by Greg Curtis
“Oh, don't forget to keep your hoods up,” she called after them. “We wouldn't want anyone seeing those lovely faces!” And really she thought, marking them on their faces. That was just so fitting. Even Hendrick had his good moments.
But as they left, Marnie found herself wondering if this was the last they'd see of them. She hoped so, but feared it wouldn't be. But at least they were prominently marked. There was nowhere they could go that their affliction wouldn't be seen.
“Should we warn Hendrick?” she asked Tyrollan when Lady Marda and her sons had finally disappeared from sight.
“We should and we will. But she's not going to go after him. She hides it but she's far too scared of him. And for the moment the Lady has other targets for her wrath. Many other targets.”
“Other targets?”
“She has a list, in her head. Everyone she believes has done her wrong. And she plans on ticking off names. And those names begin with Lady Peri. After that there’s the King, and Lady Simone.”
“We should –.”
“-We can't. I don't know where Lady Peri is. And the King and the new First Wife are well defended in the Hearth. For the moment I don't want the King to even remember us as he plans his next defence of the realm. Every time he does, he makes decisions we don't like. Besides; I don't know everything that that woman had hidden away in her head. I only had time for a quick look. The things she was most desperate to hide. And only the things she was actually thinking about as we spoke. But she probably has enough secrets in her head that if they were revealed under interrogation, some of them would come back to hurt us.”
“Better to just get rid of her.”
Tyrollan stared pointedly at her. “I don't want to be that sort of person. Do you?”
Marnie sighed. She knew he was right of course. She didn't want to become a cold-blooded murderer. Still, the former First Wife deserved to die for what she'd done. And for what she was no doubt planning on doing. But there was no point in trying to argue that with her partner. He would never agree. Funnily enough she admired him for that.
“So, you've been to the Abbey.” She changed the subject. “We're ready to start the ceremonies again?”
“Soon.”
But as Tyrollan happily started telling her about how things were going, Marnie's thoughts remained with Lady Marda – one of the most evil women she had ever met – and a woman who she'd just allowed to walk free. It just didn't seem fair.
Chapter Forty Two
He’d finished the uprights once again – for the third time! The notches had been cut and the first of the bearers were back in place, straight and true. His house was coming along well. Hendrick only hoped no one tried to destroy it – again.
Still, for the moment things were good. He could sit out on his lawn at the table, drink a mug of orange blossom or harvest green tea, stare at the result of all his hard work, and pretend that nothing was wrong with the world.
Others could do the same he thought. The new Guild – they weren't yet officially calling it that but among themselves that was what they thought of it as – was beginning to look like something more than two great big barns standing side by side. Marnie and Tyrollan were doing a fine job he thought, though it helped that they had gold to spend. He could have hired some workmen himself he supposed, but it wouldn't have felt right to him.
And if anyone doubted that magic resided in the new Guild and thought it just a couple of barns, they wouldn't any more. He had just set up a whole field of windows of far sight in front of it that showed the fifty cities. It was a warning system. If the creatures attacked any of them, the guild would know immediately. And because there were now three members who had the spell of long stepping, one of whom who also had a spell of dimensional arrows, they could respond quickly. The King should be pleased with that.
Ironically, the true protection for the land lay not with the parties of gifted they were sending out, nor with the Guild, but with the gifted who hadn't become a part of the Guild and who probably never would. Those who were now learning a lesson of courage and even cautious pride in their magic – and it was sooner than he would have expected. Thousands of their people were now accepting new spells! He hadn’t anticipated that. He had no doubt it would change things. He just didn't know if it would be for the better. He hoped that they would ultimately be able to defend the towns from the beast. But they were also angry. Rightfully angry. And they were now learning their own strength. Strength they were currently hiding, but strength nevertheless.
Brother Tharanday had been right in what he'd told Marnie. The new Guild of the Gifted had to lead their people. They needed to guide and inspire them, thereby leading them away from taking a darker path. It had to be one of their principle tasks.
Meanwhile King Oster was pleased with his new toys. Hendrick had dropped off a hundred enchanted amulets for him only a few days before. Each amulet was matched to its mate, and when worn, what was said into one could be heard by the wearer of the other. For the first time the King could speak to all his representatives, mayors and magistrates across the entire realm directly. Or he would be able to when his riders had finished crossing the realm, dropping off amulets at each of the cities.
And while he played with them, the new First Wife was busy buying curtains and furnishings for their new residence in Styrion Hearth, a cost that threatened to bankrupt the realm! Good on her, he thought. They needed some pointless gossip. Something light hearted to cut through the fear that weighed down on the world. And whether she realised it or not, she was providing it. He'd always had a liking for Simone. He hardly knew her, as he hardly knew any of the royals, but she had always impressed him as being the most motherly of all the wives, even if she was as slow as a wet week according to his mother.
As for his own mother, she, his brother Myka and his family had set up home in Colmenster, another city where they had some property. He wouldn't have known that save for the fact that his mother had sent him a note advising where he could deliver the next gold nugget to. She hadn't enquired after his health, he'd noticed. But why would she start now? It wasn't important to her. He was just the source of wealth. Well, she was going to have to wait for her next nugget!
Closer to home both the Mayor and the Magistrate had gone. The Mayor had fled when it had been revealed that he wasn't delivering all the taxes to the King each month as required. There were hunters on his trail. A lot of them. No one stole from the King! As for the Magistrate it turned out he had fled a murder charge in Cheston many years before. He'd also fled the town – probably quite slowly given his age and infirmity. Hendrick wouldn't miss either of them.
Which left him sitting at his table, staring at the partly built timber frame of his house, drinking his tea and wondering whether he should get back to work and put the next bearer into place. There was still enough time in the day to continue, but his arms were aching. Even though he used his magic to actually lift the bearers up, just the effort of pushing and pulling such large pieces of timber into place was taking its toll. He was also aware that he needed to head out to the twilight realm soon and do some meditation as he practised his spells.
Or he could, he suddenly thought, start investigating the Mythagan's puzzle. He'd been meaning to for over a week. But each time he'd thought about it, he'd decided to wait. Things were peaceful, and he was beginning to realise how much he valued that peace. Investigating the disappearance of the woman the Mythagan had referred to as Erohilm was only going to upset things he suspected.
But he was curious about them. Puzzled. Why had they kidnapped Sana? He still didn't like that. And why hadn't they known to save the people of the Hold by portalling in from another world? For him the idea had been a revelation. But they were masters of magic. How could they not have known?
So maybe it was about time he did it. It was a nice day. The sun was shining once more. He was warm underneath its yellow glow, and comfortable in his chair. The voice of the dead wizard was on
ce more quiet. He had the spells to investigate the past, though he'd never used them after he’d first mastered them. This could count as practice.
Hendrick called forth a window into the past, and let the image it showed him take form in front of him. Of course the image was almost exactly what he had been staring at before. It was only from a few heartbeats earlier. It was hard to tell that there was anything there at all. But once he stabilised the window, he started sending it further and further back in time. Bringing up images from days earlier, then weeks and months and years.
It was a tricky spell. It required a lot of concentration, and even then it tended to flicker a little. It required practice and he hadn't done enough of it. But really it was the magic of time itself that was the problem. Time did not like to be toyed with. It placed very strict limits on what those who had some control of it could do. He could extend and contract time, but he couldn't stop or reverse it. Time itself did not appear to allow it.
Then again it was the same with space. Again he could stretch and contract space, but he couldn't contract it to nothing or make it turn around on itself. There were limits.
Still, as he concentrated he could feel the magic working. He saw the image changing. The sky was constantly changing as rain mixed with sun and snow, and night with day. The forest in front of him expanded. The stars themselves rotating in the night sky so quickly that they were a blur. And slowly, year by year he pushed further back in time. Until finally there was no forest. There was nothing except devastation.
This he suspected, was the time he wanted. Because the war of wizards the book had talked about, had clearly said that it wasn't just people and creatures, towns and cities that had been destroyed. The entire realm had been levelled. This looked like proof of that.
The forest had gone and in its place there was nothing but rock and dirt, much of it fire blackened. Even the rivers flowed black. The hills showed signs of terrible impacts. Scars from being smited with magical weapons of incredible power. Distant cliffs that existed today, turned out to have originally been the slopes of hills and mountains. Until someone or something had destroyed them. And the rivers that cut their way through the ruined lands had run black..
Having decided he had to be somewhere near the right time, Hendrick pulled away from the image, then lifted it up higher so he could see further afield. He was looking for something out of place. A flash of green perhaps. A sign of life. When he found one though, it wasn't what he had hoped for. It wasn't a forest. It was the remains of one. Just a few half dead trees that had survived.
Still, he sent the window flying toward it as if it was a bird soaring. And when he arrived at the flash of green and saw nothing of interest, he searched for the next and the next. In that way he slowly crossed the realm, until finally he saw something of interest: People.
These he guessed were the survivors. And they were hiding out in what looked like a ruined city. These people were all that were left of the ancient ones who had lived before the Styrion Realm had been formed. And many weren't human!
Some were. Some could have passed for people he would have seen in the streets of Burbage – save for the fact that they were dressed in rags and many were injured. But most weren't. They were of every imaginable race. Tall and short. Thin and stout. With faces that were angular or round. Skin that was light, dark or somewhere in between. Some had wings! The ancients weren't one race. They were many.
And some of them had the angular faces with flat planes that were the features of the Mythagan!
When he saw that Hendrick was surprised – for a moment. And then he realised he shouldn't be. The Mythagan were liars! Their every word was knavery! Even their name was a lie. He had known that all along on some level. They had called themselves the people of the stories. But what they had hidden was that those stories were the same tales that the bards spun of the little people. The Mythagan had been the little people! Of course, they weren't little anymore – fifteen or sixteen hundred years had seen to that – but the people he could see were definitely the ancestors of the Mythagan.
Why had they hidden that? And did it have something to do with the ancient temples they kept watch over?
Hendrick noticed that both the Mythagan’s ancestors and other races were wearing crystals around their necks. The same ones that he saw the Mythagan wear today. And when he saw that he understood. They were the symbols of the “star” that the writings on the temples had spoken of. The Mythagan wore it now and their ancestors had worn it all those years ago. And if the star was the ancient symbol of the Empire of worlds that had existed, and it was only given to people from the worlds that were part of it, that meant that Malthas had been part of it. Another little secret that the Mythagan had kept hidden.
Naturally he couldn't ask the people he could see about it. All he had was a window into the past. It didn't open. This was nothing more than a memory of time. A history lesson. But while he couldn’t interact with the people, he could at least watch them. And so he did. Speeding up and slowing down the rate at which time passed – rather like jumping ahead a few pages in a book – until he finally saw them do the one thing he had known they must have done. Leave the ruins of the city.
It was after something had attacked the ruined city. He wasn't sure what. All he knew was that it was enormous – perhaps the size of a city block – and made out of some sort of grey gelatinous goo. It didn't so much destroy the city as eat it. The huge bubble of grey had slowly rolled or flowed across the city and when it was done the city was gone. There wasn’t even evidence of rubble.
It had apparently been enough to convince the survivors to flee, and he watched as over the following days the five hundred or so remaining people left the city and set out across the wasteland that surrounded it while the creature ate the city behind them.
They were a strange group, with the little people leading them and the giants following at the rear. Probably it was dangerous to have the giants walking among the rest of them. Even though they seemed peaceful, their huge strides could see them accidentally step on someone. And when a fifteen-foot-tall man stood on a four-foot-tall man, the result was likely to be serious.
But if they were mixed up as people in so many ways, they were all united in one thing. They were refugees. He had seen the same look in the people who had fled Styrion Might. Fear and despair. And he knew that these people were the same. Homeless and without hope.
Hendrick followed them as they marched across the wasteland for thirty-five days, before they finally stepped through an invisible wall and abruptly entered a small oasis. He would never have known it was there if he hadn't followed the refugees. The only sign of it was the trail of footprints that reached the point where the invisible barrier stood and then vanished. It was an almost seamless illusion. An excellent way he assumed, of hiding the oasis from the destruction all around.
Of course, the oasis wasn’t any more natural then the wasteland they'd crossed to get to it. The wasteland had been created by the abuse of powerful magic, and this oasis was being held together in the same way by some equally powerful magic. He didn't know of any spells powerful enough to do what these had. But he knew they were both powerful and complex. This spell had created a secret little bubble of pristine beauty perhaps a league and a half across, in the midst of a destroyed world.
It also became apparent to Hendrick that this oasis had been built around a portal. And on the far side of that portal, shimmering and rippling in the air, was a temple.
He didn't recognise it as one he’d visited. But he’d seen enough of them to recognise it as one. To know that the writings on the obelisk in its centre would set down the laws and give a history of a civilisation that had spanned worlds and existed for many thousands of years. A civilisation that had encompassed a great many different peoples. Giants and little people. Humans and many others.
And that civilisation, he suddenly realised, had been in trouble. Because all the temples he had visited h
ad been on dead worlds. Something had been happening to the worlds of the Empire.
But what? At the time he'd walked those other worlds with their long dead people, it had meant little to him. A dead world was a dead world and they had died thousands of years ago. It was just another riddle to solve. What of it? But as he stared at the temple on the other side of the portal, he realised it might be important. Why had world after world been destroyed? Why had the survivors fled across worlds, some of them possibly going to the world of the Mythagan? Couldn't they stay and rebuild? Try as he might, Hendrick couldn't put the pieces of it together. And when he tried too hard, spent too much attention on the question, his spell started failing. So for the moment he put his questions aside.
Hendrick watched as party after party arrived at the oasis, walked through it to the portal at its heart and then stepped through it into the world beyond before disappearing. None hesitated. He had to presume that the people all knew where this portal went to. He thought that mattered too but couldn't think why.
