But foraging scouts for one army or another had stripped the farm, burned the buildings, and left the family’s bodies to rot in the rain.
Nimbulan grieved with Rollett, then and now. In this case he had truly replaced the boy’s birth father. In the moons since that terrible time, Nimbulan had spent many evenings comforting Rollett, sharing memories of his father. Reliving the events of Rollett’s loss was the first time Nimbulan had allowed the endless wars to touch him personally. His long road to a quest for peace had really begun there. Keegan’s death had been the final catalyst that had brought him to Lord Quinnault de Tanos and this ancient building with Ackerly, Lyman, a few tired Battlemages, and eight apprentices.
“Someone comes.” Zane lifted his head, sniffing the air for changes.
“A man. Walking with heavy steps, as if very weary,” Powwell added, cocking his ear toward the door. “Two men, one younger and stronger than the other.”
“Ackerly.” Haakkon closed his eyes and furrowed his brow in concentration. “He’s thinking of food and ale and gold. The boatman walks behind with heavy luggage.”
He’d expected Ackerly two days ago, before this latest winter storm had made the river a churning cauldron of eddies and wicked currents.
“Together, you three would make one powerful magician,” Nimbulan acknowledged the young apprentices’ various talents. “Now which of you will be able to open the door for Ackerly at the moment he reaches for the latch?”
The three youngsters looked to each other as if consulting. A grin of mischief crossed Zane’s face as he shook free of his blanket and walked to the kitchen door.
“I meant, open it with magic!”
“But you told us just yesterday not to waste our energy with frivolous uses of magic,” Haakkon reminded his master.
“Since none of you has mastered levitation with any precision, this is a test and not a waste. Back to your chair, Zane. And no help from you other apprentices.” Nimbulan glared at the five older boys who looked as if they wanted to open the door with an easy magical gesture.
Lyman wandered into the kitchen from the interior of the building without a word and moved to warm his hands over the fire, watching the boys with curiosity and amusement.
Zane settled into his blankets once more. The three new boys stared at the door with intense concentration. A blue aura burst forth from each apprentice. The wavering sapphire glows hovered separately. Haakkon’s aura took on a hint of red and purple, the colors that would eventually become his magic signature. Zane’s yellow and dark red were not as strong, but definitely present.
Nimbulan looked deeper into Powwell’s aura for signs of another color. The initial blue swirled and faded. It lost shape, sending out tendrils. Like a river mist, the questing scraps of energy drifted with the air currents, probing this way and that without direction.
Suddenly Powwell’s vague blue flared white and engulfed the other two auras. The colors whirled in a bright circle, blending into one riotous rainbow of energy. The book in the library about Rovers said they joined their auras in order to combine their magic!
The door flew open with a flash of eldritch light and wind that smothered the fire in the hearth.
Ackerly stood framed in the doorway, his hand lifted as if to raise the latch. The boatman dropped the small trunk he carried on his shoulder, staring wide-eyed, gape-mouthed at the locked door opening without the aid of a human hand.
Myri huddled in the shadows at the back of the Rovers’ sea cave where Televarn’s uncle had dumped her without comfort or ceremony. His eyes had glittered with greed as he turned his back on her. No one had offered her any of the communal meal, or a blanket, or a change of dry clothes. All those niceties had been reserved for Televarn, who also ignored her.
She’d tried once to run past them, only to find five brawny young men blocking the opening of the cave. Desperate to be free, she had flashed compulsion spells, sleep spells, invisibility spells at the men. Every attempt had bounced back at her tenfold. She’d crumpled into the soft sand on the floor of the cave, exhausted and humiliated. How could she have been so naive as to fall under Televarn’s compulsion to love him?
She fell into dreamless sleep, only to awake, unrefreshed, hours later on the bundle of blankets that retained Televarn’s distinctive scent. Would he expect her to continue as his lover after his betrayal?
Hungry and cold, she watched twenty members of Televarn’s clan standing in a tight ring around the flickering warmth of a cheery fire, hands linked, bodies swaying, minds in tune with an old woman’s chant.
Televarn stood next to the old woman who led the clan in invocation and response. Myri sensed that the strange words they half-sang were in thanksgiving for the man’s return. And something more.
A well of power rose with the flames toward the high ceiling of the cave. Each word and sway intensified the spell they wove.
The chant grew in volume. The circle of people dropped hands and shifted into an intricate dance pattern, still going round and round the fire. In and out. Around. Turn back the way they had come.
Myri inched closer to the Rovers, drawn to the magic they worked in unison. She needed to see what they did and how, needed to become a part of it. Memories of other dances performed around Equinox Pylons overlaid the current ritual. Which was she seeing?
Shivering in the darkness beyond the light and warmth of the spell, her feet and hands twitched, eager to join the dance, become a piece of that mighty spell. She reached out to touch Televarn as he passed her. Energy repulsed her hand. Televarn ignored her, intent on some inner beauty she couldn’t yet see. His eyes glazed over with the trance induced by the dance—the chant.
Threads of energy bound the entire clan to each other. The intricate web seemed to begin and end with Televarn. Because he had been absent and they welcomed him back? Myri shook her head, trying to clear it of the need to entwine her own life’s energy with the Rovers. Her need to join them only intensified.
The web of energy combined with moonlight streaming into the cave and became a dome encasing the Rovers, shutting Myri out.
A flash of movement near the mouth of the cave became a part of the compelling rhythms and dancing energy.
Amaranth skulked near the cave mouth in search of her.
Fear for her familiar sizzled through Myri’s mind and body. The spell pulled at her, as if a strong wind dragged her toward the heart of the Rover clan. She resisted the magic, recognizing it for an artificial attraction similar to Televarn’s love spell. The compelling need to join the Rover ritual burned out of her system.
Sand, shells, and bits of waveweeds swirled around the edges of the magic. The spell pulled all toward its heart. The Rovers danced widdershins, along the path of the moon. Myri resisted the urge to join the debris of life circling deosil, the path of the sun.
Amaranth stalked closer to the dancing Rovers, nearly dragging his belly on the ground. He mewled and prodded the invisible wall around the Rovers with nose and paw.
Colored lights sparkled across the spell’s armor along a serpentine line. Amaranth’s paw marked the beginning and end of the rainbow flashes. Shades of purple and lavender dominated the sparks. The barrier tore open in a ragged hole just big enough to admit the flywacket into the inner circle.
Myri pushed at the armor with her own hand and magic. Burning energy pushed her hand away with a painful jolt. Whirling sand crashed against the shimmering wall and burned in a beautiful array of red, green, and blue sparks.
Only Amaranth was admitted. The spell called him specifically. Amaranth, the rare flywacket who would bring the Rover clan gold, prestige, and honor.
She had to separate her familiar from the ritual and escape with him without disturbing the Rovers. Mind and eyes clear, she stepped away from the magic’s influence.
Amaranth took a step closer to the doorway, into the circle.
“No!” Myri screamed. The sound bounced against the barrier of magical armor and echoed
about the cave.
Amaranth took another step forward, oblivious to her cry.
Myri opened her mouth again. All of her inborn magic demanded release in defense of Amaranth, her familiar, her only friend, her family. Magretha had warned her against Rovers and their compelling rituals.
She unleashed a wordless Song in notes so highly pitched human ears could barely hear them. She Sang her love for the pesky black cat. She Sang of the freedom of the open skies he so enjoyed. She Sang of their life together, the two of them alone and separate from the rest of the world. Then she added notes of powerful love reminding him of how they had never been apart, and never should be.
Amaranth stopped in mid-stride, one front paw lifted to take the next step. The hole in the Rover barrier began to close. The dance inside the magic circle froze; the dancers caught in whatever pose the notes of her Song penetrated.
Still Singing, Myri grabbed Amaranth and pulled. The magic tugged him back toward the inner circle. Myri pulled harder, grasping her familiar firmly around his ribs, just behind the delicate fold of his wings.
The old Rover women who led the chant and dance broke free of Myri’s Song. Her black eyes, so like Televarn’s in shape, color, and greedy treachery, locked with Myri’s own. The magic compulsion to enter the circle began again.
Amaranth and the magic resisted her grasp.
Myri closed her eyes and Sang again, in quieter tones, lulling Amaranth to accept her will as best for them both.
The flywacket collapsed beneath her hands. Myri scooped him up and ran from the cave.
“Stop her!” screamed the old woman.
“She’s got the flywacket,” Televarn said.
Outside the cave, wind and rain lashed at Myri’s face and hands. Cold numbed her fingers around Amaranth. Waves crawled forward, nearly to the mouth of the cave. Escape across the headland was truly blocked. The only way out of this cove was up.
A rude staircase had been cut into the cliffside to her right. That escape route led to a grassy plateau where the Rovers could chase and catch her and Amaranth.
“Can you fly?” she asked the now squirming familiar.
(No.) His entire body shook with reaction to the abrupt release of the compulsion spell.
“Hold tight,” she told him as she slung him over her shoulder. Blindly she let her hands and feet find purchase among the jagged rocks. Up she climbed. Up where she could see and survey the terrain. Up where the Rovers couldn’t follow.
“Myri, come down from there. You’ll fall!” Televarn called. Charming persuasion oozed from his voice. But she was immune to him now. He had betrayed her.
He followed her. He was close. Too close.
She climbed higher, faster, using fingernails and toes to cling to the rocks. Amaranth mewed an encouragement.
“Myri!” Televarn’s voice contained a note of desperation. “Myri, I love you. Come back to me.”
“You only love the gold my familiar will bring to you,” she retorted. Tears for a lost dream and the shattering of her love for Televarn blinded her in her quest for a new purchase among the rocks.
“I love you, too, Myri. We are meant to be together,” Televarn pleaded.
“You used me. You used magic to compel me to love you so you could kidnap Amaranth. You don’t know how to love for real.” She reached higher, found a handhold, and pulled herself up.
“I love you, Myri. I won’t ever let you go. Never. You belong to me now. Me and only me.” Televarn grunted as he pulled himself up the rock face. He seemed to be an adept climber, following her rapidly.
Behind her and to the right she heard other feet scrambling on the staircase. She angled her climb to the next rock outcropping. She’d come out above the plateau, above the Rovers and their treachery.
“Myri, help me. I can’t hold on!” Televarn’s words trailed off to end on a scream.
Briefly she looked below her. A dark form lay sprawled on his back at the edge of the waves. Frothy water lapped at his feet, rose and covered him.
Her empathy reached out to him, needing to drag him to safety, needing to heal him.
She fought the powers within her. A compulsion stronger than the Rovers’ ritual pulled her back to the cove. Pulled her back to betrayal and danger.
“No,” she told herself. “I can’t risk Amaranth to heal a lying, cheating, thieving Rover.” She climbed on, easily outdistancing the men who climbed the staircase.
“Will I ever be allowed to stop running from those I want to love?” Tears fell freely from her face. A home and family seemed further away than ever.
Only the wind answered her with a lonely howl.
Chapter 17
Ackerly stared at the assembly in the kitchen. The five older apprentices stood, chairs overturned behind them, jaws hanging open and expressions of sheer amazement on their faces. The three younger boys, stared at each other in puzzlement, their mugs of cider hanging idle in their hands. They looked as if they hadn’t the strength of will or steadiness in their legs to stand.
Nimbulan leaped from his comfortable armchair, splashing cider down the front of his robe. Another stain for Ackerly to sponge out.
“You did it, boys! You opened the door with magic.” The Senior Magician patted each of them on the back so enthusiastically the apprentices stumbled out of their chairs.
Ackerly paused, assessing the room before entering. Opening a door and latch with magic shouldn’t have elicited so much excitement. A matter of a series of simple levitations opened any lock. Ackerly could do it, with effort. So why all the fuss over the apprentices? And why all three of them instead of one?
“Come in, Ackerly. Don’t just stand there. We have cause for celebration. Did you bring the Tambootie? Of course you did. Which pack is it in? We’ve got to try a new experiment.” Nimbulan searched all the bags before the boatman could set them on the floor. “This is amazing. I wonder if it was the combination of Tambootie and cider or something special about the friendship among the boys. They did all come from the same region.”
Unerringly, Nimbulan found the parcel wrapped in Ackerly’s dirty shirts. Ackerly wondered briefly how his master knew where to find the pottery jug of dried Tambootie leaves.
“Maybe it was the age of the Tambootie. All of the essential oils permeated the pouch and seeped back into the leaves, giving the dose unusual potency,” Nimbulan rattled on, heedless of the nonsense of his words.
“What happened, Nimbulan? What makes you so excited?” Ackerly placed a soothing hand on his friend’s shoulder. He’d never seen him like this, even when they were boys in training. Even when they sold their first viable fertility spell to a middle-aged couple who had lost their only child and despaired of having another. Nimbulan had been so jubilant when he heard the spell worked he hadn’t paid attention to the coins Ackerly had collected and pocketed.
Ackerly prayed Nimbulan would be equally forgetful of the gold left over from buying the Tambootie. The gold was the only triumph left to Ackerly. Nimbulan had all the magic. Why shouldn’t his miserable assistant get to keep the gold?
“They did it. The three of them combined their magic to open the door. I saw it in their auras. Is this all the Tambootie you bought for five gold pieces? I had no idea the weed had become so dear.” Nimbulan held up the now unwrapped crock.
How had Nimbulan known the exact price of the Tambootie?
Nimbulan had been the magician spying on him in Sambol. Nimbulan had somehow watched him pay over the five gold pieces. They both knew how many were left and should be returned.
A pain stabbed Ackerly in the gut. He wouldn’t give up the extra three gold pieces he’d secreted in the sole of his boot. Nor the other five he’d hidden in the lining of his cloak. They were his. He’d earned them! Nimbulan would have paid over the entire twenty coins and more to get the Tambootie. Any price to feed his addiction to the weed. Surely he wouldn’t begrudge Ackerly a small commission for saving him so much.
“This crock of
Tambootie won’t last very long. You should have gotten more. We have a lot of experimenting to do, boys. Come, let’s get started.” Nimbulan turned toward the stove. “We’ll need more cider and a brighter fire. Nothing like a strong flame to focus on while heading into a trance. Will you fix the cider, please, Lyman. You seem to have a special touch with the spices.”
For the first time since entering, Ackerly became aware of the old man standing by the hearth. He could have sworn that Lyman wasn’t there when he entered. And Nimbulan had asked him politely to make the cider. Not an order. A request. He’d said “please.” Nimbulan never said “please,” to Ackerly anymore.
“Wait a minute, Nimbulan.” Ackerly grabbed the Senior Magician’s sleeve. “You mean you’ve already been giving the boys Tambootie in their cider?”
“Of course. They need to become used to the side effects before they face the trial by smoke.”
“But you can’t. It’s too dangerous. They’re too young.” Ackerly frantically sought a way to stall the new experiments. He had to find out how much Nimbulan knew about his gold before a deep drug-induced trance took the magician into the void where all knowledge was available to those who knew where to look and what to look for.
Concern for the boys was the only thing that would keep Nimbulan away from the drug tonight. Ackerly didn’t care if they all became addicted and stunted their growth. He needed time to hide his gold more securely. Perhaps a tale of bandits. The country was rife with them.
“You are right, of course, Ackerly. I was too excited by the way the boys combined their magic. We are all cold and tired. Time enough in the morning to examine the ramifications of this spell. Off to bed, boys. We all need a good night’s sleep.”
The three youngsters looked dead on their feet already. The spell they had worked dragged their shoulders down and made them shuffle. They could hardly keep their eyes open.
“Rollett,” Ackerly called to the oldest of the apprentices. “See that they wash up and take their clothes and boots off before they fall into bed. We’ll need all of you in the morning. Who’s on kitchen duty?”
Dragon Nimbus Novels: Vol II, The Page 17
