Authors: Garon Whited
“How long have we been here?”
Raeth hesitated, then answered, “Two weeks or so.”
I digested that.
“I was out for two weeks?”
“A little more. This is the fifteenth day since you collapsed.”
No wonder I woke up hungry.
“I see. So what’s our situation?”
“We are doing rather well. There’s a small inn and we are occupying most of it. We had to get you your own shack because of the jerking and twisting.”
“So I understand. You hung me by wrists and ankles?” I asked, nodding at the distant corners and the ropes.
“Yes. No leverage to pull down walls that way.”
“That’s good thinking. I’m not sure I would have thought of it. How are the finances?”
“Excellent. We could winter here,” he answered, smiling.
“And you wouldn’t mind, would you?”
“Slogging through the snow is not my idea of comfort. And there is Bouger’s leg, my arm, your own illness…” he trailed off.
“Tamara will have you back in the saddle before the day is out. If I don’t have a relapse this evening, we’ll be off in the morning. Anything I should know about, otherwise?”
Raeth looked thoughtful for long seconds. “Nothing that would force us to stay—or flee, for that matter. Do you wish to go say hello to your troops?”
I winced. “I don’t have troops. I have people who have decided to throw in their lot with me. May whatever gods there be have mercy on them.”
Raeth chuckled. “It’s not so bad as all that.”
I got up and reached for heavier clothes. “I hope you’re right.”
One of the first places we went was the inn. The place was packed and the staff was busy; I doubt they ever had this much business in the winter. I still got a seat by the fire in short order; no less than six men got up to clear a space for Tamara, Raeth, and I—and each saluted with that fist-to-the-chest gesture as they moved.
What gets me is that nobody told them to; they saw us come in and cleared right out. Cheerfully, even! I’m not used to that. Do these people just
need
to follow someone? Is it a cultural thing? A kind of self-image? It’s like they need to feel a connection to a larger group.
So we sat down and I had a second breakfast—well, a lunch. My appetite was returning and both Tamara and Raeth had eaten much earlier. Besides, Tamara insisted we all needed to eat; Raeth and I to recover, she to “feed tiny fires.”
We were halfway through bowls of something too thick to be soup when one of the more nondescript people in the place came up. I recognized his face but couldn’t place his name; he had a high forehead, a trimmed beard, dark hair, and eyes of a muddy green-brown color.
“Lord?” he asked, dipping to touch one knee to the floor and then stand again.
I assumed he meant me. “Yes?”
“My lord, I’ve ne’er been given the chance to swear,” he said. His hat was being slowly throttled in his hands.
“And what would you swear?” I asked, putting down my spoon.
“My fealty and fortune in allegiance to you, my lord.”
“Why?”
That stumped him for a second. He thought about it.
“I was there when you broke the viksagi,” he said, as though that said it all. Then I remembered him more clearly; he was one of the wounded. One leg had been hurt in the fighting during the barracks-burning, so he sat behind a merlon and loaded for someone who could stand.
“Will you cross the Church, defy the Hand, and risk your life, your fortune, and your sacred honor in my service?” I asked.
He went to one knee again. “I will,” he said, eyes brimming. “I swear it,” he whispered.
I looked around the room and raised my voice. “Who among you will so swear?” I asked.
Most of the room rose to its feet and then went down to one knee. The few who remained seated or standing were evidently natives to the place or the staff at the inn; those just gaped.
“We swear it,” they said. It was soft and solemn and they meant it. I could
hear
they meant it. If I asked them to follow me over the edge of a cliff, they would, trusting me to see they didn’t fall.
“Understand me,” I said. “The Church bears me no love, and less for the lady at my side, mother of my heirs. Your oath will bind you to me and mine, until death or I release you. You will face hardship and danger. Will you still swear?”
“We swear it,” they murmured.
“Then I accept your oaths and I swear to be as just, as kind, and as generous as I can. Go back to your meals.” They rose again and seated themselves, and I caught the guy who started it all by the sleeve. “What is your name?”
“I am Hebron, my lord,” he replied, bowing.
“I am pleased to meet you. What do you do?”
“Lord?”
“What is your occupation? Soldier?”
“Oh, yes. Halberdier, mostly, my lord.”
“Anything else?”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “My Da, he always said I’d make a fine tailor and take over the shop when he passed on, but I’ve no care for cloth and thread, my lord.”
“Fair enough. And you enjoy being a soldier?”
“Oh,
yes
, my lord. A rough life, to be sure, but I likes it.”
“Very good. That will be all.”
He saluted again and went back to a table. I turned my attention to my soup. Tamara squeezed my knee under the table and I smiled at her.
“I meant to speak to you about that,” Raeth said. “Many who follow your banner have not yet sworn. Although,” he added, smiling slightly, “those numbers have diminished. Shall I make arrangements?”
“By all means. But I want more than soldiers, Raeth.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I mean to have my own barony, duchy, kingdom, whatever it is. I want to found a school; a place for people to learn other things besides just some sort of trade. A place for the curious to go and have their curiosity satisfied.”
He nodded. “I have not known where we are bound, but I have gathered together all who would follow; crafters are slow to abandon their shops, but a few can be persuaded. We will gather what we can as we go.”
“Good. We should have time; it’s a long trip.”
“Oh?” Tamara asked. “You know where we are bound?”
“I do. I found us a mountain. I think you’ll like it.”
“It is far?” Raeth asked.
“Yes. But we’ll be heading through the Eastgate, then southward along the range. The going should be easier there even though there aren’t any roads.”
Raeth nodded. “I trust the barbarians will not trouble us?”
“I think,” I answered, smiling tightly, “I can convince them we should be left alone. At least at first; I intend to trade with them later.”
Raeth and Tamara both looked at me. Tamara arched one eyebrow and Raeth clasped his hands, leaned forward, and asked, “Trade? With savages?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“If you say it, I believe it. Very well.”
We fell to chatting about what it takes to make a manor or village. There are a lot of skills needed to build and maintain, feed and house. As we traveled toward Eastgate, we would hire people to come along if we could. If not, we’d do the best we could with what we had. Our route would take us straight south for a while, through a more populated area of the kingdom, the we’d hang a left to head toward Eastgate. On a map, our route from Eastgate to Crag Keep would be the eastern and northern lines of a box; the return route would be the western and southern borders of it, but we would see more people. I had no argument with that.
As we were winding down the discussion,
Hellas came downstairs. She was pale and weak and moved very slowly. Nobody came close to her; I think they were afraid she might be sick.
Nuts to that
, I thought. I got up and hurried over to her, helped her down the steps and to a table. She smiled at me and I tried to smile back.
“So what happened to you?” I asked. “Not feeling well?”
She smiled weakly. “Better now, sir.”
“Good.” I got a waitress/barmaid and had her fetch food. “Will you manage on your own?”
“I will. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” I slid back over to my table and found Tamara smiling at me. Raeth was also looking amused.
“What?”
“I am done with my lunch,” Tamara said. “Shall we take a walk?”
“In the snow?” I asked, ignoring the non sequiteur.
“I
am
a fire-witch.”
“So you are. All right. Raeth, if you’ll excuse us?”
“Certainly.”
So Tamara and I went for a walk, arm in arm. The village was sizable. Dirt roads, but the town square had a few wooden buildings for civic functions; a town hall, for example. A permanent stage was in the center of the square. I noticed that there was someone sitting on the stage, leaning against a heavy post. Bad time for it; it was cold as a brass monkey.
“I am pleased that you are kind to Hellas,” she said, after a few dozen yards.
“She needs someone to be kind to her,” I answered. “Why not me?”
Tamara shook her head, amused. “Why not, indeed?”
We walked a little
farther; there were few people out. Several of those saluted; I didn’t recognize all of them, but most. I returned all the salutes and we kept walking.
“All right,” I said at last, “what’s the scoop on
Hellas? You’re being awfully quiet.”
She grinned impishly. “You have much to be thankful for, especially from her.”
“Why?”
“She volunteered her body and soul to save you.”
I was quiet while I digested that—no pun intended.
“She was the first,” Tamara went on. “I could not heal you at night; something in your night-blood now refuses the Fire. But she could give of her blood to feed you and her spirit to lend you strength—and I could heal
her
. Alone, she might have given up her life to make you live. But she was not alone.”
“Who else?” I asked.
“Who else but your noble knights? Your thrashings hurt them, yet they surrendered their living blood for you. Did you think their broken bones were something I could not mend? There was much to heal and I could spare little enough effort for their limbs.”
“Raeth didn’t say a word about this.”
“He would not. Just as you would not, were your positions reversed.”
“Why not just bleed some animals?” I asked. “They have pigs around here, don’t they?”
She smiled, sadly. “And risk your life further? How should we have kept such a thing a secret?”
I shook my head. “Well, I will be damned.” My respect for Raeth and Bouger, already high, soared.
Hellas’ tagged along with them.
“I doubt it.”
“You would know better than I. So when can we hit the road again?”
She worried her lower lip for a moment and said, “Tomorrow, I think. It will depend on how you fare tonight. If all is well… yes. Tomorrow.”
“Fair enough.”
We spent the rest of the day in conversation and idleness. I didn’t mind. Tamara is beautiful and charming. We lounged in the one-room house, chatting. I can’t begin to think of all the things we said; it was a freewheeling, unstructured, stream-of-consciousness conversation that went everywhere, naturally, easily, effortlessly.
I have no spell to help me this time. I think I’m falling in love.
MONDAY, JANUARY 9
TH
N
ightfall wasn’t so bad. I’ve had worse. I cleaned up and got dressed. Tamara stayed in bed and watched me, giggling a little when I paused to pose after every garment. I was in a good mood and we were both feeling playful.
“Are you going out?” she asked.
“Just for a bit. I have to see if I’ve changed. And I have to hunt down something for the Master of the Hunt.”
She raised eyebrows at me. “Is it time?”
“No, but I never like getting behind on an obligation.”
“Quite so. Will you be back soon?”
“I think so.” I sat down on the bed and kissed her. She put her arms around my neck and smiled into the kiss.
She laughed a little and pushed me away. “Go. Find some animal and give the Huntsman my regards.”
“I will.” With a final hand-squeeze, I got up, buckled on Firebrand, and slipped out into the night. My first order of business was to check on Bronze. She was happy to see me and a little reproachful I hadn’t stopped by during the day. The stableboy watched from the loft; I can only imagine what he was thinking about my talking to a metal horse.
I mounted and we went for a walk around town. At night, I saw things differently. Not necessarily more clearly, but definitely with a different perspective. It’s hard to describe. Some things just stand out more; the contrasts are different. The emphasis on the world is skewed when you don’t see darkness. It’s not a world of living color, but of black and white and shades of grey.
I noticed the fellow on the stage in the market square was still there. Considering the weather—it was solidly clouded over and starting to snow a little—that seemed downright strange. Bronze and I ambled over. The stage was a little under shoulder-height on Bronze, so moving right up next to him to chat wasn’t a problem.
“Hail, stranger,” I offered. He was wrapped in a large fur, possibly a bearskin, and looked like he had been there all day. He was shivering, needed a haircut, and looked absolutely miserable. I’d say he was about fourteen.
“Hail,” he answered, voice rough. He had some of the fur up over his head like a hood; he peered at me from it like a frightened animal in its cave.
“Why are you here?”
“My master is punishing me,” he replied.
“For…?”
“I failed to stock the woodbox and the hearthfire went out. This is to remind me that winter can be cold.”
“Oh. How much longer do you have out here?”
“At least until morning,” he answered, shivering and drawing the fur more tightly around himself. I heard the clink of a chain.
Okay, slavery offends me. Well, maybe not slavery
per se
, but this sort of punishment is unreasonable, at least as far as I’m concerned. Then again, a master can do pretty much anything he wants with a slave, including being a sadistic bastard. So, okay, yeah, I was right the first time. Slavery offends me.
“Are you allowed to eat?” I asked.
He looked thoughtful and slightly desperate. “Nothing was said.”
“Hold on.” I went back to the inn for a bowl of something hot for him. The few people still there stared openly at me while I paid for a bowl of bubbling stew, as well as the wooden bowl and spoon to go with it. I ignored them. It’s impolite to stare at strangers, but I didn’t feel like making an issue of it.
I went back out and gave the bowl to the fellow; I sat on Bronze to have a more convenient conversation. He took the bowl with shaking hands. Despite that, he managed to eat it all before it got cold.
“Thank you,” he offered, handing back the bowl. Through the opened fur, I saw the iron collar around his neck.
“No problem. What’s your name?”
“Muldo.” I watched his spirit as he spoke, looking at the patterns and how they shifted. A bright young man, this one. A bit chaotic, perhaps… but curious and with a good heart. I tasted his soul, just a taste, and knew him for what he was: kind and curious and afraid.
“I am Halar. Good to meet you.”
“You are Sir Halar, the lord that was ill?” he asked.
I sighed inwardly and decided it wasn’t worth the effort to clarify. “I am.”
“Are you also the one who slew the dragon?” His eyes were widening.
“Yes.”
“And broke the viksagi invasion?”
“Yes.”
“And—”
“Yes,” I cut him off. “That bard has been through here, hasn’t he?”
“Um. Yes, lord. Did you survive your illness?”
I blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
He bit his lip and clutched the fur tighter around himself. “I beg your pardon, lord. I do not mean to offend.”
“You haven’t. I just don’t understand the question. Of course I survived it. I’m up and about.”
“As you say, sir.”
“Why do you ask?” I asked, feeling suspicious.
“You have the look of one who should be dead,” he answered.
I glanced down at myself, checking for holes. I felt fine, but a mortal wound is just an annoyance at night; you never know. I was visibly intact…
…and my hands were white as moonlight, cold as the winter’s chill. Whups.
“It’ll go away shortly,” I replied. “It’s just the aftereffects. I’ll get my color back tomorrow.” Mentally, I kicked myself for not doing something to adjust my color before going out. I need to remember that, make it a habit. But it wouldn’t do to shift around this second, in front of him. I’d wait until later. I also wondered why Tamara didn’t say anything. Maybe because I hadn’t intended to hang around with people.
“As you say, sir.”
Drat. This also explained why people stared at me in the inn. There would be stories circulating soon about the dead man unless I did something about it. Breakfast in the morning, looking healthy, maybe. Perhaps there could be stories about a fire-witch bringing back the dead, instead. That would be
better
, anyway.
I changed the subject. “What do you do for your master?”
He looked startled for a second, probably at the sudden shift in topic.
“I clean the house, tend his things, and do chores.”
“What are you worth?”
“I… I don’t know,” he admitted.
“Fair enough. Who is your master and where can I find him?”
He pointed to a large house on the edge of the town square. Obviously a well-to-do gentleman. I nudged Bronze and we headed for it at a walk. I dismounted and knocked on the door. Inside, there were footsteps, then a voice.
“Who is it?”
“Sir Halar the Wizard,” I answered, trying to sound imperious. I feel silly saying my titles; it just doesn’t seem, well…
me
.
The door opened up to reveal a big man. Only an inch or so taller than I, he was somewhat more brawny and beginning to run to fat. He looked to be in his mid-forties, a respectable age for a medieval society, even one with wandering wizards for doctors.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, looking at me with a sort of fascinated stare.
“May I come in? It’s cold out here.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” I walked in at his invitation and made sure to stomp my feet on the doormat; no need to track snow into the house. It was a nice house.
“Thank you,” I said. “I couldn’t help but notice you have a slave on the platform in the square.”
“Ah? Yes, he’s a rather forgetful lad; I hate to be strict with him, but he has to learn to focus on the matters at hand. May I offer you hot tea?”
“No, but thank you; I have a very strict medicinal diet until I’m fully recovered.”
He nodded and gestured me to a chair. He seated himself as I did.
“I had heard of your illness. You will make a full recovery?”
“Yes, I believe so. I hope so. But I find I will need some assistance in keeping my clothes and equipment in good order; I think I need a valet. I am interested in purchasing Muldo.”
His eyebrows rose a fraction. “He would make a good valet, that is true.”
“I think so. What do you want for him?”
He looked crafty for a moment, thinking.
“You are a wizard, yes?” he asked.
“I am a wizard, yes,” I answered.
“Can you restore a man’s… potency?”
I thought about it.
“It depends on what is wrong, but I think so, yes.”
“Then I want you to try,” he said. “I’ve asked the priests and they tell me it is the will of their god that I shall have no heirs. If you succeed, Muldo is yours.”
“I’ll try. When?”
“Whenever you like.”
“Okay. Sit still and I’ll see if I can figure out what’s wrong.”
He gulped down his tea, set the mug aside, and braced himself in the chair. Clearly, he expected whatever I did to hurt.
I uncoiled tendrils and sent them shifting and moving through his flesh. If you don’t mind, I’m going to gloss over the opportunity to make jokes about probing and stroking and all the rest, okay? I figured out what was wrong. Let’s leave it at that.
Then I got a shock; I was
forced
to leave it at that.
I tried to put a spell together to fix the problem. I couldn’t. I reached out for magical power to weave into a spell… and couldn’t get a grip on any. I couldn’t tap my own reservoirs of power. It was there, without doubt. I could feel it, a small lake of energy, stored and potent. But I couldn’t
do
anything with it.
Flabbergasted. That’s the word I want.
It took a minute or two of trying before I accepted that something was wrong. Well, I’d been sick. Maybe that was the problem. But I could see what would fix
his
problem, if only I could get my hands on some magic!
“I can see how to fix it, but I will need some time to get the spell ready,” I said, smoothly. “Tomorrow morning, perhaps, when I’m feeling better. Will that suit you?”
“You mean you
can
?” he asked, sounding hopeful.
“Sure. It will take a little work, but I think so.”
“Tomorrow morning will be fine,” he agreed.
“Excellent. I’ll get right to work. If you’ll excuse me?”
He showed me out with great courtesy. If I’d been in more of a mood to appreciate it, I would have enjoyed the look of hope on his face. I was too preoccupied at the time to do more than notice. I went out of town in a hurry and tried every spell I knew, every mind-twisting exercise of power I could remember.
The tendrils worked perfectly; they come with being a vampire. I could touch things with them, taste the life and power of a creature, even drink it. Yet, once I took the power into myself, it stayed; I could not call it back up again. I could feel the power in me like I could feel my own blood during the day—but what can you do with your blood? It’s just
there.
All the things I could do, all my spells, all the tricks with tendrils that rely on being a wizard—those failed. It was as though magic simply didn’t work for me. It was as though I wasn’t a wizard.
It scared me. I’ve gotten used to being a wizard. I like it; it’s fun. This new trouble, it was as terrible and frightening as a physicist waking up and realizing he’s forgotten how to add. Or a writer discovering he’s forgotten the alphabet.
Okay, first things first; off into the woods to find some hapless creature and dedicate its blood to the Huntsman.
Then
I’ll worry about being nonmagical.
“So how do you fix a busted wizard?” I asked. Tamara held my hand and looked unhappy. We were sitting on the bed in my shack, toying with breakfast, talking; I put in an appearance earlier to eat the morning meal and let people see I was quite alive. My appetite wasn’t what it should be. I forced myself to eat anyway; I still need to gain weight so my clothes will fit again. Tamara, of course, ate anything in reach; she was eating for
three
.
“I do not know,” she admitted, around a mouthful of bread. She swallowed and continued, “You are healed of your wounds. Can you work no magic at all?”
“I tried everything I could think of last night,” I said. “I was up until nearly sunrise, trying to squeeze out so much as a single drop of power into a spell. Nothing. It’s like missing an arm; I can reach for the power, but it’s only a memory; nothing happens.”
“Show me.”
So I got up from the bed and raised my hands. I reached out with my little telekinetic trick, the first and easiest trick I ever learned, and tried my hardest to lift the washbowl from the nightstand.
It flung itself upward.
I stared in utter shock and completely forgot to keep holding it up. It didn’t quite reach the ceiling before it came crashing back down.