by Greg Curtis
“But more importantly, you can interact with his creations. If another enchanter gave you a sword imbued with fire magic, you would feel it. You would know it, even be able to use it. This is no different. As an enchanter of nature and earth as well as fire and earth, when one of his machina comes near you, you feel the magic that created it. You hear the creature's thoughts. And through it you hear him, or at least, that part of the enemy's commands that the machina itself hears.”
“But I can't use the machina.”
Actually he didn't know whether he could or not. He'd never tried to, never even thought about it. But certainly he'd never sensed any sign among the enemy's servants that they would have taken orders from him.
“I would have been surprised if you could. The enemy is probably both much more powerful and more experienced than you in the art, and even if you do one day find the strength to match his, you would still have to overcome the loyalty of his servants. Besides which you would need training – many years of it – and there is no one I know of who could teach you the skills, except perhaps the enemy himself.”
Which brought him back to the same old riddle: Who had shown this new Dragon what he could do? Despite her certainty, Sam still couldn't quite believe that this new Dragon could have learned all he had simply from reading the thoughts of the last Dragon in the caves of Andrea. Trolls weren't that bright to start with. But then he had never thought much of trolls. To him they had always been savage subhuman creatures, cannibals, monsters and rapists; things best killed.
“But there are still things you can do and that you need to do. I will write a letter to your elders explaining to them what I can see in you, which I ask you to carry back to them. I'm also going to give you a book from the only other enchanter I've ever heard of who could combine nature magic and earth; Sinselli Longstride. It will sadly tell you only a little of his magic, but much of his journey nearly a thousand years ago.”
“He never used his skills to create machina, he considered it a misuse of his gifts to even try, though it was widely believed at the time that he could. But what he did learn to do was to create living structures. Castles, fortresses and manor houses that seemed to live only for their occupants. Thus they would open and close, and even lock doors and windows depending on the needs of their charges. Enemies would be locked out or imprisoned. Guests would find their quarters always comfortable. Walls were said to be impregnable and the gargoyles he shaped into each new building, acted as a defence force of considerable strength. Because of his magic he found most of his work outside of the elven realms, and he was a much travelled elf. He was also a source of much pride to his people.”
She was speaking of the Standings Sam realised. Half a dozen of the greatest and oldest castles were imbued with such magic and were called Standings, basically because they were – well – still standing after hundreds of years. There were also a number of smaller Standings scattered throughout the land. Though he'd never spent much time learning about them, Sam knew the basics. That they were living structures, some claimed even breathing. That they could do everything the Lady had claimed and more. Some said they even moved. But most important of all, they were considered miracles of magic and life that cared for and protected their occupants as no other building could. Until just then however, he'd never known who had created them let alone that he was an ancient elf, and that surprised him.
“For you however, the most important thing you need to do is to study your nature magic far more urgently than the other magics. As one raised among humans you have neglected that realm of magic terribly, and it is past time to correct that mistake. Long past time. You need to go beyond the simple magics and shapes you have learned and interact with nature. You must learn how to draw on its raw power and mould its shape.
“I can't even begin to tell you how vital this is. In the first Dragon Wars there were no other enchanters of nature and earth, and there have been very few since. It is auspicious that you should be here now, coming into your mastery early and just in time to face this danger. Though I am no oracle, I would suggest that there is a reason for your being here now; a reason related to this new Dragon. The Goddess surely grants us her grace in this at least.”
“In time, it would be my hope, that as a natural enchanter, you will begin to learn how to do at least a fraction of what the enemy does, even without anyone to teach you. And that in turn, may give you some insight into how to fight him.”
“I fight with fire,” Sam told her simply.
“Yes. I know. But so do many others. Your gift of fire makes you powerful. But it may not be enough. There are others who have the same magic. There are no others who are enchanters of nature and earth. And we do not want another Dragon War. You need to learn to fight as the Dragon himself does. You need to be able to use the same magic. In the end that may be your most powerful weapon.”
She sighed heavily and then slumped a little on the bench as if she was tired.
“But enough of this. With a little luck my husband has not burnt the house down and the tea is ready. The sun is shining and the birds are singing. We should speak of happier things. You have a wife I understand. Children perhaps to come? Tell me of them.”
With that she stood up and gestured that he should join her as she walked towards the front door. Sam dutifully joined her. He would have preferred to sit and think on what she'd told him. And then to ask more questions of her. But maybe she was right. Maybe this wasn't the time for them.
Besides, he was curious as to what a summoner's tower might look like.
Chapter Twenty Two.
“Mother? Father?”
Ryshal was puzzled as they walked slowly away from the Ellosian's wagon. She was annoyed too. She had felt the Ellosian family's hostility, even as well concealed as it had been underneath their manners. It had been clear enough. The lack of a smile or a greeting. The use of formal names and titles rather than family names as if they were strangers. The unwillingness to discuss anything of even a vaguely personal nature. And the excuses for why they should leave soonest and not return. Ryshal and her parents were clearly unwelcome among the Ellosians. What she didn't understand was why.
The had done nothing more than pay a social call and share a mug of camomile tea around a fire as they introduced themselves to their new family. It had been the perfect time since Samual was away visiting the summoner, and he could be less than tactful. In fact she suspected he had said or done something to offend. He wouldn't have meant to – he had a good heart – but sometimes he simply didn't know what was acceptable and what wasn't. That same directness that made him a good soldier could upset people. So a quiet visit by the Moonmissel family had seemed like the best approach.
Now it seemed she owed her husband an apology. He had already told them of his cousin's hostility to him. Strangely, though she occasionally told her husband that he was making too much of things and that he simply didn't understand the ways of their people, in this case it seemed he had been conservative in his telling. The hostility shown to them was shocking. But as far as she could tell there was no reason for it. Not for the hostility against her parents anyway. Even if the family counted her as much an enemy as her husband, surely that could not extend to them. Could it?
“Do you –?”
“Do we understand why they were so short with us? So dismissive?” Her mother finished her question for her.
“Yes.” Ry nodded.
“Because of a little baby girl. And perhaps because of too much fear and secrecy. A life time of it. Pietral?” Her mother unexpectedly gave the duty of explaining it to her father. She did that sometimes, and it was usually because there was something she didn't want to say.
“They were defending their daughter. They consider us a threat to her.”
“A threat?” Ryshal didn't understand that at all. They intended no harm to them. No harm to anyone. In any event Mayvelle was the last person anyone would want to threaten. She was a soldier a
nd clearly gifted with weapons.
“Not one of intentional harm to her. But one perhaps of revealing a secret they have been hiding for many years.”
“What secret?” Ryshal was confused. Did they know any secrets?
“Tell me what you saw of Mayvelle. What you have heard.”
Ryshal sighed a little as she realised her father was going to make a challenge of this. He did that too often in her view, but he liked to teach her things in that way. As a trader and one who drove a wagon through a great many lands, he understood a lot about people. He saw deeply into them. Both her parents did. It was what made them so good at their work. But more than that, it was part of what they loved about their work. And he wanted her to know the same understanding.
“She is a proud soldier. Tall and straight and true of arm. An adjunct commander with the Griffin Troop that once patrolled the borders of Shavarra.”
“True.” His father wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. “But there is more. She is tall and straight. But is she not just a little too tall and straight? Her hair falls in long blond plats as it should, but is not its colour just a little too dark? Darker than that of other Shavarran elves? And is not the copper of her skin a little lighter? She also shows great strength in her sword arm. But is not the strength contained within it just a little more than you would expect?”
Ryshal nodded, agreeing but not sure what her father was hinting at.
“Next think of her age; twenty three. She is four years younger than Samual.”
“I still don't understand.” Actually Ryshal had thought her older than that. Older than her certainly. But maybe that was just the years of a hard life etched into her face. And what did her age have to do with Samual? Hesitantly she asked.
“What happened when Samual was four?”
For a moment Ryshal was about to retort that she had no idea. How could she possibly know what had happened to her husband when he was such a young child and she had never even heard of him. And then she realised what her father was referring to. It was one of the things that had most profoundly affected him. Something that still remained with him.
“His mother died.”
“In childbirth.”
Her mother returned to the explanation suddenly, though for a moment Ryshal didn't understand what was so important about how she'd died. Until she put it together with Mayvelle's age.
“By the Goddess!” It was all suddenly clear. Mayvelle was taller, straighter and stronger than other elves because she wasn't the same as them. For the same reason her skin and hair colour were slightly off. The blood that flowed through her veins was not pure elf. She was half human. Vero eskaline. Storm blood. And she could not have been that if both her parents were pure elves. There could be only one explanation.
“Then she is Samual's sister? Not his cousin?”
“We think so. Even Samual understands something of this. He said that he saw his mother's face in her. That he recognised her before she gave him her name. A brother knows a sister.”
“Praise the Goddess! How?”
“At a guess, the brother and his wife attended Samual's mother's second childbirth, knowing that it would be a hard one. But then when she died, they must have spirited the baby away, claiming that she too had died. And ever since they have raised her as their own, praying that she never found out the truth. And the one thing they do not want is for their daughter to have contact with Samual. They fear that he might guess the truth.”
It made sense Ry realised. In fact it explained so many things she hadn't even thought of. But it was a large leap to make based on a few observations and a family's rudeness. And yet her parents were extremely capable when it came to seeing into people's souls.
“Do you think Mayvelle knows this? And if she does, why is she so hostile to Samual?” Eventually Ry asked what was probably the most important question.
“It's likely she has been told terrible tales about her mother or aunt and the marriage to his father. Things that would make her not want to have any connection to Samual.”
“Praise be to the Goddess!” Ry was appalled, but also worried. Because the one thing she knew they would have to do was to tell Samual about this. But if they did, then the first thing he would want to do was to talk to them. To talk to Mayvelle. It would create trouble but it was still the natural thing to do. And yet what else could they do?
The Fair Fielders had their God of Mischief – Alder – who they were forever using as a curse word. It was always by Alder this or that. Even Samual used his name sometimes. She had been trying to get him to stop the practice since before they had even wed. It was unseemly. But in any case they were elves. He should be worshipping the Goddess. But just then she felt like using the god's name herself. Somehow it even seemed appropriate. If there was anything about this situation that wasn't some sort of divine misadventure she didn't know what it was.
But in the end she was an elf. One of the people of the forests. And there was always and ever only one place they could turn to. “We should speak with the priests before Samual returns.”
Chapter Twenty Three
Mayvelle was practising with her weapons when Sam saw her. He had to admit that she impressed him with her skill. Though she was only rehearsing her moves with sword and shield, she was light on her feet, quick and obviously strong. She wore the armour of the border patrols as if it was simply skin. More than that she was obviously skilled, almost seeming to dance as she lunged, spun and kicked back. The Red God obviously favoured her. Though he had trained all his life with his own weapons Sam knew he would have difficulty defeating her with a blade.
Sam was nervous as he approached Mayvelle. More nervous than he had been in many years. But not because he feared a fight. In fact the last time he could remember feeling anything like this was when he'd first approach Ryshal and had worried that she might spurn his advances. This felt similar. Except that he was almost certain she would spurn him. And all he wanted was her friendship.
But Ry's parents were right about her he realised. She was tall and strong and too fast. Too fast to be of simply elven blood at least. And as she practised her lunges and parries with her sword in the clearing, he knew she was good. The sword was heavier than an elf would normally carry. Especially an elven maiden. And yet she swung it as though it was a part of her. The All Father only knew how deadly she would be with her blade in an actual battle.
Vero eskaline. Storm blood. Her gift was with weapons. And as he approached he knew it was a powerful gift. He suspected that she might also have other gifts. The Elder had said that the gifts of those with mixed blood were unpredictable. But did she know? Did she even suspect? And was that why she was so bitter?
Could she really be his sister? He had spent the entire night wondering about that. He respected Pietral and Alendo greatly for their insights into people. They saw further into others than he could understand, and some days he wondered if it was their own very special sort of magic. But this still seemed like such a huge leap to make from so little evidence.
And yet were they wrong? Or could they be right? That was the part that kept hitting him. It could be.
He remembered little of the days when his mother had died. For him it had mostly been a sad time when his mother had gone away and his father had wept. He had only been four at the time and he truly hadn't understood death. He only knew that she had gone away and that he missed her. But he had understood the truth when the new woman – Heri's mother – had come into his life. His mother wasn't coming back. Even as a four year old he had understood that terrible truth.
And what was he supposed to say to her? That was the other question that troubled him. He had to say something. Yet he knew his family were right. He could not simply speak what he feared was the truth. That she was his sister. It would only cause trouble and pain. Especially if it was true. And there had been too much of that already. These people had recently lost their home. Probably friends and maybe fam
ily as well. Just like so many others. How could he add to that?
People were still recovering from their losses. And now that they were through the wastes and once more in a fertile land with trees and forests and fields, spirits were lifting. The arguments and the open displays of suffering were fading. But it would be a long time before the people would truly recover. Especially those who had lost loved ones. He knew from personal, painful experience that those losses stayed with a man.
Should he even talk to her? The thought suddenly occurred to him just as she turned around and saw him. It was too late then of course though he suddenly wished it weren't. He could already see the look of disappointment or disdain on her face as he trotted the last few yards towards her.
“Cousin.” Sam greeted her as family, even though he was almost certain he should really be calling her sister. But at least he didn't address her by title.
