The Magus

by Ted Neill

“Never expected to be on the same side,” Twenge said.

  “I’d say you’ve redeemed yourself.”

  Gregor could not tell if it was a grimace of pain or an ironic smile that flashed across Twenge’s face before he died. Perhaps it was both. Chloe closed his eyes and Val touched his forehead to Twenge’s before lifting him up and carrying him to the ship. Gregor and Chloe followed, Chloe bearing Twenge’s longsword in her arms. As Gregor moved towards the ship, his eyes fell on the discarded moonstone, still in its brace that had held it around the revenant’s neck. On impulse he bent down, picked it up, and slipped it into his pocket.

  The slaves and sailors drew up the gangplank, all of them impervious to the rain that was now pouring down. The winds were a tumult and Gregor was sure he would be required to cast some spell of weather working—which he did not know well—in order to guide them smoothly out of the harbor. But there was no need. The gusts died around the ship before coalescing into a steady breeze blowing stern to bow that filled the sails and pushed the ship away from the dock. The sailors cheered, and the slaves did as well, adding in a few curses at the shrinking island and the burning castle. Gregor noticed a figure behind the wheel. It was the same man who had been Twenge’s first mate at the banquet, now revealed to be a weather worker of considerable skill. Chloe came alongside him and they locked in an embrace that showed no sign of coming to an end.

  Gregor decided not to disturb them in their moment. He watched, feeling slightly lost, as the slaves regarded him with suspicious glances while Haille and Val tended to Twenge’s body. Alone, he made his way to the stern where he watched as rain and darkness obscured the smoking ruin of Drahlstrom. He was glad for the rain for it hid the tears on his face, but if they were for the past he knew or a future he didn’t, he was not sure.

  After some time alone, he was startled when a figure came alongside him. It was the weather worker whom Chloe had embraced.

  “Those were some spells you worked back on the quay,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. It is my wife Chloe you helped. I am in your debt.”

  “And I suppose I am in yours, for you have helped set me free too.”

  The weather worker smiled. He did indeed have a kind face, much too kind of a face for a slave trader after all. “I am Gunther.”

  “I’m Greg—” Gregor stopped in the middle of his thought, turned to the smudge of rock and smoke on the horizon. Sheets of rain were closing it off from view like a curtain. “You can call me Nathan.”

  Chapter 16

  Rivertown

  Adamantus scattered the piles of burning brush aside and cut the ropes binding Katlyn and Tallia. Relieved and abashed, Katlyn wrapped her arms around the elk’s neck while Gail chased the last of the Candelin away, the bodies of those who had chosen to fight stretched out upon the forest floor. Gail wiped the blood from her blade using a dead man’s scarf, then slammed the sword back into her sheath.

  “I don’t even know if I have the words—” she said, glaring at Katlyn through the branches of Adamantus’ antlers.

  “Gail, Adamantus, I’m sorry . . . it is just, I felt we couldn’t wait. I was tired of waiting. I was impatient.”

  “You were overconfident,” the elk said.

  “You were fools,” Gail said, kicking a smoking branch aside and yanking one of her arrows out of the dead chief’s back. “Had we been moments later, you’d be dead.”

  The irony that Gail, who had essentially killed her once, was now so concerned about her well-being was not lost on Katlyn. Humbled, she dropped to her knees. “I’m so sorry, to you both.”

  Gail let out a loud snort and then blew the bangs off her forehead and rifled through the supplies the Candelin left behind. She upended satchels and rucksacks, throwing them, once empty, into the bushes. When she was out of earshot, Adamantus turned to Katlyn. “She will calm down, in time.”

  “She’s a long way from wanting to enslave or kill me,” Katlyn reflected.

  “The font may have powers we don’t even understand,” Adamantus said, swinging his head around to Tallia to inspect her head to foot. Seeing that no injury seemed to hinder her as she stripped the dead bodies of weapons, rings, and other valuables, he turned back to Katlyn. “You were going north.”

  “To Antas. Adamantus, the vaurgs have left the forest. I need to know what happened to my family,” she said, tears filming her eyes.

  “Indeed. We need to help but it is safer if we travel together. For now, gather what you can.”

  Katlyn was a model of obedience, well aware that she had indiscretions to make up for—if not with the elk, certainly with Gail. She helped scavenge what they could from the dead before she mounted her horse and began a long, silent ride. She followed Gail and Adamantus without question or complaint as they pressed north into the evening, long after the violet sky had turned indigo and the stars came out over the mountains in the east. Gail finally stopped when the moon had risen, wrapped herself in furs taken from the Candelin, and said nothing before falling into a deep sleep.

  Katlyn set to making a fire with Tallia. When she had brewed some pine needle tea, she turned to Adamantus. “Should I wake Gail for some tea and supper?”

  “Let her rest. She has not slept in days.”

  Katlyn swallowed a guilty lump in her throat and sat down with a warm cup in her hands. She struggled to find words. “Did . . . did you find what you were looking for in the south?”

  “No,” Adamantus said. “It was a false account as far as we could tell. I’m afraid the trail has grown cold. Best we put our efforts into helping the Antans against the vaurgs.”

  “Katlyn has told me about the creatures. Are you sure the ones in Antas are the same as the ones you encountered in the forest?” Tallia asked while she sliced a potato and dropped the chunks into a pot of boiling water.

  “I can envision none other.”

  Tallia shivered, despite the warmth of the cooking fire throwing up sparks next to her. They partook of the soup, leaving a bowl close to the fire in case Gail woke up hungry, then followed her example, wrapping themselves in blankets and furs and drifting off to sleep.

  They woke to the sound of a crow. Soot. The bird alighted on the ground next to Gail’s head, which was still enclosed in a hood of blankets, and let out another loud caw. Gail peeked out from her cocoon, bleary eyed, picked up a rock and threw it at her faithful pet along with a mumbled curse. The crow, unperturbed, snapped his wings and fluttered up to a branch overhead. He was joined promptly by Sapphire, who floated down to land in Adamantus’ crown.

  “What tidings, little one?” the elk said, offering a warmer greeting than Gail.

  The answer came in the form of a horseman whose mount came pounding up the trail to their camp. At this sound, Gail did rouse herself, picking up her bow and nocking back an arrow so that when the rider rounded the wall of trees and bushes they had nestled their camp behind, he found an arrow already aimed at his neck.

  “Well met,” Darid said.

  “My lord!” Gail eased back the bow string. Darid drew up on the reins of his horse Barnaby as he entered the clearing, ducking beneath the low hanging moss. When he lifted his eyes and saw Adamantus, he reached for his sword. Gail moved to intervene. “My lord, this creature is our ally. He is not one of the dark elks we seek.”

  Darid studied the elk with a skeptic’s eye. “This is the beast the Prince rode into battle.”

  “I am,” Adamantus said.

  Darid’s hand went back to the hilt of his sword. “What sorcery is this?”

  “He speaks!” Katlyn interjected. “And he is wise so it is well that you listen . . . Sir.”

  Darid relaxed his hand from his hilt, reached for the pommel of his saddle instead, and slid out of the stirrups to the ground. “My eyes have seen wonders and my ears heard them as well.” He clasped forearms with his squire, a quick and succinct meeting of the flesh between two soldiers, bowed to the others, then asked
their leave to sit next to the smoldering fire. “I’ve journeyed far to find you.”

  “Was our path so easy to find?” Gail asked, settling down across from him and offering him a water skin. Katlyn gathered more kindling and Tallia stoked the embers.

  “For me, no. But these birds brought me to you directly. Had I been left to my own devices, I would have searched for you farther east, in Maurvant lands.”

  “We were there,” Adamantus said. He offered a summary of their encounter with the revenant and their fruitless search for the Rakne. Katlyn was grateful that the elk glossed over her own foolish decision to strike out on her own. The elk instead simply offered the explanation that they felt they were needed most urgently back in Antas. “Were you able to take the moonstone from Oean?”

  “Yes,” Darid said, his expression grave. He reached into his hip bag and removed an object wrapped in cloth and twine. He unfolded the cloth to reveal the bright blue of the moonstone, still set in the necklace that Oean had worn. “The queen helped me, removing it from him while he slept. He flew into a rage when he found it gone but almost as quickly he fell ill, growing sick and beset with shaking, not unlike a drunk without his drink. But after a few days he returned to himself, as if waking from a dream. His memories of his time wearing the stone are thin and partial.”

  “The stones are dangerous. We have the other that was used to control Kiruna, the chief of the Maurvant. Our true enemy, the Magus, seems to wield his power over others through them,” Gail said.

  “Do we know the identity of this Magus?”

  “Sadly, not yet. But it is not presumptuous to see his hand working behind the vaurgs as well,” Adamantus said.

  “We heard rumors from the north of the creatures. The armies of Talamar are eager to return to their home to help, but it is winter and armies are slow to move. King Oean, once himself again, sent me on a mission that was twofold: find you and journey to Antas to gather what reconnaissance I could to bring back to the army. Oean plans to march north come spring. Antas came to our aid in our hour of need. Karrith will repay the debt. We are sister kingdoms, after all, within the realm of Anthor.”

  “Spring may be too late,” Adamantus said, his voice somber.

  “Then it is good we have the birds. We can send messages to Karrith that the armies are to leave now,” Gail said.

  “Let us gather information first,” Adamantus said. “From Rivertown at least. That way we send them back with some tidings of the north.”

  Katlyn’s spirits were buoyed in the coming days. The addition of another warrior to their numbers made her feel safer. The news that Oean had returned to himself, and that Karrith would come to their aid, was welcome indeed. And the simple fact that each day they made progress towards her home with the intent to help alleviated some of her guilt and her anxiety for her family. They pushed hard into the north, the mountains constant sentinels to their east, the grasslands giving way slowly to the southernmost moors of Thestos. Gail and Darid knew the land well, having marched through with the army only months before. Though Katlyn’s outlook had grown rosy in past days, her hopes were dashed when they finally came to Rivertown.

  A cloud of haze hovered over the town, fed by strings of smoke rising not only from chimneys but from open fires burning on the outskirts and from clusters of families camping in the streets. A palisade of pointed logs surrounded the city, sticking out from the riverbanks like misplaced teeth. The bridges leading across the Liam and the Lynn to the strip of land that held the city were blockaded with any able-bodied men to be found—mostly graybeards and older boys, too old or too young to have gone south with the army to fight the season before. Their weapons were antiques—family heirlooms—or makeshift. One boy held a dagger tied to the end of a rake handle, another a modified scythe. The boys remained behind water barrels stacked on the roadway, while an older man, who listed under the weight of his own wood ax on his shoulder, stepped forward to bar their way onto the bridge. He said nothing, although he chewed his lips as if searching for the right words of greeting for such a strange lot as they.

  Katlyn realized that both parties waited for the other to speak. It was Darid who dismounted and offered his hand to the old man. “Dark days they are when the bridge to Rivertown is barricaded.”

  “Dark indeed,” the man said, his voice a high whisper. “Dark indeed, but you are welcome. These barricades are for things not human.”

  “So what we hear is true,” Darid said. “Of creatures from Sidon?”

  The old man shook his head and sucked his teeth. “I will not speak of them, even in the light of day, lest I summon them. You will hear your fill from those who have fled their homes for the safety of the towns.”

  He stepped aside and let them cross onto the bridge. They walked their horses. To ride would have been impossible anyway. The gutters were full; the reek of people, animals, smoke, was eye watering. It was Karrith all over again, but this time, it was worse to Katlyn for it was the kingdom of her home. Men, women, children, they all wore the same blank expressions of hopelessness and terror. Life had spilled out into every open space. Cooking fires burned in intersections and alleyways. Laundry hung from house galleries; goats, pigs, chickens jostled against one another in makeshift pens. The line to the well was so long it stretched around the corner. Voices were subdued. Children did not play; rather, they gathered close to their mothers or in tight knots, their heads bent low, their gazes fleeting.

  Their party came to the town square and the chief’s residence but it was surrounded by more refugees and long lines. Some people waited for bread, others for audience with the chief, and others simply waited to be told where to go next.

  “We won’t have much luck breaking through that queue,” Darid said. “I imagine the constable has his hands full.”

  “I know a place we can go,” Katlyn said. Drawing on her memories from their previous visit, Katlyn led them north through streets equally crowded, to the edge of town where River Ridge waited. The gates stood open and the expanse of lawn was occupied by tents, wagons, and dozens of families. There was some relief here, at least, from the oppression and disorder outside. Children stopped their game of tag to gaze curiously at Adamantus. Women and men were busy with chores, seeing to laundry, cooking, or building impromptu tents and animal pens. Katlyn made her way up the main path towards the manor house and before reaching it spotted Lorna, her sleeves rolled above the elbow, her head wrapped in a shawl, her front covered with an apron. Lorna was too involved in stirring a cauldron of steaming laundry to notice them approach, but Sorrel, her ever present apprentice, noticed them and tugged on her mentor’s skirt. Lorna’s eyes grew wide upon seeing them and she threw open her arms.

  “Katlyn, by the stars. Come here. These times call for embracing.”

  Katlyn flung herself into the woman’s chest, relieved to meet a face that had not changed even if Rivertown had.

  “You bring companions, only one that I know,” Lorna said, nodding to the elk then looking to Darid, Gail, and Tallia.

  Katlyn offered quick introductions, then said, “It seems too much to ask my lady, in light of the generosity you already extended to these in your care, but we beseech you for at least temporary shelter so that—”

  “All are welcome,” Lorna said with a smile. “Come inside, we have much news to exchange.”

  “The creatures came from Sidon, raiding villages and farmsteads alike. The legends said they feared the light of day but to these monsters it seems to make no difference any longer,” Lorna said.

  They were gathered around the hearth in the kitchen, one of the few rooms of the manor not given over to refugees—presumably so it could still function. Katlyn found the transformation of the formerly empty manor remarkable. Life had returned to its abandoned halls and Lorna seemed energized by it, her eyes bright. She poured each of them tea, Sorrel following with a pitcher of cream and a pot of honey.

  “We encountered a horde of many dozen in Sidon,”
Adamantus said.

  “Ah, so you have revealed yourself in full, Stygorn?” Lorna said, not missing a beat at the sound of Adamantus’ voice, even if Sorrel looked up startled, the pitcher and honey pot trembling in her hands. The elk lowered his head and blinked slowly in acknowledgement.

  “The time for secrets has long passed among these friends,” he said.

  “Quite,” Lorna said, pulling up a stool and settling down on it, a bucket of green beans between her feet that she began to pick and snap. She was in constant motion and with the numbers of refugees in her care, Katlyn could see why. She leaned in to help, eager to be of use and anxious to do something with her hands and noticed that Tallia had already beaten her to it, wordlessly finding an understanding with Sorrel, the two of them working in quiet unison. “But the horde numbers in the hundreds now, not dozens,” Lorna continued. “I don’t believe in coincidences. I’m too old for that. If this Magus is as powerful and has the influence you say he does, I see his hand behind this.”

  “We are assuming that the Magus is behind the Maurvant invasion and the invasion of the vaurgs? So he tries to sow chaos and discord throughout the realm. But to what end?” Gail asked.

  “These are weapons wielded with intent. What looks like chaos to us may be a carefully concealed stratagem,” Lorna said.

  “I don’t see the Magus’ endgame.” Darid shook his head. “But this is a foe perhaps beyond us all.”

  “And yet in our midst.” Lorna’s hands grew still and came to rest on her knees. “The king of Antas is dead, the Magus goes through pains to influence the machinations of kingdoms and tribes formally at peace while remaining in the shadows. Then the Magus works to remove Prince Haille as a participant in all this.”

  “Does that mean Haille has some part to play in the Magus’ strategy?” Gail asked, her fingers tightening around her cup.

  “An interesting presumption, but there is another,” Lorna said, her eyes lifting and focused as if on a point far away on the horizon. “Haille might know who the Magus is.”