The Third Sign

by Scott D. Muller

  “A league and a half is a very strong spell…” Zedd’aki said, pointing out the obvious. “It takes a very strong mage to put that kind of spell out there, even more to maintain it. It might be difficult to break.”

  “I think we can do it. Still I —”

  Zedd’aki interrupted, “Do you think a loan mage could do this?”

  “Not likely ...” Ja’tar said, reflecting on the question. “ I —”

  Zedd’aki hastily interrupted. “I doubt it too; it’s more likely to be a group of magi working together.”

  “A group? I suppose that’s possible,” Ja’tar said, scratching his head. “I never really considered that there may be more than one mage working against us, but I suppose we should consider the possibility.”

  Zedd’aki yanked on his beard and offered up. “To me it seems too big an undertaking for one mage.”

  “That mage would have to be incredibly strong ...”

  Zedd’aki’s eyes got large and his face paled. “You don’t think it could be your —“

  “No,” Ja’tar answered defiantly, not even wanting to go there.

  Zedd’aki understood that the discussion was done on that subject. He couldn’t blame Ja’tar for not wanting to pursue his line of reasoning.

  “It could be a mage working with some demons or perhaps a rogue too,” Zedd’aki added. “I’m just saying!’

  “I hear you. I’m concerned too. I find it extremely disturbing that I know there is a glamour upon me, and yet, I am still under its power,” Ja’tar bitterly confessed. “That shouldn’t be possible. Once you know about a glamour, you should be able to block it.”

  Zedd’aki stood up and paced in front of the fireplace, yanking on his beard.

  “Maybe it’s not a glamour spell in the traditional sense,” Zedd’aki reasoned. “Perhaps it is just a series of spells that make you forget certain things.”

  Ja’tar was intrigued. “Explain?”

  Zedd’aki walked over in front of the windows and stared out across the valley, “Well, as I see it, a glamour makes you see something that doesn’t exist, right? However, this one appears to make you forget about things that did exist. I reckon it to be more of a mind control spell than a glamour. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Ja’tar thought about Zedd’aki’s explanation. If it was not a glamour, then it was deviously creative. “Mind control is a lot more difficult you know, twice as difficult to create and control, nearly impossible to maintain.”

  “Aye, but this one has been maintained, for almost a thousand years or more! That takes power, raw magical power, and lots of it. I’m thinking that is has to be this old magic.”

  Ja’tar’s head snapped up, “Why do you think that?”

  Zedd’aki turned around and faced Ja’tar while shrugging. “It just seems to reason. It has to be. If we can’t perceive it or figure it out, then it has to be old magic, because apparently, we can’t remember that either. The other thing we know, it’s been here for a long time, back to when we were young magi. According to Dra’kor, what we call magic now wasn’t around in those years.”

  “I suppose it’s possible. Maybe we can figure it out if we both get outside the effects. I left myself a note that I could do the old magic, whatever that means.”

  Zedd’aki growled, “What I want to know is who set the spell in the first place and why?”

  “That’s what really worries me. Out of all the remaining members in the Keep, there are only about six of us left from those days. Unless it’s someone who’s now a traveler…” Ja’tar let his voice trail off. “I’m beginning to think that it isn’t someone in the Keep.”

  Zedd’aki sighed, “I’m beginning to feel the same way! If there is a mage who’s that strong outside of the Keep, where did they come from?”

  “Maybe another realm?” Ja’tar offered up. “There are other wizards out there.”

  Zedd’aki walked over to the table by the window and poured himself a glass of the Elvenrude. He motioned to Ja’tar with the pitcher, but Ja’tar shrugged him off, still feeling his head throb from the previous night.

  “Possible, but who trained them, and how did they get this in place under our very noses? Basically I’m thinking that they would require training to get that strong.” Zedd’aki argued logically, taking a sip. “You don’t just acquire magic like that without either years of study or a tutor.”

  “We’ll never solve this now. We should wait until we have more information,” Ja’tar groaned with an exasperated sigh.

  “It can wait?” Zedd’aki asked, with a puzzled expression.

  Ja’tar sighed. “It’ll have to wait!”

  Zedd’aki closed his eyes, feeling the effects of the strong elven wine. “Do we have a plan?”

  “We should leave tonight, late. Why don’t you meet me outside my apartment. Remember to dress warmly and wear good boots, the trail is hard and slick in spots.”

  “I can do that. So, I guess we are going then?”

  Ja’tar’s nod was barely visible.

  “And what about the Guild?” Zedd’aki said, frowning.

  Ja’tar frowned. “We’ll just have to hope they don’t find out. I don’t see where we have any other choices here.”

  Zedd’aki swirled the wine in a slow circle and stared at the liquid as it left trails in the fine glassware. “And if they do find out?”

  “Then we’ll have to watch our backs and we better have a damn first-rate reason for breaking the pact.”

  Zedd’aki’s face was wrought with worry. “All we have is your journal. I don’t think that will buy us much leverage, especially with the Zola’far.”

  Ja’tar shook his head. “We’ll think of something. Even if they find out, it will take them a day or so to get here. We can be prepared by then. If we have to, we’ll leave.”

  “They’ll hunt us down, you know?”

  “I know ...”

  Silence hung between the two as they realized the magnitude of their decision.

  Zedd’aki drained the rest of his wine and set the glass down on the desk. “Anything we need to do before tonight?”

  “I don’t see how there could be anything. We need to get out from under this spell so we can think clearly.”

  “Just thought I’d ask…” Zedd’aki stood and mumbled. “I could scrounge up some bread, sausages and cheese.”

  “Good idea. I’ll bring some wine,” Ja’tar said, with a smile while he escorted Zedd’aki to the door. “I’m going to get some rest. It could be a long night.”

  “I’ll do the same,” Zedd’aki said, opening the door and stepping out. “Ja’tar, if you wanted to bring Elvenrude that would be fine with me.”

  Ja’tar grunted. “Until later then!”

  “Until later.” Zedd’aki nodded as he hurried down the stairs.

  “Wait!” Ja’tar yelled. “I want to show you something before you leave.”

  Zedd’aki stopped and walked the few steps he had descended back toward Ja’tar’s quarters. “What?”

  Ja’tar wove a spell and images of Dra’kor, Grit and Men’ak appeared on the opposite side of the balcony. “Well, what do you think?”

  Zedd’aki rubbed his chin. “Grit seems a little rotund and Men’ak is taller. What’s this for?”

  “I thought I’d cast these in the Keep so that it appears that the boys are still around.”

  “Clever. It might actually work, but better to make them seem a little sick. People won’t be so eager to talk to them, or get close enough to discover the ruse.”

  Ja’tar smiled, liking the suggestions. “I’ll keep working on them. You can go. That was all I wanted.”

  Ja’tar watched him go, shut the door and got about his business. He pulled out his pack, stowed away his journal and some warm clothes. He stared at the sword standing in the corner by the mantle and decided to take it along too. If there were skree around ... well, no need to take any unnecessary risks.

  Ja’tar looked at th
e clock, two balls were up and another was rising. It was almost three. He knew he should take an extended nap so that he would be awake, but he wasn’t tired. He sat down by the fire and tried to make sense of all the information at his disposal. Before long, he was snoring loudly, his head down on his chest.

  Duvall called, but again the mage didn’t answer. She stared across her desiccated body at the door. Physically, she felt nothing—she couldn’t because she had no body. She was nothing more than a spirit trapped inside a stone, a prisoner of an artifact called a bal’achar. She vowed that if she ever gained her freedom, she would make restitution for her ways and help correct all the damage she had done. The list was rather ... substantial.

  She swore to the gods that she would, hoping they heard her pleas.

  The Dubh Forest

  A few minutes before midnight, a loud thumping woke Ja’tar out of his deep slumber. He looked around wildly into the black night, until he realized it was just Zedd’aki knocking at his door.

  He threw his legs off the ottoman, jumped up and hobbled over to the door while rubbing his leg. The damn thing was tingling like mad, and he could barely feel his toes. He removed the protective ward from the door with the wave of his hand and cracked it open.

  “About damn time! I was hammering on that confounded door for almost ten minutes. What the Ten were you doing?” he blurted out red-faced, entering the room and throwing his pack on the floor by the desk.

  “Good evening to you too!” Ja’tar sarcastically replied, shutting the door. He hobbled over to his favorite chair, favoring his tingling leg. After motioning for the fire to start and watching flames leapt to the logs already laying in wait, he turned around and motioned for the candles in the room to light.

  Zedd’aki murmured. “Well?”

  “Well, nothing! I was sleeping,” Ja’tar said flatly, leaning heavily on the chair. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

  “Is this same girl still calling you in your sleep?”

  Ja’tar smiled feebly, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

  “Hhhrmph, too bad!” Zedd’aki scowled. “We have work to do. You can sleep later. Is something wrong with your leg?”

  “It’s asleep,” Ja’tar said, as the pins and needles feeling made him cringe. He lifted his leg off the floor and shook it frantically.

  Zedd’aki unfastened his belt and opened his chape. “Well, stop dawdling. We got things to do and I’m roasting.” He wiped his moist brow with the back of his hand.

  Ja’tar stared at the floor, rolled his head sideways and eyed his old friend, “Well look at you. All giddy like a young lass going to a dance. What’s the matter? You afraid you’re going to be late for the party?”

  “I’m entitled,” Zedd’aki grumbled in all seriousness, “How do you expect me to act? It isn’t like we get out much ...”

  Ja’tar broke into a huge belly laugh, and soon the two friends were clapping each other on their backs. They were in good spirits again.

  Zedd’aki knelt down, opened his pack and pulled free a bundle. He carefully unfolded the oilcloth package that Gretta had given him and showed Ja’tar the fine loaves of bread and sausage he had gathered. Ja’tar grabbed one of the pieces of dried sausage and bit off a big piece.

  “I’m starving. I missed diner. What’s in there?” he said pointing.

  “Aged cheese from the cellar.”

  Ja’tar reached for it and used his nails to pinch off a chunk. He pulled the huge wedge free and shoved part of it in his anxious mouth.

  “Bloody halla, leave some for later!” Zedd’aki scowled.

  Ja’tar threw his head back and swallowed. “Stop whining! You brought enough for three trips.”

  Ja’tar reached into his pack that was hanging near the door and pulled out his well-worn journal. He proudly showed Zedd’aki the list of things he had compiled for them to do, as well as a list of questions they needed to ask themselves. “Well, what do you think?”

  “We shant be lacking for things to keep us busy,” Zedd’aki replied dryly, making light of the obtuse list.

  Ja’tar snorted and closed the small book, not bothering to tie the strings attached to the cover that would keep it closed.

  Zedd’aki pulled out a sheet of paper and unceremoniously unfolded it. “I found a book that had a little information about the skree. Didn’t Dra’kor say it attacked them?”

  “He did. Why?” Ja’tar asked, shoving an extra pen and a bottle of ink into his jacket pocket.

  Zedd’aki pulled out his spectacles and began reading the note at arm’s length. “Well, what I read said that the skree were fairly tame, not prone to attacking at all. It just doesn’t make sense that they would attack.”

  Ja’tar strapped on the sword and pulled his heavy chape, made of oiled leather, over his head. “Maybe that’s only when they’re well fed! They were used to clean up the battle fields.”

  Zedd’aki refolded the note and slipped it into his pocket, turned his attention from the warm fire and wrinkled his nose. Ja’tar watched while the corner of his mouth quivered. “I suppose ...”

  Ja’tar knew that Zedd’aki did that when it was something obvious he had missed, “I’m just saying ....”

  Zedd’aki pointed at the weapon poking out from under Ja’tar’s long cloak, “What’s that for ... mage?”

  “Evening the odds!” Ja’tar said, while he finished lacing the sides of his chape, and double-checked the hilt of his sword.

  Zedd’aki lifted his cloak up and Ja’tar saw that he also had a short broadsword. “Protection from the Zola’far?” Ja’tar asked.

  “I’m thinking, maybe!” Zedd’aki said, with a big grin spreading across his face. “Just in case we run into them, or those beasts that Dra’kor says we can’t kill with magic.”

  Ja’tar frowned. “Just in case then....”

  Zedd’aki curtly nodded. “You can’t be too careful.”

  “No, you can’t!” Ja’tar replied, his mouth drawing thin.

  “Aren’t you ready yet? Zedd’aki asked, pacing in front of the door. “I’m getting hot. If we don’t get underway soon, I’ll begin to sweat.”

  “I guess I’m ready, just let me get my pack,” Ja’tar said, checking his inkbottle and replaced it into the pack. He grabbed the packs leather strap, lifted it off a coat hook by the door, and swung it over his shoulder.

  “Do you have the wine?” Zedd’aki asked raising his brow.

  Ja’tar patted his pack. “Do you really think I would forget the wine?”

  Zedd’aki shrugged sheepishly. “I was just making sure.”

  “Right!” Ja’tar said, looking around the room, “Well, that’s everything.”

  He took one step, stopped and then turned around, “It seems like I’m forgetting something ... important.”

  “Well, it can’t be too important if you can’t remember it!” Zedd’aki replied, putting his hand on the door handle and giving it a tug.

  “Bloody halla! I know what I forgot,” Ja’tar said, snapping his fingers and hurried over to his desk. He lifted a hand, quickly casting the release spell, watched the ward dissolve. He reached in and pulled out the old box.

  After opening the carved lid, he pulled out two ancient Querd medallions holding them in front of his face. “We’ll need these,” he said, handing one to Zedd’aki.

  “By the Ten! I’m glad you remembered these; it might have been an n unpleasant trip!” Zedd’aki said, horrified.

  “Indeed!”

  He took the medallion from Ja’tar, placed it over his head and stuffed it inside his wool robe. He checked it, yanking on the chain.

  “What are you grinning about?” Ja’tar asked.

  “Ha! Look at us! We’re going adventuring ...”

  Ja’tar rolled his eyes, and chuckled, “I know. I can’t wait! How long has it been?”

  “Well, you were just out the other day ...” Zedd’aki said sarcastically.

  “No, I mean the two of us together, like
the old days!” Ja’tar asked, grabbing his staff and opening the door.

  “Too long, my friend, too long,” Zedd’aki said, slapping his friend on his back as they exited the apartment.

  And with that, the two old friends left walking side-by-side, joking between themselves while they started down the spiral stairs toward the Receiving room.

  “Did you see anyone on your way here?” Ja’tar asked, hefting his pack and adjusting it to sit on his shoulder better.

  “Not a soul, but then again, I didn’t go looking for folks either,” he admitted.

  “We better keep the talking to a minimum then ... until we get outside, I mean.”

  “I can live with that,” Zedd’aki said thoughtfully, while peering out into the Receiving room to check if anyone was wandering about. “It would be difficult to explain where we’re going with our heavy outer garments on.”

  Ja’tar eyes widened. “It would at that!”

  The room was cast with a dull blue light and shadows moved around the room as the moon danced in and out of the clouds. Zedd’aki glanced down the hall, checking to be sure that it was deserted. A mouse ran across the hall, stopped, stood on its rear legs and squeaked, before turning down the hall and scampering off.

  “Path is clear,” Zedd’aki whispered, across his shoulder.

  Ja’tar followed while they walked in single file past the picture windows that held vantage into the courtyard where, back in the day, the Ten used to receive dignitaries and hold tea parties.

  Ja’tar could almost see them, hobnobbing with royalty, dancing with the court, drinking tea and listening to the wonderful chamber music that the royals always brought with them when they visited. Songs played on lutes and harpsichords used to fill the air, and there was laughter too. The gardens bloomed with rare plants gathered by the travelers and the grounds were kept with immaculate care, sheltered from the storms and foul weather by strong spells.

  Now, this special place was desolate, overgrown and seldom walked through, let alone used for entertaining. The benches were tarnished, the statues dirty and dingy. Ja’tar didn’t remember the area being this dilapidated, although he rarely took the time to even suffer a fleeting look out the windows as he rushed past going about his daily business. In fact, Ja’tar couldn’t remember the last time they had entertained here, but that could be the glamour talking. Those were happier times at the Keep. He looked backwards over his shoulder just as they entered the long covered corridor that led away, whimsically wishing for those times again.