by Stephen Wolf
“We need time to gather our things,” Dariak decided. “How long until the guards arrive?”
“I—uh, they—” he stammered.
Dariak laughed. “You didn’t summon them in case you were wrong. No matter. We’ll be out of here tonight.” He then went upstairs to deliver the news to Gabrion, who was skeptical about the bard, but they didn’t really have another option with Kitalla so broken. The next few hours were spent ensuring their things were ready to go. Dariak opted to change back into his mage robes, feeling that access to his spell components would be better than running through town incognito. Meanwhile, Gabrion spent time stretching and resting, knowing he would be carrying the thief to their new destination.
Periodically, Dariak checked downstairs for both guards and Randler. With each appearance, the innkeeper tensed and stared pointedly toward the door, but Dariak only nodded, scanned the room, and then returned upstairs. Eventually, he found Randler off in the corner, laughing with a small group of admirers. He approached cautiously, not wanting to interfere, but Randler waved him over.
“Don’t worry, friend,” he greeted Dariak amiably. “I don’t bite. You’re welcome to relish in my company now that my show is done. Join us for a drink!”
Two of the women giggled and raised their own glasses, sipping deeply. “Isn’t he wonderful?” one of them asked Dariak.
“Oh, how I wish he could sing for me every day!” crooned another.
It was clear to the mage that Randler had the situation well in hand, but he didn’t know how to convey his message with the groupies hanging around. Randler solved that riddle on his own. “So, newcomer,” he started with a tilt of his head, “I assume you’ve heard my work, if you’ve come to pay your respects to me.”
Dariak nodded, ignoring the women fawning all over him, crying out, “Oh, isn’t his voice like a summer rain?”
Randler grinned and seemed to be partly enjoying Dariak’s discomfort. “So who among you would want to join me on a wild adventure?” He nodded at the ladies, but his eyes bore sharply into Dariak’s.
“Oh, Randler, you’d make any journey just lovely!” One woman clapped her hands.
Another added, “You’d even make monsters dance away so happily!”
The adulations made Dariak’s face burn red from trying not to laugh. He decided then to join in the fun. “Ladies!” he interrupted them dramatically. “The very sun rises up and bears its light simply because he sings with such grace!” They all nodded with intense agreement. Dariak then looked at the bard. “And if your invitation was true, great minstrel, why, I would abandon everything and follow you this very night.” He put such a lurid tone in his voice he earned sighs from the women. He had obviously impressed them with such a gushing show of appreciation.
Randler bowed his head. “Be careful, friend, because I could very well take you up on that.”
Dariak understood that Randler was just verifying the mage’s acceptance of his help. “It wouldn’t be a ‘wild adventure’ if I didn’t just jump in, would it? Oh, if only you could let me live out the dreams of all of us at this table, my very soul would just burst with joy!”
One woman looked at Randler with pleading eyes. “Oh, I do hope you take him with you! Not that I want you to leave, but just think of all the new songs you would create with your adventures!”
Randler smiled, and he lifted each woman’s hand and kissed it tenderly. “My angels, forgive me, for I would like to speak to my new companion here. But rest assured! I will sing of you all and how you marked the beginning of glorious days and wondrous tales ahead.”
With a round of fluttering sighs, the women wished them luck, demanding that Dariak take proper care of the bard so he may return soon. He was gracious enough to promise them all deeply.
Once they were alone, Randler shook his head. “So your very soul would burst with joy, eh?”
Dariak smiled slightly, gazing into Randler’s cinnamon-hued eyes. “If I didn’t have a dying companion or the city guard wanting to kill me, then I would already have burst once I learned you were here.”
“Then let’s get you all to safety,” Randler said, winking, “so I can see you live up to that.”
The innkeeper wasn’t sad to see them go within the hour. Gabrion left a few gold coins and a dagger to help cover the costs of their stay, and that calmed the grumpy man enough that he opted not to call the guard when they left. Still, there were patrols in the city along every street. The guards walked in pairs, carrying torches and stopping everyone they passed.
Randler didn’t seem at all fazed by the security. He walked with a light step, nonchalantly turning down alleyways or bending to fidget with his shoe. Dariak’s eyes roamed around sharply, however, keeping spells in mind in case he needed them. He regretted that he couldn’t send healing spells to Kitalla as she bounced around in Gabrion’s arms, but he needed to remain focused on Randler.
The bard navigated the streets like a street urchin. He turned down corridors that didn’t seem possible and wound his way through the roads and avoided every set of guards like a roaming shadow.
The thought of a shadow made Dariak take another glance around, and looking up, he saw the Prisoner’s Tower looming with each street they passed. It was unnerving to be winding near the tower. He held his misgivings in check until their path continued to draw closer.
“Randler,” he whispered as they paused in one dark walkway, waiting for Gabrion. “Where are we going?”
The bard pressed his fingers to his lips and shook his head. “You trust me, or you don’t.”
“I—I do, but it looks like we’re headed there.” He motioned to the tower with his chin.
“You’ll see,” was all the bard would say. He crouched low, waiting for a patrol to pass by, and then he stalked out and crossed the street, melting in the shadows beyond.
Dariak didn’t like it. As he followed, he tugged a few spell components from his pockets, ready for a mad dash. His first act would have to be protecting Gabrion and Kitalla; then he would go on the offensive and fight off any oncoming guards. He wanted so much to trust the minstrel, but every step brought them back toward the tower. Gabrion also realized their path, but there was nothing he could do except abandon Dariak and take Kitalla elsewhere, and that wasn’t much of an option.
The mage’s worst fears were realized when they stepped from an overhang and Randler strode purposefully up to a thick stone wall. The Prisoner’s Tower rose high into the sky, while the surrounding area was sparsely populated. They were out in the open; all it would take was a passerby seeing them and shouting for help. Not only that, but their goal was to flee the tower, not return to it. Dariak’s heart fell deeply, and he wanted to run away from this fiasco.
Randler pressed his hand against the wall and felt around for a few moments, then pushed and dragged his arms to the right. A dark crevice opened in the stone, and he waved the others to go inside.
Dariak froze on the spot. He wasn’t going back into the tower. Not voluntarily. His head shook slowly at first, then angrily, his arms coming up to launch a spell. He didn’t know what kind of spell it would be yet; he was so deeply conflicted. Gabrion stepped forward and struggled not to yell in rage at the situation.
Randler sighed and spoke just above a whisper so they could hear him. “You either trust me, or you don’t.” He gestured to the opening one more time, then looked around. “Either way, please hurry and decide.”
The jade pieces were vibrating fiercely in Dariak’s pockets. He knew Randler still had his piece. At the very least, by stepping forward, he could try to claim that shard. But at the worst, his pieces would be confiscated and his next sentence in the tower would likely end in death, after having escaped. He saw the sad expression on Randler’s face as the minstrel’s intentions were doubted so deeply.
Dariak had spent much of his quest mocking Gabrion’s sense of justice
and accusing his trust of others of being a real weakness. But when it mattered most, the warrior came through and had been responsible for freeing himself and Kitalla. Dariak wanted the world around him to be more trustworthy. He hated the deceit he found everywhere. He hated the warring everywhere he turned. And though his suspicions were running high, competing with his terror at reentering the Prisoner’s Tower, he chose at that moment to put faith ahead of rationality.
He stepped forward and hurried through the opening, and Gabrion followed closely behind, grunting in annoyance but unwilling to lose Dariak. Randler stepped in last, pulling the portal closed and breathing a sigh of relief.
“Thank you, Dariak, for trusting me,” he said, his voice heavy. “Come on, we still have a ways to go.” A slight knocking sound filled the area, and sparks flew as Randler lit a torch. “This way, and stay close.”
It was an exhausting hour of travel through stone passageways, up and down stairs, and into narrow doorways. By the time they reached their destination, Gabrion and Dariak were at the ends of their stamina, for they had both been rather busy during the day, trying to help Kitalla. Randler led them into a well-furnished room that had a large, comfortable bed on one wall and a small, makeshift pantry and kitchen opposite. Gabrion set Kitalla down gently, where she moaned and twisted about, then fell silently back to sleep.
Randler went to each of the three doorways leading out of the room, pulling heavy stone barriers into place and securing them with solid iron bars. He turned to the stooping mage and warrior. “We’re here, and you’re exhausted. No one will find us. Settle in and rest.”
Gabrion eyed the bard for a moment and then dropped himself to the ground. “I swear to you, bard, if anything happens to me here, after all I did to get us out of this place, my ghost will hunt you down and make you wish you were never created.”
Randler withheld laughter at the absurd comment. “Trust me. But if you don’t, then bind me if you must, not that I’d prefer that.”
“No,” Dariak croaked. “We trust you.” He stared at Gabrion until the warrior caved in. With a final shake of his head, Gabrion stretched out on the floor and soon fell asleep.
Randler stepped over to Dariak. “I guess I underestimated how much you’ve been through these past months. I’m sorry.”
The mage stepped forward and leaned against Randler, reaching his arms around him for support. “I’m sorry it’s not as magical as we both wanted.”
Randler pulled back and traced his finger along Dariak’s cheek. “Well, every spell needs practice, right? And the proper words and materials. We’ll get there.” He stroked Dariak’s hair back and hugged him again. “Now, sleep.”
Dariak breathed deeply and reached for Randler’s hand. He pulled the bard to the ground and then stretched out, leaning against him, back-to-back. It didn’t take long for either of them to fall asleep, warm and safe.
Chapter 26
Healing Kitalla
Kitalla’s cries woke them all. Her body was wracked with pain, and she writhed around on the bed, contorting into awkward positions, ever clutching her jade close. Gabrion responded by leaping to her side, wiping sweat from her brow with a rag, at a loss of what else to do for her. Dariak, meanwhile, fumbled through his pockets and pulled out various herbs and minerals, hoping he could manage to perform some miracle.
Randler stayed on the floor, turning to watch the three of them, as if he were recording this moment into memory while planning a song around it. He watched as Dariak set out a few small pieces of rose quartz, then slid an aloe leaf between her lips. His arms moved and swayed around in a rhythmic pattern, and all the while Dariak muttered quick healing spells.
After several minutes, Dariak’s arms floated back down to rest. He walked away, sighing. “I’m not a strong enough healer.”
“We have to help her,” Gabrion said needlessly, looking back toward the thief.
“Magic,” Randler said softly, “is based on certain principles, no? The cadence of the words, the motion of the arms and hands, the pulling of the energies from all around.”
Dariak waited for more, but there wasn’t any. “Yes,” he answered. “That’s common enough knowledge—even Gabrion knows it.”
“But isn’t it possible for mages to work in tandem, to pool their powers together and give greater effect to minor spells?”
Gabrion turned to the cinnamon-haired bard. “You’re not a mage too, are you?”
Randler smiled and shook his head softly. “No, no. But as a minstrel, I am rather intuitive when it comes to resonance and dissonance. After all, when sounds don’t work well together, they offend the listener. Well, doesn’t magic contain a component of that? Wouldn’t it be possible to increase the resonance of your spell by drawing from us?”
Dariak considered it for a few moments before shaking his head in denial. “You would need to be able to draw in the energies. Otherwise, all anyone would ever have to do is learn how to just dance, in order to…” His voice drifted off as he looked back at Kitalla, who was able to do just that. “Well, it is true that nonmages can learn to harness the power, but…”
They waited in silence for a little while, listening to Kitalla whimpering in her sleep. Gabrion looked back at the bard and the mage and then decided. “I may not know how to summon any magic, but this piece of jade,” he said, bringing out his beige-hued shard, “spoke to me when I needed it most and let me use its magic. Kitalla has a piece, and you have two, Dariak. Give one to him, and then we’ll all have one. Maybe then, if we say what you do and move the way you do, the jades will help us along?”
Randler grinned. “That was along my thinking, friend.” He then removed a dark crystal from his pocket. “Though I won’t need a piece of yours, as I’m well attuned to this one.” He held it out for them to inspect. It was unlike the other shards they had collected, in that the color of Randler’s crystal was spread throughout most of the shard, rather than being faint and concentrated in the center. “The power of shadow,” he declared. “It’s what has kept me safe all this time.”
Dariak immediately started pacing, hand rubbing his chin. “Earth, water, glass, shadow. And hers is obviously based in metal, if that attack with her dagger is any indication.” He turned back to the bard. “You say you’re attuned to it? How much control do you have over its abilities?”
“As I said, I am skilled in resonance and dissonance. With concentration, I can coax resonance with the jade and bring out its shadowy center, as I did when we ran here from the inn, lest we be seen. On the contrary, I can bring dissonance with the jade and dispel the darkness too. You might remember me lighting the torch when we entered here.”
“That wasn’t flint?” Gabrion asked.
“Well, it was.” The bard bowed his head. “But I only made a few sparks. Mostly, I scraped the wall in order to hide the words I spoke to send back the shadow from the torch. It allowed the sparks to ignite the whole thing more easily. And this chamber here isn’t properly lit by that one torch alone, is it? No, the jade is holding in its shadow so that we may see.”
Dariak continued pacing during their exchange, hearing their words but also pulling his own thoughts together. “Gabrion, do you think you can reach into the jade again and pull help from within?”
He looked down at his shard, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. “No,” he said at last. “It’s stone-cold silent.”
The mage had suspected as much. Gabrion had avoided magic all his life, and even though he had accepted some of its boons recently, they weren’t enough to fully awaken his mind to the shard. The jade itself must have felt the need to loan Gabrion its magic when they were escaping the Prisoner’s Tower, an act that had brought it within reach of four of its brethren, now that Randler’s piece was among them. Still, though, he felt a sense of hope with the idea of trying to unite them to heal the thief.
“The body is most
ly earth and water,” Dariak said in scholarly fashion. “Our skin and bones, the earth. Our blood, the water. Through our noses we take in air. Our souls are empowered by fire, so some texts say. By linking these, healers pull the energies into the wounded, to remind the bodies of how they once were and encourage them to rebuild themselves. At times, a skilled healer can also seal wounds faster than they would heal on their own. Considering the extensive damage done to Kitalla, I fear we need to push for a rapid healing to at least give her a chance to succeed.”
Gabrion shook his head. “Earth and water jades we have. Not the others.”
Dariak managed a grin. “True, but magic doesn’t only work one way. So your jade, which empowers sand and glass, can create a thin, transparent material, much like air itself. I will draw on it in such fashion, letting it represent air, if not being air. Randler, you will need to draw the shadow from within her, pulling out the pain and poisons that linger inside her. And if I can manage it, I will draw from her shard to strengthen her bones so they won’t need splints. That’s about all I can think of.”
Gabrion handed his jade over to Dariak. “It sounds like you will need this.”
The mage knew it was difficult for him to part with the jade after being hand selected by the elder of Gerrish to carry it. He assured the warrior he would soon have it back. Randler, however, did not likewise relinquish his shard, instead asking what else they needed to do. Dariak began by teaching them the words of incantation for the healing spells he would employ, as well as the hand and finger motions that went with them. Randler, a skilled wordsmith, absorbed the information quickly, but Gabrion took far longer. They stopped to eat when the warrior’s frustration overpowered him and blocked his thoughts, but soon they arranged themselves and were ready.
They turned Kitalla’s body so she was draped horizontally across the bed. This allowed Dariak to stand at her head and the others to stand at her feet. Because she kept the jade clutched to her chest in her right hand, Dariak had to fold her left hand similarly in order to maintain symmetry. He could have pulled the jade away and stretched her out, which would help circulation, but any tugging on the jade made her moan with a sense of loss, so he opted to work around it.
