . . take her with us.” Simin got to his feet. “Help me to cover her body with stones—we will make a grave for her. When we have won the battle against evil we can return and bury her with all honor.” Simin looked over toward the gateway that led into the Gray Mountains. “They will have noticed my spell. We’d better be quick.”
“What will happen now?” she repeated. “I mean, to our plans?”
Simin worked quickly in creating the grave, the wind making his robe flap about him. “We stick to what we discussed. I’ll head into the mountains.” He looked at her with a serious expression. “You now have two tasks: call the magi together and then go to the leaders of the kingdoms.” He removed a ring from his finger and pressed it into Famenia’s hand. “Keep this and show it when you enter my enchanted realm. You will be given everything you need. Take the best horses—you’ll need a spare and one for your luggage.” He placed a final stone on Ortina’s resting-place. “Let us go.”
It took a breath or two for Famenia’s legs to start obeying her. She stepped past the grave, hoping she would not share her fate.
