Madness and Magic- The Seers' War

by Greg Curtis

  “And what do you think I can do?” He finally asked.

  “Set them to rest!”

  “That's not my gift Grandpapa. I enchant. You know that.” He sighed. His grandfather did know that, but clearly he was too upset by whatever had happened to be able to think clearly. The man was nearly eighty after all – and naturally irritable!

  To cover his indecision Baen walked over to the kitchen and put the coffee pot on the hot plate. “Grandpapa I'm going to go back upstairs and get dressed. You should get something to drink and sit down. Take a moment to get your thoughts in order. Then we'll work out what's happened and what to do. Alright?”

  “Don't speak to me like I'm some sort of doddering old fool, you whelp! I'll tan your hide!”

  “Then don't act like one Grandpapa,” he told him bluntly. “You're still not making a lot of sense.” And with that he turned and headed back to the stairs and his bed chamber while his grandfather remained where he was, grumbling.

  It took a few minutes to dress and sort through his thoughts. But it seemed to be time well spent as by the time he made it back down the stairs his grandfather seemed to be in a better mood. A more helpful one anyway. And some coffee helped even more.

  “So, tell me about these people who've died,” Baen asked when they were finally sitting at the table.

  “Been murdered,” his grandfather corrected him. “Thousands of them. A whole town. They were abducted. Taken away by soldiers. Forced into the underground catacombs beneath a great black castle. Then they were left there to rot for an eternity. Until finally the roof came tumbling down on them, piece by piece, and everything started exploding. Their last moments were ones of terror. They've found no peace even in death. And a dark man controls them somehow. They're trapped in fear and darkness. They can't move on.”

  “A dark castle? Are you talking about Alldrake castle?” It had to be Baen thought. Not just because it was the centre of so much that was going wrong in the world lately. But also because it was constructed of black granite. Some said cursed granite. And from what he'd been told it was due to be attacked shortly. Or maybe it already had been. He wasn't sure.

  “Maybe. They don't know. All they know is fear. And that they're trapped.”

  “Then we're left with only one thing we can do. One group of people we can talk to.” That much was obvious to him. Just as it was obvious that his grandfather wasn't going to approve.

  “The Faeries?!” His grandfather looked up from his coffee, wide eyed and already spoiling for an argument.

  “Fae, Grandpapa. They're called Fae. And they wouldn't like being called faeries. Those are children's stories.” Strange ones since faeries had gossamer wings and were tiny. It seemed that there were a lot of people about with fantastical imaginations. Most of them were called bards!

  “They can call themselves flying pigs for all I care! Sanctimonious know-it-alls they are! Self-righteous neer-do-wells! You know they dared to come to my door and demand that I join them!”

  “I'm sure they didn't demand anything, Grandpapa. They believe in freedom.” He was also sure that they wouldn't have received a warm welcome from him.

  “It was you!” His grandfather's eyes narrowed as he stared at him across the table. “You sent them to me! Didn't you, boy?!”

  “I gave them your name.” Baen admitted. “Said they could talk to you. But I knew you'd never agree anyway and I told them that too.”

  “And Millie? That poor girl? All she wants is to be left in peace.”

  “And you know that that poor girl was drinking poison tea when I arrived! She had a rat for a friend and birds were nesting in her hair! I mean literally. Birds were nesting in her hair! That poor woman needs help!” But whether the Fae had been able to help her at all, he didn't know. He'd spoken to J'bel once since then, and all the man had said was that they'd had an interesting conversation. Interesting! What did that mean?!

  “Traitor!” His grandfather mumbled at him under his breath.

  “Drink your coffee Grandfather. We're going to the new Trading Mission shortly, and you'll need your wits about you!”

  “Are you giving me orders now, Boy?”

  “Just drink your coffee, Grandpapa,” Baen told him tiredly. “If what you're saying is right, they're the only ones who'll know what to do.” It was too late in the evening for this he thought as he rubbed at his eyes.

  Ten minutes later they were walking through a nearly deserted city, heading for Willowbank Road and the Fae Trading Mission. At least his grandfather had become quieter. He had chosen to grumble continuously rather than yell at him. Even better, no one else was about to bother them either. But just in case they did, Baen had brought his staff with him. No one would pose them any threat. Not even a ghost.

  As they walked Baen tried to make sense of what his grandfather was telling him. The only thing he could think was that the Duke had set out some sort of trap. That he'd known that the King's army would come and had prepared accordingly. But what he didn't understand was how it worked as a trap. The army attacked, the cannons blew the walls down, and the people trapped below died. That much he understood – maybe. Somehow the Duke had trapped the spirits of the dead and used them for his own ill purposes. But how? And what could a ghost do save go boo?

  He was still thinking on that when they finally arrived at the old linen mill and he could finally knock on the door.

  It didn't look much like a linen mill anymore, he thought. But what was there now was a vast improvement over what had been there a week or so before. The mill had been left as a hulking ruin in the middle of the city, long since abandoned once the advancements in steam technology had taken hold. These days engines less than half the size could power mills twice as large, more reliably, and use less coal doing it. So the old steam engines had been removed, but for some reason new ones had never been put in their place, and the massive engine rooms now stood empty. As did, he guessed, most of the out buildings. The yards at the back which had once been home to goods – both in and out – now had huge fences built around them and a pack of riding wolves calling them home. He suspected the eagles were nesting on the roof.

  As for the Fae themselves, as he understood it they had made themselves comfortable on the top floor of the main building above the market they had built below.

  The Fae had worked on the aesthetics too. The red bricks had been washed and even in the moonlight they shone. Tall trees had been planted around the perimeter. New doors and windows had been fitted, no doubt making a huge difference to the light in the building. They'd also added lamps on pieces of filigree that shone brightly. All in all it looked like a much finer place than it once did, even at night.

  Then the door opened and it was his turn to be surprised.

  “Nyri?” For a moment he couldn't believe he was really seeing her. Then when he finally did, he couldn't for the life of him think why the Protector was in Cedar Heights.

  “I should have known,” the Protector sighed. “Who else would bother us at such a late hour?”

  “I do apologise for that. But I would not have come if it were not important. My grandfather Nicholas Walkerton here has seen something, and we need to speak with someone with a knowledge of all matters ghostly.”

  “So see to it Girl!” His grandfather added as if he was somehow in charge.

  Nyri stared at him, less than impressed, before finally telling them to stay there while she woke the leader of the Mission. Then she disappeared somewhere into the darkness beyond the door, leaving the two of them to stand there on the step, wondering what happened next.

  Fortunately they didn't have to wait long before the lights deeper in the building came on and a couple of men came hurrying towards them in their own night clothes. One of them was J'bel.

  “Masters Walkerton.” He greeted them. “It's late to be calling.”

  It was and Baen had to apologise again. But at least when he did they quickly found themselves ushered inside the buildin
g. And then for a moment, he almost forgot why they had come.

  The Mill had been transformed into something that was unlike any building he'd seen before. Mostly because of the plants that were festooning the walls. They were hanging down in ribbons from every beam and column and in places they were cascading like waterfalls. Most of them were flowering. But that was only the beginning of what they'd done to the old linen mill. The floor had been taken in hand and the boards polished to within an inch of their lives. The ceiling had been cleaned, and then rows of crystals had been hung from it to provide light. Living quarters were obviously above them as he'd been told while offices were at the back.

  The thing that surprised him most though, was that it was an actual trading enterprise. There were stalls set up along both sides of the walls, with numerous exotic wares sitting on the tables. He was going to have to come back some day, he thought. When the Mission was open for business.

  Baen and his grandfather were escorted past the trading floor to the rooms behind it and were quickly shown to a table and chairs, where his grandfather immediately launched back into his story. And despite Baen's doubts, no one seemed to disbelieve his grandfather. No matter how much of an old crank he was. They even asked questions as if they believed he knew what he was talking about.

  Grandpapa liked that. He liked it so much that he quickly began telling Baen to be quiet every time he tried to open his mouth.

  But that was alright with him, Baen decided. He didn't know if what his grandfather was telling him was real or not. It could be age starting to catch up with him after all. He could have just had a nightmare. But even if it was real, he doubted there was anything he could do about it. Ghosts? They just weren't something he knew an enchantment for. But if there was magic that could help, the Fae would surely know it. In any case it was so far away – at least eighty leagues east – that whatever madness the Duke had unleashed on the world would take many days to reach them – if it ever did.

  He grew bored listening to the conversation. Not to mention tired of being told to shut his mouth. So when Nyri offered to make some more refreshments for everyone as the conversation was wearing on, Baen offered to help her. It was the smart thing to do, he thought. The chances were good that sooner or later his grandfather would start snapping at the Fae and ordering them about as if they were little children. He didn't want to be there for that.

  It was quiet outside, Baen thought, as he walked out into the yard to empty the tea leaves. Peaceful. The riding wolves were mostly sleeping, piled together in a pack, growling softly from time to time and sometimes snapping at one another, but not in any serious manner. It was very late and they were too tired to be upset about anything. The eagles on the roof, made very little noise though occasionally he heard the flutter of a wing as they shifted position in their sleep. Even Nyri seemed quiet. For his part he felt much the same as them. All he wanted to do was get this meeting over and then go back to his nice comfortable bed. he hoped that would be soon. His grandfather surely couldn't have much more to say and the Fae would soon grow tired of listening. Thinking about his bed, he could almost feel the soft cotton sheets calling for him.

  Unfortunately it seemed that the world had other plans for him.

  It began with the sound of the watch blowing their whistles frantically in the distance. City guards he assumed, chasing some miscreant. Probably a burglar spotted sneaking around the city. Soon after that he heard the sound of pistols being fired. And they were much closer. That worried him a little. They didn't normally have gun battles in the streets of Cedar Heights.

  “Some sort of wrongdoer being chased?” Nyri asked as they stared in the direction of the noises.

  Baen shrugged. He would have answered her except that just at that moment the sound of horse hooves bashing into the cobbles became much louder, and they both turned to face whoever coming. Just before the wrongdoer in question came into view. It was a woman astride a horse, galloping flat out towards them, the city guards a long way behind her. But occasionally she fired a pistol into the air, perhaps to make sure they knew which way to run.

  But that wasn't what bothered Baen. It wasn't why his blood chilled. It was that he knew her. He'd had high tea with her not that long ago.

  “Oh gods! Shite! Please ride on by!” He whispered the prayer to every god he knew, desperately hoping she wouldn't spot him and looking for somewhere to hide. But of course, the gods never listened. Not to him. So instead of galloping right past the Mission, she pulled up just in front of them.

  “Baen! Is that you? It's so hard to see in this light.”

  For an answer Baen just stood there with his mouth hanging open, more or less frozen in shock. Eventually he raised a hand in greeting while trying to remember how to make a polite smile. But it was difficult when he was staring at an over-weight, middle-aged woman on a horse, who was stark naked. When the light from the lamps showed her every wrinkle. And when her every movement caused parts of her body to jiggle in ways he had never wanted to see.

  “Is something wrong. Boy? You look ill!”

  “No … no.” he stammered out an answer. But really, the only thing on his mind was that he just wished she'd stop moving about. She absolutely needed to stop doing that. It wasn't right! Not when her pendulous breasts were swinging around wildly in front of him. Almost as wildly as her belly.

  “Oh, I see!” She smiled suddenly. “Caught out at night with a lady! Not wanting your Aunt Martha to see! Because I might tell your father!”

  She turned her attention to the Protector. “And you would be my dear?”

  “Nyri Lora,” Nyri replied in a slightly strangled whisper, her eyebrows rising to greet her hairline

  “Well Nyri Lora, don't you put up with any cheek from this one! He was always up to mischief as a child and I doubt he's changed!”

  “I've noticed that.” Nyri agreed with her, her voice still little more than a whisper.

  “Good. And remember, he's the sort who needs a firm hand!”

  The sound of men whistling came closer, and Baen's aunt twisted around in her saddle. “Anyway, we must have tea some time. Or maybe a nice glass of wine in the garden. And then we can discuss Baen's many failings. But I've got to dash now.”

  And with that she kneed her horse in the side and was off, galloping madly down the cobbled street, leaving Baen standing there, his humiliation complete.

  Shortly after that the city guards appeared, running as fast as they could, but out of breath and looking as if they wanted to drop. Still they carried on gamely, refusing to give up the chase, and even blew their whistles a few more times as they ran past the two of them.

  “And that was?” Nyri turned to him after the men had gone.

  “My Aunt Martha Walkerton.” He found himself unable to look at her, choosing instead to stare intently at his work. “It seems her time drying out in the convalescent home has not been a complete success!” He shook his head. “Father is not going to be pleased!”

  He did his best to concentrate on rinsing out the teapots in silence and to not look at her. He desperately tried not to look at her.

  “And is it normal for members of your family to go out riding through the city at night – and forget their clothes?!”

  “Just her, and just recently,” he answered in a small voice, wondering if she was laughing at him. He had a horrible feeling she was. And things had been almost good between them!

  Madness and magic! It was the Walkerton way! Followed of course by humiliation!

  Chapter Thirteen

  Morning brought calm to the land. But not peace. Not unless it was the peace of the grave.

  So many were dead. Though the how of it Dariya still didn't understand. Some had been shot by their fellow soldiers. Some had shot themselves. But most of those who were dead showed no signs of injury. The only thing she could see was fear. Faces frozen in utter terror. And as much as she didn't want to believe it, she suspected that that was what had killed the
m. Their hearts had simply exploded in their chests from sheer terror.

  About a third of the army had died that way. Nearly a thousand men at arms. And not many of those who had survived were in any shape to fight. Most of them were sitting around among their deceased brethren, shivering and shaking. They were barely functioning. The fear still lingered. Dariya was able to get them moving for a time. She could bark out orders at them to rebuild the fires, prepare food, gather up the soldiers from all around the castle and repair the tents as if she had some right to do so. They would respond docilely – almost like clockwork toys. But as soon as the task was complete they returned to their terrified stupor and sat down, staring at nothing. Or nothing that she could see.