“Then I shouldn’t use my magic,” he said in alarm.
“No, that’s not the answer. I think, instead, you have to work on developing your defenses. You kept me out, but we’re experimenting. The question is can you keep up that level of defense when you are busy doing other things. I think from now on I’ll test you periodically. I want you to resist me, but also tell me when I’m attacking. Hopefully, you’ll be able to tell when someone is probing your defenses.”
“I could feel you trying, but no one else,” said Zollin.
“Yes, well, it’s probably because they are too far away. On the other side of the Highland Mountains, at least. Otherwise they would have taken control of you, not just influenced you.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Well, we’ll learn together,” Kelvich said, smiling. “Let’s start dinner.”
* * *
Gwendolyn was confused. Her hold on the bright spark had been lost. She and her sister, Andromina, had been traveling north slowly, following the bright pulses of light that were far in the north, like the ancient story of Magi following a star that lead them to their lost king. Gwendolyn was sure that the bright spark was no king, but he was intriguing, almost alluring. She closed her eyes and channeled all of her sister’s power, but the spark was gone. She had lost control of it before, but not like this. Before, she could still feel him even when his spark was dim, but now he was gone. Was it possible that he had been killed? It didn’t seem likely, but there was no other explanation. She needed more information.
“Mina, we’re going to Lodenhime,” Gwendolyn announced.
They were just north of Olsa, at Miller’s Crossing, one of the more important cities of the southern kingdoms at the crossroads between Falix and Ortis. The inn where they were staying was crowded, and Gwendolyn was glad to be leaving. She preferred small places where she and her sister could be alone. It had been years since their master had sent them out of the Torr. She felt exposed and frustrated by the constant options that beset her. Andromina was no help, her power was strong, but she couldn’t help her sister with any of the practical matters. Their mother had said that Gwendolyn and Andromina were two sides of one coin. It made sense; they were perfectly identical, only the blank look in her sister’s eyes was different.
Gwendolyn rushed around the small room they shared at the inn. She stuffed their belongings back into their trunk and rang a small bell. The inn keeper came to their room at a run. He was anxious to please his lovely guests and had locked his wife away in a cellar so that she wouldn’t interfere with his plans.
“You need something?” he asked through gasps of breath.
“Prepare the carriage,” Gwendolyn said. “Mina and I are leaving.”
“No,” said the inn keeper desperately. “You can’t leave, please stay.”
“We’re leaving! Now prepare the carriage.”
The inn keeper fell to his knees. “Please, don’t leave me. I’ll do anything.”
Gwendolyn swung her hand and knocked the man back into the hallway with a wave of magic. He cried out as he crashed into the wall. Men from the inn’s main room came running to see what had happened. The inn keeper was weeping now, holding the back of his head.
“Bron,” Gwendolyn said, pointing at one of the men. “Prepare our carriage. Mina and I are leaving.”
This news was met by a chorus of shouts and boos. The men were begging them to stay, but Gwendolyn pointed at two of them and ordered, “Fetch our trunk!”
The men complied.
“Come along, Mina,” Gwendolyn said in a haughty tone. She pulled her sister through the throng of men who were reaching out to touch the sorceress.
Outside, they climbed quickly into the carriage, which was plain, but comfortable. There were cushions inside and curtains to block out the world. Gwendolyn preferred the solitude and had no desire to see the landscape they traveled through.
“Bron, drive us to Lodenhime!” she demanded.
Bron was a big man, with a wife and three small children at home. He hadn’t seen them since he had met Gwendolyn. She was so beautiful, he thought, although he couldn’t say precisely why he thought so. In fact, he couldn’t really think when he was around her. All he knew was that he wanted to stay with her, to love her and make her happy. He climbed up onto the driver’s seat and whipped the reins to get the horses moving. The crowd at the end stumbled along after the carriage; it was a sight that no one in the town of Miller’s Crossing had ever seen before. The women looked away, not wanting to be enslaved as so many of the men had been.
As the carriage rolled out of town, Gwendolyn once more reached out with her sister’s power in hopes of touching the bright spark. She did not know the wizard, but she been given strict orders. She wasn’t to see or speak to the young wizard, only influence him or control him if she got close enough. Her master wanted the boy, she knew that, but a tiny part of her wanted him, too. He was lovely, she thought, so bright and pure. It made her happy to feel him, even though their connection was tenuous at best. Now he was gone. She still could not feel him, and the thought put her in a melancholy mood. Perhaps in the old temple at Lodenheim she could find some answers to this riddle. She sat back in her seat and pouted. Andromina stared out the crack between the curtain and the window sill. Her face didn’t register the emotion she felt, nor did she know how to articulate it, but it was there. They were moving further away from the master, and that was good.
Part II
Chapter 8
Freedom! That was the only word to describe flying. The dragon had slowly ventured out of his cave. He didn’t mind the cold; it was always cold when he flew high in the air. And he didn’t mind the sun, which was starting to turn his soft, white scales red and eventually black, which was stronger than steel, as was the case with his kind. No, what made him leery of leaving his cave was the energy it took. Magic was awakening in the land, but it had not yet taken hold, and more than anything the dragon thrived on magic. In days gone by, his thick, forked tongue could taste it dancing in the air, but now there were only echoes.
He soared up over another spiny ridge and found what he was searching for. There were only three things in the mountains that concerned the dragon. Men, of course; men sometimes scurried over the unforgiving rock, as out of place, in the dragon’s mind, as the moon in daylight, but occasionally it did happen. The hairy men from the north raided down through the mountains, and the southern men were always digging. The dragon could think of many places that would have been easier to dig into, but the motives of men were not his concern. In time, he would need them to supply his one basic need, but until then they were nothing more than food.
The mountains were also home to a very hearty species of ram, which was the dragon’s preferred meal. They weren’t as tasty as humans, but they were much easier prey and they usually traveled alone. He wasn’t ready to take on a party of humans intent on slaying him. He could fly, and, of course, his fiery breath was deadly, but his scales were soft and susceptible to man’s iron weapons. He needed time in the sun to harden his scales and more magic to give him energy so that he could venture farther from the source of his power. The gold in his cave sustained him, but more was needed, more was always needed to keep him strong. The only other substance that lent him strength was magic, only he had none of his own. But he was like a metal rod in a thunderstorm; he channeled magic, attracted it to himself, and consumed it the way men did fermented drink. In time, as magic returned to the land, he would fly south, laying waste to the country side and striking fear into the heart of all those who saw him. He would terrorize the humans until they gathered their precious gold and hauled it into the mountains for him.
Those things were always on his mind, as were the eagles that also lived high in the mountain peaks. He was larger than the eagles, but they alone were unafraid of him. They attacked him in the air, and their wings were powerful enough to take them high out of his reach. Their wicked talons coul
d harm him now, but once his scales hardened they would be of no concern. He needed food, so he risked the exposure. The magic had woken him from his hibernation, and he needed meat to restore his body to its glory.
The air filling his wings was delicious. It stretched his muscles and gave him a feeling of invincibility. He loved flying and swooped through the air as gracefully as a swan gliding across a forest pool. It was an incredible sensation, the beast thought. He was slow and lumbering on the ground, but in the air he was fast and sleek. He exhaled lightly, igniting his breath so that the flames rolled back over his body, warming the icy scales. He flapped his wings to slow his descent as he approached a towering peak that would give him a good view of the surrounding mountainsides. He landed, with his powerful hind feet gripping the icy pinnacle, and sunk his talons into the ice and stone to secure his hold. He wrapped his leathery wings around him to hold in the body heat. The wind, high up on the mountain, was bitterly cold, but the dragon didn’t want to attract attention to himself by using his fiery breath again. The hunt required patience and fortitude, two virtues he had in plenty. He settled in to wait for his prey to appear.
His eyesight was unrivaled. Muscles around the large eyes could contract and squeeze the eyeballs, allowing him to focus on objects very far away, but the muscles could also relax and give the beast a panoramic view. It was a necessary skill for a creature who flew so high into the air. He also had a very highly developed sense of smell and, with his forked tongue, could taste the chemical trail left in the air by other creatures. But, being high up on the mountain, his sight was his greatest asset.
The morning waned, and in the early afternoon, he caught sight of movement at last. It was slow, down in a crease of the mountain. He watched intently, waiting for his prey to reveal itself. He had hoped that it would be one of the big, horned sheep, but instead it was a man. No, it was many men, the shaggy humans from the north. The dragon waited and watched. It was more than just a tribe or raiding party. It was a large force, an army of men, moving south. This was interesting to the beast. The Skellmarians were moving toward the magic. They would be in the valley soon, perhaps two or three days at the pace they were traveling. War was almost as delicious to the giant serpent as magic. He thrived on chaos and death. Soon he would have his fill of man flesh, and he could venture south into the warmer lands that lay beyond the mountains.
He was still hungry, but the beast was giddy with anticipation. He had gained something much more valuable than food; he had knowledge and his appetite had been whetted for even more. He arched his neck so that he was looking down his sleek body. Most of his scales were red, but he needed them to be black. It was the one thing he couldn’t manipulate. As he aged, his hide took longer to harden. He blew out a plume of welcome flame, melting the ice that had formed on his wings and warming his body nicely. It wasn’t necessary, but it felt sublime and it attracted the attention of the rock lovers in the valley far below. He jumped off the mountain and circled the peak several times, billowing flame and roaring. His voice, rough and deep, echoed off the rocky mountainsides, creating a cacophony of sound. He had let the Skellmarians see him; they would take it as a good omen from their gods. The dragon smiled as he flew behind the mountain and disappeared from their view. He was the only divine being in the mountains, but playing on the Skellmarian’s beliefs would give them courage. His time had come.
* * *
Over the last two months, Zollin had learned various skills, such as accelerating growth, sensing hidden objects or substances such as poison, and controlling his power. It hadn’t taken him long to grow accustomed to keeping his inner defenses up. Kelvich could still feel his power, but he was completely unsuccessful in breaching Zollin’s magic again, let alone usurping his control. He had never been thwarted in his efforts to control another magic user, and he was both relieved and confounded. His curiosity was insatiable, but Brighton’s Gate was no place to research the old ways. He needed to visit the great library at Lodenhime or the Chronicles of Osla, both were the best sources of ancient history, but they were far to the south. Eddson Keep had a library, it was mainly regional history, but perhaps it might shed some light on Zollin’s abilities. Kelvich doubted that this was a new power, but so much knowledge had been lost in the dark years of the Torr’s power that it was certainly new to him. The snow was steadily receding now, with the temperatures still cold, but above freezing, and with lots of sunshine. The river beyond Brighton’s Gate was swollen with the melting snow, and the town was slowly coming back to life.
Zollin had been successful at manipulating matter and transforming just about anything. Most wizards struggled with heavy metals, such as lead and gold, but Zollin had no trouble with them at all. Unfortunately, Kelvich didn’t have much of either substance to work with. It was one thing to transform the shape of something, which was a bit like rearranging wooden blocks. Zollin could even identify the blocks, separate them, and put them back together again. Even more impressive was his ability to tear the blocks apart and remake them. It was a feat only the most powerful wizards had ever been able to achieve, and only after years of training and practice. Zollin picked it up in a matter of weeks. He not only had the magical strength, but his mind seemed to grasp the abstract principles easily. Once he got a feel for a certain substance, like gold, he could transform just about any other material into gold, not just lead, but anything. The amount of power that it took was staggering, and Kelvich was often forced from the room when Zollin was practicing.
Food had been an issue as well. Zollin had been forced to learn to hunt, just so that he had enough food. He would often go out at night, despite the cold, and locate rabbits, big, horned sheep, and even elk, using what he called his inner sight. He could push his senses out in any direction and identify wildlife, flora, and even minerals buried under the ground. Sometimes he claimed he could hear singing, not with his ears, but rather like feeling the vibration that sound makes, only he could feel it by magic. Kelvich was absolutely fascinated, but the last week or so he had been depressed by the approaching wizards.
Zollin could feel them, too, moving steadily closer. He even thought he recognized them, although he wasn’t sure. He was certain, however, that they were coming for him, and that they were traveling up the valley, which meant they had taken a ship into Whistle Bay. Zollin’s first thought was that he could escape back through Telford’s Pass, but the snow higher up in the mountains wasn’t melting as quickly as it was in the valley.
Brianna had brought news from town on her occasional visits. She was frustrated by the fact that Quinn and Kelvich thought it unwise for her to come more than once every other week. And when she did come, the old sorcerer rarely let her stay longer than it took for her to deliver the latest news. She and Zollin shared a few moments alone together each visit, but it was never enough for either of them. For her part, Brianna had honed her archery skills and spent most of the winter doing odd jobs around the village. She had worked with the tailor, but also helped at the inn, where she stayed with Quinn and Mansel.
The Gateway had reopened and, while there was still work that could have been done, the townspeople were making it clear that the little group should push on now that the snows were melting. No one seemed keen on hiring Quinn, and their money was just about used up. Had it not been for the money they made selling the sled and dogs Mansel had retrieved, they would have been desperate. They had spread the word that they were spending the day preparing Zollin to be buried, but no one from the town even pretended to be interested in joining them, except for Ellie, but her parents forbade her.
Several of the young men of the town had begun showing interest in Brianna. In fact, Quinn had even gotten several offers for her hand in marriage. He had turned them all down, which probably only made the people of Brighton’s Gate more suspicious, but it couldn’t be helped. Brianna simply wasn’t interested, and Quinn had no reason to try and force her to marry someone from Brighton’s Gate. He knew she favo
red Zollin, and he felt both good and bad about it. He was, of course, happy for his son, who he knew had feelings for Brianna, even if they were tainted by his friend Todrek’s death in Tranaugh Shire. On the other hand, he also knew that Zollin was not like most people. Settling down and starting a family wasn’t in his son’s future, as far as he could see. He didn’t want to see Zollin’s heart broken and, truth be told, he had become fond of Brianna, as if she were his trueborn daughter. He only hoped that neither of them ended up hurt as they navigated the uncertain waters of their future.
Mansel was the only member of the group that the town seemed truly interested in. He was remembered as a hero from the Skellmarian attack and the man who had single handedly slain the miner Trollic’s enforcer, Allistair. Of course, that wasn’t exactly true, Zollin had played a big role in both the invasion and in subduing the miners, but the townsfolk were all too happy to forget about the wizard. The young girls, many of marrying age, spent all their time trying to get and keep the young carpenter’s attention. But Mansel’s true passion was the sword. He’d become very skilled in swordcraft through the winter, learning more than just carpentry from Quinn. Mansel had no intention of settling down and would have set out to see the world even if Zollin wasn’t being pursued. He wanted adventure and was intent on getting it.
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