Madness and Magic- The Seers' War

by Greg Curtis

  After his defeat at the hands of the realm's armies twenty years before, the Duke had been banished to Alldrake Castle, where it was said that he sat on his own throne day after day, plotting vengeance against the King and his eventual rise to power. He had his sister Amberlee at his side, who many claimed was actually his lover. He also had all the time he needed since he had nothing else to do and plenty of gold.

  His men worked for him because they were terrified of refusing him. They would walk into the scariest place in the world because it didn't frighten them as much as the Duke did. If they were going after the Fae it was because the Duke thought the Fae could grant him the power he dreamed of. And they absolutely would not fail him. If the Duke said the Fae had to die then these men would kill them in the snap of a finger.

  But the man with the coarse voice was yelling something else at the others. He was yelling at them to bind them. To make sure they were lashed tight. That the Duke wanted them in one piece. And that, as terrible as it was, was hope. Baen leapt for it.

  Baen leapt to his feet, then stood there a little unsteadily as his legs tried to remember how to bear weight. His heart was racing too fast and his stomach gurgling from the ale, but he knew what he had to do. He had to save his friends! Baen rushed for the stairs as fast as a man three sheets to the wind could. As such his movements were more than a little ungainly. He would have run, but he simply wasn't well enough coordinated just then, so he had to settle for staggering quickly.

  But he made them as quickly as he could, and then somehow managed to pull the door open to the stairway housing without falling over, and then started down the stairs. There were a lot of stairs! He only managed to keep from tumbling down them by holding on desperately to the railings. Even so there were a few near falls.

  Half way down the four flights of stairs he had to stop for a breather, and cursed loudly about how large the building was. But his rest was brief and he soon carried on down, past the ground floor store, through the illusory wall, and then onto his basement where he finally did collapse. Damn, he really had drunk too much!

  But at least he could do something about that, and when he finally crawled back up to his feet, he went to his alchemy bench where his restoratives were sitting. A moment later, having un-stoppered the correct vial – he hoped, but then his vision was blurry – he swigged its contents. Within moments he felt better. Not sober precisely – the potion wasn't designed to do that – but more alert and able to work through the vapours in his head.

  Feeling better he moved on to his other work benches and began assembling everything he thought he might need for what lay ahead. That began with his rings. Normally he didn't wear them. They weren't the sort of thing men in Cedar Heights wore and people would look at him strangely if he did. But they were enchanted. Heavily so. And he was going to need all the magic he had.

  A minute later he had eight rings on, with each ring containing a powerful spell ready to be cast. Just to be safe though, he packed a few more rings away into a small box that he would take with him. Next came the weapons. A brace of pistols, one with bullets of sapping loaded and the other with bullets of shatter. There was little that would not be brought down by one of those spells. But if something did and he had nothing else, his knife enchanted with a spell of flash blindness should do the trick.

  Lastly of course he grabbed his staff. Every wizard had to have a staff. At least so the bards claimed. But of course he wasn't a wizard. He wasn't sure there were any such people. He could cast a little magic from his fingers, but used that way his magic was weak and fleeting. Trying to make it any more powerful was painful. In fact it could burn him. Baen was an enchanter and the staff was his most powerful enchantment. Maybe that was why he always left it floating above its own plinth in the middle of his secret workshop. He was proud of it.

  It wasn't much like the staff's the bards sang about though. It wasn't a branch of some ancient tree with precious crystals embedded in the wood. Nor was it a magical creation of glass and diamonds that shone with some arcane inner light. He was an enchanter from a city of stone and steel and his staff reflected that, being a perfectly straight rod of bronze that had a number of runes carved into it. Each rune was of course an enchantment, and at least fifty of them graced it – each of them the most powerful of its type that he could make.

  With staff and weapons in hand he hurried back up the stairs, past the store on the ground floor and then up to the first floor where the kitchen awaited him along with a pot of hot black coffee still on the hot plate. Baen gulped down as much of it as he could to clear the remaining vapours from his head and then headed back up to his bedchamber for a change of clothes. He was dressed for life in the city. The life of a merchant with aspirations. The fine linen shirt and light weight trousers however, wouldn’t stand up to much in the Hallows.

  As quickly as he could Baen changed into some heavy cotton pants and a thick cotton vest, only falling over once as he did so, before putting on some stout boots and grabbing a thick leather coat that hung down to his knees. It would help fend off the advances of the undergrowth. Lastly, he picked up a wide brimmed hat. They were basically the same clothes he had worn when he had first wandered into the Hallows so many years before.

  Finally after packing a change of clothes and whatever else he needed for his journey, Baen put a sign on the window of the store saying it was closed for the week and left the building. It had taken a little time to prepare. Far longer than he would have liked. But he consoled himself with the understanding that he wouldn’t be travelling all the way to Illoria – some ten days journey – but only to the border between G'lorenvale and Grenland which the raiders were going to have to travel through with their prisoners. It was far closer and Baen hoped to be able to intercept the raiding party before they got them back to the Duke. With a fast horse and cutting across the central plains, he could be there at least a day before the raiders. He had time.

  Nearly an hour had passed since Baen had first heard the sound of gunfire through the stones by then, and he was at least steady on his feet and – hopefully – ready for whatever awaited him. Next stop, the city stables, where he planned on waking up a couple of the hands.

  But half way there Baen stopped as another thought struck him. He wasn't actually heading into the Hallows themselves, and therefore he didn’t have to navigate through a thick forest. That widened the possible modes of transport available. Perhaps Baen could travel in something a little faster? Certainly it would give him more time to set up his ambush. And he knew just the thing.

  “You there! What you doin' out on the streets at this hour?” A city guard shouted at him as he was standing there by a street light, thinking.

  Turning, Baen saw the guard approaching quickly and thought about answering him. But then he decided he just didn't have time, especially not when he was dressed as he was. The man was never going to believe he was a book seller out for a walk. And the moment he spotted the metal staff and the pistols, the man would assume he was some sort of ruffian out burgling. And as he had come prepared, Baen used one on his rings and focused it on the guard. Almost immediately the guard collapsed to the street and started snoring.

  Immediately he did it, Baen knew that it had been a stupid thing to do. He should have simply talked his way out of things. This could cause trouble. But he'd had little choice if he didn't want to spend the night in the gaol and have his father bail him out in the morning. And it was too late to change his mind anyway. The man would report nothing. And since it was dark and Baen had a hat on leaving his face in shadow he wouldn't recognise him. He was safe.

  So he quickly checked the streets for anyone else who might have seen his actions, then the sky for the tethered dirigibles that carried a number of guards on watch, luckily saw no one and then he hurried on, not wanting to be seen anywhere near a collapsed guard. But he didn't head for the stables. Instead he turned and headed for the chariot yards.

  Maybe it was hypocrit
ical of him to take a steam chariot given how often he complained about the damned things. But they were fast. And despite the fact that eleven bells had rung, he knew there would be people working there. For some reason everyone wanted a chariot these days and the yards worked around the clock.

  His mind made up, Baen changed course to cut across Willow Line and then walked quickly down to the industrial quarter of the city. And despite the fact that it was late and no one else was about, no other guards accosted him.

  Twenty minutes later he walked in to the chariot yards, and immediately spotted a score of people working on the infernal contraptions. Sparks were flying as they welded up a storm. People were yelling instructions at one another. Shop boys were rushing back and forth carrying heavy loads of whatever was needed. Most importantly in front of the great sheds Baen could see a score of chariots waiting to be sold.

  Baen walked over to them to see which would best suit his purposes. But even as he eyed up one in the group, out of the corner of his eye he spotted something else that made him stop in his tracks. It was a two-wheeler! Instantly he thought to himself; if three wheels were faster than six, then surely two wheels were faster than three? And speed mattered. The faster he got to the border, the more time he would have to prepare. Besides, it wasn't as if he didn't know how to ride one of the beasts. As a child he'd had a peddle powered two-wheeler. It was just that this was bigger and had rubber tyres that looked more like barrels. Still, how different could it be?

  “You interested?” The store manager approached him as he stared at the beast. “Or just looking?”

  “I'm buying. How much?” He didn't even turn around to look at the man. He just kept staring at the steam powered two-wheeler, wondering if this was a smart move. It had been a long time since he'd ridden anything with just two wheels. And the bronze and iron beast was huge! It had to weigh nearly as much as a horse! Besides he still wasn’t completely sober.

  “The wheeler? Three gold pieces.” The man started the negotiations with a ridiculously high price hoping to bargain for as much as he could get.

  Baen didn't even bother to haggle, and handed over the three gold pieces to the man, making the salesman gulp in shock. He didn't even ask why the man called it a wheeler instead of a two-wheeler. It seemed like a good enough name. “Now tell me about how this wheeler works while your boy loads it up with coal and water.”

  Soon he was getting a lecture from the manager who had come over to complete the sale while the store boys were running around frantically, getting the beast ready to ride. The man explained what all the levers and peddles were for, and how to keep the wheeler running. And at the end of it they even found a cord for him so could tie it around the two ends of his staff so it could lie against his back – though in that he did get a number of strange looks. Who carried a metal staff, after all? But he ignored them, and as he had paid top price for the wheeler, no one was about to question him about it or the pistols on his belt and possibly jeopardise the sale.

  Twenty minutes later Baen pushed the ignition rod into the furnace and watched as the machine came to life. After that it was just a matter of waiting for the water to boil. By the time it did, he was already sitting on the machine, surprised at how like the saddle of a horse it was and a little worried by the amount of smoke coming out of the stack behind him.

  “Now, gently on the throttle,” the manager told him.

  The man was too much of a worrier, Baen thought confidently. Frightened that the neighbours would complain about the noise. Besides; he was in a hurry. Baen clicked the switch to engage the mechanicals, and instantly forgot everything else.

  “Piss!” The wheeler took off like a scorched cat and Baen found himself hanging on for dear life to the handle bars and screaming as it raced for the street. The end of the yard came up on him frighteningly fast, but he had least taken in enough of what the manager had said that he somehow managed to turn the handle around and shift his weight while lying straddled over the huge engine that he managed to miss the fence. Once he was on the street however he found he had overcompensated in the turn and nearly went flying into the buildings on the far side of it. Thankfully he missed them, though the wheeler took a short detour up onto the footpath and knocked over the corner pole of a picket fence, before Baen managed to turn the handlebars again. Unfortunately, he once more pulled too hard and found himself careening off to the other side of the damned street and more fences.

  Somehow he managed to straighten up the wheeler before hitting any of the buildings and then he finally managed to steer a path down the centre of the street. He was still driving far too fast for the city of course and as the machine roared along the road, it sent dirt and cobbles flying up into the air in all directions. But he couldn't remember which lever slowed it down, so he just had to hang on and stick to very small movements. At one point he passed a city guard who yelled at him and waved his arms about. But he shot past the man before he could even work out what he was yelling.

  Baen didn't stop – he hadn’t yet worked out how – and continued along Willow line, amazed at how the machine made all the houses seem to disappear in a blur. It was faster than a horse galloping, he thought. It was probably wilder too.

  Two minutes later he turned into Travis Street, starting to get a sense of how to ride the wheeler, using his body weight to lean into the corners the way he wanted to turn and barely moving the handlebars. The steam engine was roaring like a pride of snarling wildcats beneath him, the ground was quaking underneath the mighty beast's wheels and he felt like some sort of god racing through the night. Which probably explained where his sudden urge to howl came from. But he couldn't help it as the fear faded and the excitement grew. This was power such as man had never dreamed of!

  After that the city limits came up frighteningly fast. One moment they were a thousand yards away; the next they were just in front of him and the city guards were yelling and scattering in all directions as they got out of the way of the beast barrelling towards them at impossible speeds.

  Baen shouted an apology to the guards as he shot through the check point like a bullet and travelled on his way toward the crossroads. He was probably lucky none of the guards pulled out a rifle and started shooting at him. Right at that time though he was too pumped up on excitement and fear for his friends to be able to think more rationally.

  Soon he was putting the city far behind him. Blasting down the Southern Pass like an avenging demon. His backside was already starting to pay the price for his speed as the machine found all the bumps and potholes in the road. And his eyes were watering as the wind blasted into them. But he didn't care. This was a thrill such as he could never have imagined. And besides no horse could gallop this fast. If he stayed on this road, he guessed he could reach Flinder's Point in only a matter of hours.

  But once he reached the first crossroads he stopped for a moment – having finally remembered how to power down the mighty engine growling beneath his legs and applied the brakes. But only long enough to catch his breath and stare at the city of Cedar Heights already so far behind him. He was wide awake as he had never been before. Filled with excitement. And eager to get moving again.

  But his head having cleared a little bit more, he realised he had to take the time to adjust the straps on his pack and finally put on the goggles he'd been given so that the wind stopped hurting his eyes. Even as he did that his heart rate calmed a little further and it occurred to him that racing over rough clay roads at night was dangerous. Fortunately, he had an enchantment for light on his staff, and a few seconds later the world all around him was lit up brightly enough for anyone in a dozen leagues to see him. Maybe it would even be bright enough for him to see all the pot holes in the road ahead in time and avoid them?!

  Finally ready and only a little bit drunk he gunned the engine, and was off again. Immediately he was overwhelmed once more by the growling of the mighty engine beneath him and the way the wind and the land whipped past him as he race
d through the night. Torn between terror and ecstasy as hung on to the wheeler for dear life. But knowing one thing above all – that he had to hurry, and this was the best way he could get where he needed to be in the fastest possible time.

  He was a lord of thunder on a mission of life and death and the Lady should have mercy on those who got in his way!

  Chapter Three

  Morning brought Baen to the town of Duckworth, a full seventy leagues from Cedar Heights. He was truly amazed by the speed of the beast. A horse and carriage would have taken two or three days. But as he pulled it into the front of a general goods store to buy more coal and get some water, he was also exhausted. He'd ridden through the night to get here, and he still had a long way to go.

  His path took him south from here on, until he reached the border with the Hallows – a place that no one else would ever dare go. After that he would have to travel on foot if he wanted to go on. The Hallows was a giant forest. But really, he didn't intend to. Even drunk he'd realised he needed to stop there and wait for the raiders. Every fibre of his being was telling him he needed to go on. To race madly on foot into the Hallows hunt the raiders down and kill them. But his head said otherwise. The raiders would be heading north and in all likelihood would be coming back down the very road he was on. It was the direct path between the Hallows and Alldrake Castle, home of the Duke.