Sword's Call

by C. A. Szarek

  Cera covered a smile and then turned to her wolf. “Trik, what have I told you about stealing things?” The wolf rose, wagging his tail so hard his rear end wiggled. She probed his mind, but he seemed to have acquired selective comprehension. Throwing her hands up, she sighed. “Take us to the wand’s owner.”

  She ignored Jorrin’s laugh as Trikser dove into the woods to the right of the clearing.

  Cera followed at a jog, the two men on her heels. She gaped as her bondmate came to a stop in front of a wizened figure.

  Jorrin had been right about the wand’s owner. He was an elf, no taller than a ten or eleven-turn-old human child, his face flushed with several shades of red. His bushy white brows were drawn tight and low.

  She was no empath, but irritation rolled off him in waves. Cera could feel the magic.

  The elf’s clothing was as shaggy as his white bushy beard. His brown tunic hung off of his thin shoulders, his dark breeches oversized and baggy with a belt tightly wrapped around his slender waist. There was a ragged black triangular hat in the fallen leaves near his left foot.

  He glared up at them.

  As they watched, he yanked with all his might, attempting to free his right foot. A very dark green vine-like plant Cera had never seen before encircled his ankle. The more he pulled, the tighter it got, creeping up his thin calf, well on its way to his knee.

  “About time.” His accent was thick, although his earlier shouts in her dialect had been clear.

  Trikser wuffed at her feet, stepping forward, then backing up. He looked up at her.

  “You,” the elf shouted, pointing at her wolf.

  Trikser only wagged his tail.

  Cera gasped, looking from the elf to her wolf and back. She had to order herself not to step in front of Trik to protect him.

  That would’ve reversed their usual roles for sure.

  The elf shook an angry finger at her bond. It was quite a long finger for his small wrinkled hand.

  She cocked her head to the side, studying him.

  His tapered ears were longer than Jorrin’s, and his wild white hair partially concealed their tips. Somehow, he was still beautiful. Delicate.

  Narrowing his eyes, he scowled at her wolf.

  Trikser wagged his tail, taking a step toward him again.

  Was he thought-sending to him?

  “Don’t give me that. They’d have come anyway.” The elf gestured to his caught foot. “You left me helpless to my strangleweed.” He sighed, rolling his eyes to the tree canopy and muttering something in Aramourian. Then he glanced at Cera’s cousin. “Lord Lenore, may I?” He gestured to the pliable wooden stick.

  Her cousin gaped and gave the wand to its owner with shaky hands.

  She shot him a look and mouthed, “Do you know him?”

  Avery shrugged and shook his head.

  “Reverserio,” the old elf commanded, waving his wand over the weeds. “Ah, much better.”

  The strangleweed unraveled and straightened, bouncing up and appearing perfectly harmless.

  The elf stepped forward, and then lost his balance. Shaking his head, he looked at Jorrin. “Master Aldern, will you assist me?”

  The apple of Jorrin’s throat bobbed, but he gave a hasty nod, stepping forward to grasp the elf by his arm.

  Cera wanted to demand an explanation, but couldn’t find her voice. She shook her head, following the others out to the clearing.

  She glared as Trikser ran ahead.

  What’s going on?

  The elf tugged free of Jorrin’s hold when they reached the front of the cabin. The little man nodded thanks and jammed the pointed hat onto his head. He limped a few steps and shook his leg. “Hate strangleweed. Hate it worse when my own traps turn on me . . . mangy mutt’s fault, it is . . .” He threw a glare at Cera’s bond. “Leg won’t be right for days . . . too old for this . . .” he reverted to the other language after a moment.

  “I don’t think he meant any harm.” Jorrin’s blue eyes were wide.

  Cera wished she could understand the almost musical language. Even the cursing sounded pretty.

  The elf shot a look at Jorrin and laughed.

  Exchanging puzzled glances with her cousin and Jorrin, Cera stared at the old elf.

  “I knew you spoke my mountain language. I miss them, how are they?” The longing in his tone made her sad. They were a long way from Aramour.

  “The mountains?” Jorrin asked.

  “Aye, of course.”

  “Same as always?” Jorrin shrugged, a dark brow raised.

  “Ha. I should have figured you wouldn’t have known . . . mages . . .” He shook his head.

  “But . . . aren’t you a mage?” Avery asked.

  “Wizard, my lad, old-fashioned wizard . . . if you see a wand, you have a wizard.”

  “There’s a difference?” Her cousin asked, frowning.

  “Much. No offense, since all three of you have the tendency, but there’s something wrong with a person who works magic without a wand.”

  Avery did indeed look insulted, so Cera rested her hand on his arm to temper a response. She glanced at Jorrin, who was still studying the elf wizard as if something bothered him about the old elf.

  Is something wrong?

  “No offense taken,” she said, tearing her eyes away.

  The elf wizard gave a curt nod and grumbled something under his breath.

  When he turned toward the cabin, it was obvious he wanted them to follow, although he said nothing.

  ****

  The bony-looking horse tied to a post near the front door whinnied as they passed and the elf shot him a sharp look. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

  Jorrin’s magical senses screamed at him.

  What kind of spell did the wizard have on the horse?

  As they entered the cabin, it actually screeched. The whole place was saturated with magic. Colors and shapes whirled around him, making Jorrin feel like he was spinning in a circle. His ears ached, temples throbbed. His body hummed and his fingertips tingled.

  There was too much magic.

  He planted his feet so he wouldn’t keel over, dragging in labored breaths. Squeezing his eyes shut, he concentrated on shutting off his senses one by one. Slowly everything muted, the colors dimmed and he could function, but his head still protested.

  “Shut up,” the wizard snapped. He was brandishing his wand threateningly in the air.

  Cera’s bondmate rushed inside and flopped down on a rug in front of the fireplace, like he belonged there. When Trikser noticed Jorrin looking his way, he wagged his tail.

  What the hell?

  That’s a first.

  The wizard gave a small smile and pointed his wand into the hearth. “Firos.”

  A warm, friendly fire sparked to life. The spellword was much the same as the one Jorrin used to start a fire with his own magic, but after what the wizard had said about mages, Jorrin wasn’t going to point it out.

  “Come, come.” The elf beckoned.

  The three of them were huddled not far from the doorway. Jorrin and Avery took a step forward, but Cera did not.

  “I shan’t bite you, Lady Ryhan, have a seat.” He gestured to three comfortable looking chairs that were rather large compared to the stool he was perched on not far from Trikser and the fireplace.

  “How do you know our names?” Cera demanded, throwing a glance at Jorrin.

  He shrugged and looked at Avery, who just shook his head.

  “I know your name, my dear, and that of young Lord Lenore, from him.” The elf pointed to Trikser, who wuffed to reassure his mistress. “Animals have always been my gift. Young Master Aldern, on the other hand, I’ve been waiting for.”

  “What?” Jorrin sputtered. “Just who are you?”

  He’d dreamt someone was calling him—for months.

  When the wizard said he’d been waiting for him, Jorrin’s magical senses tingled, warming his arms
and legs, making his fingertips quiver.

  He shook his hands as everything clicked into place.

  The wizard had been calling him . . . that’d been the reason he’d had no real objection to Cera’s travel route. He had to journey this way, to this cabin, to this wizard.

  There was something familiar about him.

  “Well, I’m glad you finally asked,” the elf said with a laugh and a wry smile. “My name is Hadrian Rowlin, and I know your parents.”

  His heart thundered. Shock rolled over him, and he stifled a gasp. Jorrin locked his gaze on the wizard, ignoring curious looks from Avery and Cera. “You’re Hadrian . . . Mother spoke of you often, though she thinks you dead . . .”

  “Your mother was always beautiful, yet she never had much faith in wizards, or magic, for that matter.” The elf chuckled and waved his wand.

  Four goblets materialized and settled into each of their hands as if they had reached for them.

  Jorrin focused on the old elf’s face. Intelligent pale blue eyes, so pale they were almost clear, stared out from under the brim of the hat.

  “You should have finished your training, lad,” Hadrian admonished with a shake of his wand in Jorrin’s direction. “Your powers are greater than you know.”

  He ignored the comment and muttered thanks for the drink. Cera and Avery did the same. “Where’s my father? You left to find him . . .”

  “Aye, you were just a baby. He and your mother were my dearest friends. I owed it to her to find him.” Hadrian shook his head. “But I never did.” His sorrow hit Jorrin’s magic, making him wince.

  “But you left to find him, and you never returned. Mother mourned you.”

  Sorrow shifted to regret, and Jorrin’s heart ached for the elf wizard. Though he’d never admit it, Hadrian was lonely and sad. He had no desire to talk about Jorrin’s father, but he felt it was necessary.

  The rush of emotion was more than Jorrin normally felt from someone he didn’t know well, but the wizard’s mind was open. And he was aware of the information Jorrin had just absorbed from him.

  “I searched and searched for him . . . not far from here is where I sensed him last. There’s a small village nearby, on the outskirts of Berat, but you know that.” He glanced at Cera. “I decided to settle here temporarily, in hopes he’d return. I meant to go back to the mountains, to Aramour, but I had nothing to lose by staying here. I had nothing there . . . I’d lost my lifemate, my child was gone . . .”

  “But you had us. You promised my mother. You could’ve sent word . . .” Jorrin clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles smarted.

  “The pain was too great. My gift is animals. I can heal, as well as understand them, and the villagers often call upon me. I was fortunate to have found a place that does not mind our kind. I settled here, trying to forget what I had lost, trying to forget Aramour. The battle was more than I could deal with, and I was wrong to promise your mother I could find him. He had to run, you know. Did she tell you that?”

  “Yes.” Jorrin’s whisper was bitter.

  “I looked for him, Jorrin, using magic and tracking alike. Whenever I sniffed him out, the trail was cold. He was just gone. When I got here, I felt a sort of finality about it, and I knew until he wanted to be found, he’d not be, by friend or enemy. His powers were as great as my own.” Hadrian chuckled. “When I train someone, I do my job well, even if they are not born an elf.”

  “You were his closest friend.” Jorrin swallowed hard. “He always promised to come back when it was safe. Mother said he held me for hours before he left. That used to comfort me . . .”

  “He left to protect you,” Hadrian said.

  “I would rather he stayed, so I could know my father.”

  “You might have been killed. With him gone, he knew his family would be protected.”

  “Yes, well he entrusted that to you, his closest friend, but even you left.”

  “She made me promise to find him, you know that,” the wizard snapped. His fists clenched and his blue eyes flashed.

  Jorrin had hit a nerve, but he didn’t feel guilty. He leaned forward, glaring.

  Cera laid her hand on his arm to keep him in his seat, and he glanced at her—half grateful, half annoyed.

  He didn’t take a moment to revel in her touch. “Something you’ve struggled with?”

  “I see you have talent as an empath,” Hadrian said.

  Jorrin nodded.

  “He was a great empath, you know. Quite a strange natural trait in a human mage. And may I say, you favor him, in height and coloring. Of course, your mother’s ears and eyes may give you away. Yet, that doesn’t seem to bother the lovely lady here.”

  Cera blushed scarlet, yanking her hand from his forearm.

  Jorrin let her reaction go, his stomach fluttering. He wanted to save her embarrassment, but wished he could reach for her. Their kiss danced into his mind, but he pushed it away.

  Not now.

  He cleared his throat and met the wizard’s pale eyes. “So, why were you waiting for me?”

  “Because you have to find your father. He will be needed.”

  “He’s not dead?” Jorrin held his breath for the elf’s answer.

  “I never said he was dead. I just said I couldn’t find him.”

  “I left Aramour against my mother’s wishes to find him, Hadrian. It’s been three turns . . . I have yet to come across the smallest clue to his whereabouts. How can I find him, and why will he be needed?”

  “Only you, his son, can find him. He’ll be needed, of course, to help her cause.” The wizard pointed to Cera with his wand.

  “What?” Cera, Jorrin, and Avery exclaimed at the same time.

  Chapter Six

  “But we have to get to Tarvis now. We can’t wait,” Cera argued for what seemed the thousandth time. She looked at Avery, who was nodding. At least her cousin agreed. “The more time we waste, the more damage Varthan will do. We have to go now.”

  “I’m afraid it would do you no good,” Hadrian’s tone was quiet, but firm. “The lad’s father is your only hope.”

  Jorrin sighed, his chest heavy, shoulders slumped. How was he supposed to find a man he’d been looking for since he’d left home three full turns earlier? He hadn’t run into any signs.

  Hadrian was master of magic, and he couldn’t find him . . . so how was he, a half-trained mage, supposed to?

  When he’d left Aramour, finding his father had been the original plan, but his search for months had proved fruitless, the task near impossible. He’d refused to crawl home, proving his mother right, so he’d focused on living. Moved around from place to place, feeling for magic, continuing to half-search, but finding nothing. He hadn’t exactly given up, but his search had fallen into the background.

  He had to eat, so he picked up coin any way he could: tracking, and selling himself as mercenary a time or two. Jorrin had even lowered himself to performing magic tricks in busy parts of the cities he’d been to, though that was only when he had been especially desperate. He wasn’t proud of it, and definitely wouldn’t admit it aloud.

  Of course he wanted to find his father; that fact had never changed, but never in a million turns did he think Cera would play a part in the search.

  Time was everything right now; he had to agree with her about that.

  Gray eyes wide, her desperation poured from her, making his magic ache.

  The last thing Jorrin wanted to do was hurt her. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted.

  She deflated, and his heart skipped a beat when her eyes welled with tears.

  “Cera . . . don’t . . .”

  “Wait a moment . . .” Avery broke in. Three pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly, “Hadrian, do you have spell books?”

  “Of course, but why?”

  Avery’s expression was sober and serious, more so than Jorrin had ever seen him.

  “In some reading I’ve done in the past,
I’ve come across some spells that allow wide geographical scrying. Maybe we can leave a message tuned to Jorrin’s father that only he can see.” Avery sounded so grown up, Jorrin saw him in a new light.

  “Hmmm, that may be possible, but it’ll take some time. I know a few spells, but you’re right to want to look in a book. There’re many variations. Maybe we can find something more powerful than I’m familiar with. Or fashion our own?”

  Crafting an original spell that would work was tricky. The words, tone, rhythm all had to line up to form a powerful incantation.

  Could the wizard and the boy do it?

  Blessed Spirit, give us something.

  Hadrian rose from his stool and went over to a large bookcase in the corner of the room. Muttering in Aramourian, he spoke too low for Jorrin to catch what he said. He moved his hands back and forth, squinting to gain a better view.

  Just like the rest of the small cabin, the books were full of magic, too. They came forward of their own accord one by one so Hadrian could examine the titles. If it was not the book he was looking for, it would return itself to the shelf in order, and as if it had not been disturbed.

  “One of the reasons I failed when I tried was because I didn’t have anything that belonged to Braedon.” Hadrian returned to his stool, three thick tomes on his lap.

  The spell books looked old.

  Jorrin blinked away sudden emotion at the first mention of his father’s name. “It should work then, this time.” Without another word, he rose and went outside to where their horses were tied.

  Grayna neighed, so he took a moment to caress her nose, whispering to her and dropping a kiss on her wide forehead. She lifted her head and lipped his cheek, making him smile. With one last pat to her neck, he went to his saddlebag.

  He only had one thing that belonged to his father. His mother had given it to him when he was a little boy, and it’d comforted him many a time when he didn’t understand why his father had left. His hands bumped the cool metal.

  “Got it,” Jorrin whispered.

  He stared at the belt buckle, his heart pounding. It was meant to be decorative, a fire-breathing dragon etched into it. He ran his thumb over it, feeling the smooth embossed edges. Kissing the buckle, Jorrin sent a small prayer to the Blessed Spirit.