Elemental Magic: All-New Tales of the Elemental Masters

by Mercedes Lackey

  Pulling the end of the chain out from under the Master, Thaddeus saw a pendant made of the same smoky quartz. Holding it up, he saw that it had been carved into a bull. It must have been the Master’s focus. He couldn’t possibly take such a thing, even if the Master had no further use of it.

  Thaddeus was startled by the stag suddenly at his back. He hadn’t even heard it stir. The stag insistently nudged him to his feet. Thaddeus still had a firm grip on the pendant and the chain broke as he rose. But before he could protest, the stag lifted him up and began to run. Thaddeus clung desperately to its horns and clumsily mounted the animal.

  With a horn in one hand and the pendant in the other, Thaddeus held on for dear life as the stag ran through the night at incredible speed. He lost all sense of time, and even dozed off a couple of times. But each time he jolted awake to find that the stag had him firmly on its back, not letting him fall.

  It wasn’t until the sky began to grow brighter in the east that Thaddeus felt a different sensation. Whenever he actively tried to sense quartz, he had to concentrate on one area at a time. Now, with the Master’s focus in his hand, he had a sense of a very large deposit of it off in the distance. More curiously, the focus was letting him know where it was.

  Thaddeus said, “More to the east. There, where the slope folds in on itself.”

  He wasn’t sure exactly why he had instructed the stag, but it obeyed without hesitation. The feeling grew stronger the closer they came to the spot, and he was sure it was the right thing to do even, if he didn’t know why.

  The stag topped the slope and entered the tiny valley behind it. There was nothing here that Thaddeus could see; the area was clear of any trees and the northern face was sheer and insurmountable. But he was sure this was where he was meant to be. The quartz sense vibrated within him stronger than it ever had.

  Thaddeus slid off the stag’s back and looked all around him. As he did, the animal slumped to the ground. Alarmed, Thaddeus turned around and knelt beside the stag. The wounds it had received from the exploding quartz hadn’t stopped bleeding, and it had been running at full speed all night with Thaddeus on its back. After all that, he couldn’t just let the magnificent creature die.

  “Please, let me help you,” begged Thaddeus. “If there’s any spell I can cast, even just to give you the energy . . .”

  The radiance that Thaddeus had first seen surrounding the stag flared back into life. It died down just as quickly, but as it receded, the stag took the form of a young man. When the light died completely, he smiled at Thaddeus.

  “You’ve already done more than I could alone,” said the Master quietly. “I truly thank you.”

  Thaddeus was taken aback. “I don’t understand, Master. What is this all about?”

  The Master reached up and placed his hand on the one with which Thaddeus held the focus. “Find the treasure within the mountain, and all will be explained.”

  With those words, the Master’s hand fell to the ground and he began to sink into the ground before Thaddeus’ eyes, returning to the earth.

  Numb, Thaddeus stood up and looked at the sheer mountain face. Not knowing what else to do, he grasped the focus and approached the face, reaching out with his quartz sense. Almost immediately, he was drawn to a particular spot on the rock wall. The focus glowed briefly and the rock slid back as easily as a door.

  “Enter, Master. For you are safe here.” The voice came from the rock itself, but Thaddeus heard it speak inside his head. Rattled but determined, he set off down the tunnel.

  The tunnel quickly opened into a grand hall. As he entered, crystals in the walls lit up like torches. The hall was a wonder to behold, carved from the earth itself by powerful magic. His sense drew him in farther, until he came to a dais covered in ancient runes.

  “Step onto the platform and you shall have your treasure, Master,” said the voice.

  Thaddeus was hesitant, but his quartz sense was stronger than ever before, and the focus drew him closer. Taking a deep breath, he stepped onto the dais. Immediately it began to sink into the ground. He closed his eyes and gripped the focus tightly, willing out his fear.

  He opened his eyes again when the stone stopped sinking. Thaddeus blinked and rubbed his eyes to make sure what he was seeing was real. It was like the hall above, only each alcove held huge quartz crystals in every possibly color, larger than Thaddeus had ever seen, and each pulsing with great magic. He wandered over to each, marveling in their size, beauty, and power.

  At the far end of the hall there were two great chests, made of perfectly clear quartz. Thaddeus peered into the first one and let out a low whistle. Inside was a delicately carved crystal mansion, complete with grounds and miniatures. It radiated magic as well, and Thaddeus could only assume that it was created in such a way. Such fine detail would be painstaking, if not impossible, simply by hand.

  Thaddeus reluctantly turned away from the tiny wonder and looked at the second chest. He stopped dead in his tracks once more, his breath caught in his throat. Lying inside was a woman, pale yet beautiful, her skin like milky quartz. Thaddeus leaned in closer, his heart thumping. He couldn’t tell if she was a real person, or some kind of magical construct. Looking closer, Thaddeus saw a faint rise and fall of her chest, and a ribbon of her blouse fluttering slightly. She was breathing, which meant she was very much real and very much alive.

  Suddenly her eyes snapped open, wide with panic. Thaddeus leaped back out of reflex. But the woman quickly calmed down and said, “You’ve come to save me! Please, break the latch and let me out, I beg of you!”

  Thaddeus didn’t think twice. Finding the latch, Thaddeus cast a quick spell to make his hand as solid as stone and brought it down as hard as he could. The latch shattered at once and Thaddeus put all of his strength into moving the chest lid. It slowly slid over and fell to the ground with a dull thud. The woman sat up and threw her arms around Thaddeus’ neck as he lifted her out.

  “I knew someone would come for me,” said the woman, lifting her head to gaze happily into Thaddeus’ face. “I did not know who, but I knew someone would. Oh, thank you, Master Mage!”

  Thaddeus flushed. “I’m no Master, Miss . . .”

  “Clara.”

  “Miss Clara. Just a poor fool magician in the wrong place at the right time.”

  Clara laughed. “So you say. But only a powerful Master could have defeated the lord of this place.”

  “I did not defeat him, Miss Clara. I only aided in his defeat,” replied Thaddeus. He quickly recounted the events of the night before with the bull and the stag.

  Tears formed in Clara’s eyes. “My brother is dead? I’m truly alone now.”

  Thaddeus couldn’t help himself and wiped away the tears. “The stag, the other Master . . . he was your brother?”

  Clara nodded and answered. “Yes, he was. My family has lived here for many generations. When our parents died, my brother and I shared the estate. But he loved me and would grant me full control of it upon my marriage.

  “Not long after, a stranger appeared on the grounds one night. His name was Marco, and he was the Master who controlled this place. He wanted my hand and asked my brother for it, but was refused. My brother could sense something dark within him, and wanted to protect me. Marco would not be denied. He came to me himself, begging me to let him prove his worth. But I would hear none of it, having already been warned by my brother.

  “That night, as I slept, Marco came to me as if in a dream, leading a white stag. He told me that I had until morning to change my mind, otherwise I and everything that was mine would be his regardless. Still I refused, calling out for my brother. Marco laughed and pointed at the stag, saying that my brother had already refused.

  “I tried to scream for help, but my voice would not come out. Marco chanted more words of magic, and I fell into sleep again and dreamed that he
had taken the entire estate, help and all, shrunk it to a crystal miniature and sealed it away in his great hall under the mountain.”

  Thaddeus held Clara in his arms and said, “Now you find that none of it was a dream. Oh, Clara, I wish there was something I could do.”

  “There is,” answered Clara. “I saw much in my dreams. Marco had taken the miniature estate from the dais and placed the souls of all the people into these crystals. Perhaps if you were to reverse his actions . . .”

  Thaddeus beamed. “Yes, it might be possible. I’ll try at least, for you.”

  Working quickly but carefully, Thaddeus freed the crystal model from it’s chest and placed it on the dais. He took a step back and with Marco’s focus firmly in hand, reached out his quartz sense to the giant crystals. When he had them all in his mind, Thaddeus began a very simple spell to break rock. It normally wouldn’t affect quartz crystal, but with his sense amplified by the focus, the vibrations that crumbled rock were altered. The crystals began to shake and, after a moment that left Thaddeus sweating slightly, shattered in their alcoves.

  There was a rush of released energy that flowed towards the dais. The crystal miniature absorbed it all and lifted itself up off the dais, up the hole and vanished in a flash of light. Shaking and panting, Thaddeus turned back to see Clara smiling even brighter. He could see by her face that he had succeeded. He returned to her side and took her outstretched hand.

  “My dear Thaddeus,” said Clara, “You’ve done what no other magician could, not even a true Master. You’ve returned me and all that was my family’s to the world. And if you would have them, I would gladly give them both to you. You would never be a poor magician again.”

  Thaddeus laughed and led Clara to the dais to begin making their way home. “And I would be a fool to turn you down, my beautiful Clara. And that would leave me as simply a magician.”

  As they returned to the surface and were greeted by the morning sun, Thaddeus could see nothing wrong with that.

  * * *

  The saloon doors creaked open, followed by heavy footsteps. The bartender glanced up from his washing, slowly dried the glass in his hand, and picked up another before saying, “Quite the tremor last night. Don’t get many in these parts.”

  The sheriff stopped a few feet from the bartender, close enough to speak low and still be heard. “That was a mighty big gamble you took, Ephram. You’re lucky it paid off.”

  “Had to be done, Silas,” replied Ephram as he reached under the bar and brought up an old bottle. Uncorking it, he filled two shot glasses. “Marco made sure that no one of the family line could break his curse. Thaddeus Wohltat was the only other magician for miles around. It had to be him.”

  Silas picked up a shot glass and Ephram did the same. After a silent toast, Ephram added, “For what it’s worth, I did hate to put a nice young man like him into such hardship. An underskilled magician against a Master . . . Just not right, Silas. Though I’m curious, how did you get him to head north?”

  “That was my own gamble,” answered Silas. “Luck—and just a little bit of magic to steer him in the right direction.”

  Ephram smirked and nodded. “So I take it the estate has also been restored?”

  Silas put down his glass and refilled both his and Ephram’s. “In all its former glory. We can go home now, if you want. And the bloodline will go on. Clara has taken quite a liking to young Thaddeus. That’s good, because that’s something neither of us—nor her brother, God rest him—could rightly do, either.”

  Ephram tossed back his drink and fixed Silas with a steady gaze. “Does this mean we’ll be bringing Mr. Wohltat into our Lodge?”

  Silas picked up his shot glass and raised it in a general toast. “That’s up to him. We’ll watch over him, regardless. Clara is happy with Thaddeus just the way he is. That’s more important than making sure he becomes a proper Master right now.”

  The sheriff drained his glass and set it on the bar. “It all comes down to what kind of man he wants to be. Can’t say what that’ll be, but I do know this: He’ll do right by us no matter what, because that’s the kind of man he already is.”

  To Ride The River-Horse

  Dayle A. Dermatis

  Myfanwy leaned out the window as far as she dared, balanced on the precarious knife-edge between yearning desire and abject fear.

  She didn’t like heights, not one bit. Even now, with her hands firmly against either side of the wooden frame that lined the opening in the stone, her stomach tilted and rolled.

  Far below, the broad expanse of the River Taff—the object of her longing—glinted in the rare Welsh sunlight.

  Her tightly controlled terror of high places wasn’t the only thing that contributed to Myfanwy’s unease. The fact that Aunt Siwan could come through the door at any moment and catch her was frightening enough on its own.

  Siwan wasn’t really Myfanwy’s aunt. Myfanwy was reasonably sure that they weren’t even related and, indeed, that “Myfanwy” wasn’t her own real name. Myfanwy didn’t look a smidgeon Welsh; she didn’t have the pale blue eyes or jet-black hair or slight stature of those who surrounded her. Instead, her eyes were liquid brown and her hair was a lush gold that seemed to have a radiance of its own.

  Not to mention, she had an extraordinary abundance of it.

  When it wasn’t braided and coiled around her head, it fell in thick waves to her feet. Siwan had cut it several times, lopping off the braid at the nape of Myfanwy’s neck, but it always grew back. Instead of selling them for wigs, Siwan placed the heavy hanks of hair into a trunk; a curiously nostalgic gesture that had seemed out of character for Myfanwy’s aunt.

  Myfanwy didn’t know why Siwan wanted to keep her hair, anymore than she knew why Siwan kept her confined to this tower unless she was closely supervised. She didn’t entirely know why Siwan wanted to train her in the arts of Water magic but not let her practice by herself.

  Not let her communicate with the undines and naiads and river-horses that she could see playing way down there in the wide River Taff, or even sometimes see in a cup of water or in her bath.

  Myfanwy wasn’t allowed alone with a cup of water or her bath, or any other water, for that matter.

  Siwan was a Fire Master, someone who could summon the Elementals of Fire. She wasn’t, Myfanwy mused, the best person to teach a person with an aptitude for Water—yet another thing Myfanwy wasn’t allowed to know.

  All she knew, right that moment, was that she wanted nothing more than to raise an undine out of that glittering ribbon of water. But if Siwan found out, she’d be punished severely.

  Even that didn’t stop her from reaching out a hand to the distant river . . .

  She was so intent that when a clear, strong male voice called out from below, “Bore da!” she lost her balance.

  For a split second of terror, she wasn’t sure which way she’d go . . . but then, despite the heave of her stomach, she hauled herself backward and fell into the tower.

  When she recovered, she leaned out the window again—this time not nearly as far, with her feet firmly planted on the floor—and looked down at the young man. As near as she could tell from this height, he seemed completely unconcerned that he’d nearly caused her untimely demise.

  “Bore da,” she replied. Not being a native Welsh speaker, she knew her tongue fumbled around the greeting of “good morning,” but it was decipherable enough. Here in south Wales, near the border to England, most people spoke at least a smattering of both languages.

  “You must be new here,” he called up to her, switching to English. “My name’s Glyn.”

  “Oh, I’m not new,” Myfanwy said. “I’ve been here for years.”

  Glyn was silent for a moment. “You mean, in Cardiff?”

  “No,” Myfanwy said. “Here in Castell Coch. My aunt Siwan is cousin to the
Marquess of Butte.”

  The Marquess, whose father had been the founder of modern Cardiff, had never visited the small, charming castle he’d built in the hills above Cardiff, so he allowed Siwan to live there. Myfanwy never understood why he’d built a holiday home pretty much within sight of Cardiff Castle, which he’d also built over the ruins of a Roman fort, and where he lived. Or why he’d spent so much money for William Burges, who’d painted the bright, fanciful medievalesque interior of Cardiff Castle, to also decorate Castell Coch in the same manner.

  Myfanwy’s own room was a blaze of bright blues, rich reds, vibrant greens, and glimmering golds. Stars seemed to gleam with a life of their own in the deep blue of the ceiling between the crimson arches. There were birds, butterflies, vines, pomegranates, and all manner of allegorical creatures painted on, well, just about every surface that could be painted.

  “How very odd that we’ve never met,” Glyn said. “I’ve had more than one meeting with your aunt here.”

  “I don’t get out much,” Myfanwy said, suddenly nervous. “It’s probably best you don’t tell Siwan that I talked to you.”

  Then she ducked back inside, surprised to find herself trembling more than she had when she’d almost toppled out of the window.

  * * *

  A bird twittered at the window.

  Myfanwy humphed in annoyance, rolled over, and pulled her pillow over her head. What bird in its right mind was singing now? And why did it have to be so close to her bed?

  The pillow didn’t help. Finally, with a groan, Myfanwy sat up, lit a candle, and headed to the window to close the shutters.

  Before she could, the bird flew into the room. But it wasn’t really a bird.

  Fully awake now, Myfanwy stepped back, her mouth open as she watched the sinuous, pale blue creature dart forward and float in front of her.

  To her further astonishment, she heard it somehow speak.