The Fire and the Fog (36 page)

She screamed again as she moved towards
Erris, Dan’r yelling at the fallen girl to move. Erris was reaching
an unsteady hand to her forehead, wincing in dizzy confusion as she
touched the gash there when Gel finally moved.

He had stood there for what seemed like ages,
unsure of what he could do to help. He couldn’t fight like Dan’r,
and even Erris had more courage than he, but…the woman was sad.

He unlimbered his lute quickly and struck a
chord, then another and another. He played to the woman’s sorrow,
played to calm and comfort her, and the woman stopped, turned,
stared at him with empty, crying eyes.

And then a ball of fire ripped through her
chest, cutting through the Fog around her and flying over the side
of the tower to Gel’s right, burning through the Fog around the
tower as it fell.

Gel stopped playing as the woman keeled over,
the Fog from her eyes drying up even as her body hit the
ground.

‘What…’ Gel started, and Dan’r shook his
head, panting as he limped his way over to a chair that sat near
the center of the tower, as he sat with a pained expression and put
his face into his palms.

‘She is dead,’ Dan’r said, his words muffled
by his hands. ‘He must have tried to bring her back,’ Dan’r said,
his head nodding towards the dead man on the bier. ‘The Watchers
should have…doesn’t matter.’

‘What…’ Erris started, confused as Gel
reached her, straightened her against the bier and dabbed at the
cut on her forehead with his sleeve.

‘It’s over,’ Dan’r laughed suddenly, and as
Gel looked around him he could see it was true. It was happening
slowly, but the Fog, flowing out of the woman and over the top of
the tower, over the world below it, the Fog stopped, like a stream
whose source is suddenly dammed. The edge of the Fog was flowing
out over the stone floor, flowing out over the edge of the tower,
and it was gone. The tower was free of the Fog.

‘So…so we won?’ Gel asked, sitting down next
to Erris.

‘That’s right, kid,’ Dan’r said, as Erris
leaned her head against Gel’s shoulder. ‘It’s done. It’s over. We
won.’

Rhone was nervous. The room around him,
everything in it was just so…opulent. And it was only a waiting
room. The chairs were gilded with gold, their cushions made of the
finest red silk. He was sure anything in the room would be worth
more than his whole house. He was a Sergeant; not even a Legnar. He
controlled a group of five men, he was not special. Not yet
anyway.

But his Legnar had already given his report,
and now the Maeiter wanted to hear from him, personally.

‘Think of it,’ he remembered telling his wife
the night before, ‘a meeting with the Maeiter. Surely that has to
be good for some kind of promotion. A new house, down by the water.
You’d like that, wouldn’t you Maesi?’ He remembered other things
too. The night before had been a good one.

But now he stood at attention, in his full
uniform, in the most opulent room he had ever seen, and he couldn’t
be excited. He simply was nervous.

‘What if I say something wrong, or do
something wrong. Will they send me to the dungeons, or just kill
me? Or maybe demote me? How will I keep my house, how will I keep
Maesi?’

His reverie was broken as a well dressed
servant opened one of the two giant lacquered and carved wooden
doors at the other end of the room.

‘The Maeiter will see you now,’ he sniffed,
looking down his nose at Rhone, as if he wasn’t good enough, even
as he bowed Rhone’s way into the room, and closed the large door
behind.

The room behind the doors was much plainer
than the sitting room outside. A large wooden desk sat at the other
end, covered in papers, and behind it sat…

‘Sit, Sergeant,’ the Maeiter said without
looking up, waving absently to a chair in front of the table.

Rhone did so, nervously smoothing his hands
along the pants of his uniform, hoping there were no creases or
stains or tears. Why didn’t he buy a new uniform for this, he knew
he should have. Maesi better have cleaned them right, or…

‘I have already had your Legnar’s report,’
the Maeiter continued, breaking Rhone’s reverie, ‘so tell me, in
your own words, what happened.’

‘Ah, yes, yes sir, yes Maeiter,’ Rhone
stumbled and stuttered, silently cursing himself. ‘We were at the
village, and the Legnar was interrogating a girl, and then an old
man attacked us, and he threw fire and,’

‘How,’ the Maeiter interrupted.

‘I…I don’t know, Maeiter. He just…reached a
hand into his cloak, and then threw fire.’

‘Very well, continue.’

‘Well, Maeiter, he attacked us, and he killed
a bunch of my men, but then he told me and Ohn, and Dayet and Cit
to run, so we did, but then we turned back to get the Legnar, and
he told us to go after the man and the wagon, so we did, and,’

‘Skip to the important bits, Sergeant,’ the
Maeiter interrupted again.

‘Ah, yes, sir, yes Maeiter, sorry. We
followed them, and we saw them use torches to get through the fog,
but before that they stopped and talked about where they were
going, and the old man told them that the boy was going to play
music to get them across the ocean, and that there was a whole
‘nother continent across there, and that’s where the man came from,
and…’

‘That’s fine, Sergeant. That’s all I need to
hear from you. You have done well, and may be excused.’

The Maeiter stood as the young Sergeant bowed
himself out of the room. The Sergeant had done well, as had the
Legnar, and they would both get commendations out of it, he would
make sure.

He walked to a large map that hung on the
south wall of his room. The fog had stopped, thinned, and was gone,
and the lines drawn across the map in charcoal to denote its
progress had been washed off, though they were still barely visible
on the background. He would have a new map commissioned.

He had the church, as many of the Fulhar’s
and Maean’s as could be spared, out in Rege, helping the populace,
bringing them food, helping to repair and re-start a society that
had been frozen for months. It would be slow, but within the year,
he was sure Rege would capitulate to his demands; would become a
protectorate of Rognia. With the extra troops, they would take
Heyle easily, and Dhome and Dheme soon after. Riin and Maarin would
be tougher to crack, but within five years, even they would fall,
would turn and worship Ragn.

And then…if there was another continent
across the sea…

Normally the storms were too great, but if
music could calm them…

It would require funding, and time, but he
was sure they could find a way across.

Another continent entirely to convert to
Ragn; another continent of souls to save. He would be the greatest
Maeiter the world had ever seen. Ragn would surely welcome into his
arms when his time came.

But not yet. Not yet. There was still too
much other work to do. First in Rege, then Heyle…

Still…build the army, find the scientists and
musicians. Find a way across the ocean…it could be done. It would
be done.

He rang the bell on his desk, and his
manservant opened one of the large doors to the room.

‘Send for Stean,’ the Maeiter said, sitting
back down in the worn wooden chair at his desk piled high with
papers, as close to a throne as he would ever get, ‘tell him it’s
urgent, and he will be well funded. He has work to do.’

The doors to the room closed with the same
loud, ominous thud as they always did, as the Maeiter turned back
to his desk, his reports, and his thoughts.

End

Thank you for reading my novel. If you enjoyed it,
or if you did not, won’t you please take a moment to leave me a
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Thanks,

David Alloggia

About the Author

David Alloggia was born and raised in Ottawa. Taught
to read on a steady diet of science fiction and fantasy, The Fire
and the Fog is his first novel.