Eolyn (12 page)

C
hapter Fifteen

Eolyn did not intend to linger
in the Town of Moehn, but curiosity detained her, and the swirl of noise and activity lent a comforting sense of invisibility.

Bright shop signs hung from houses of heavy timber and white plaster. Farmers lined the narrow alleyways, their stalls filled with the first harvests of the season. The people conversed in jovial voices and greeted each other with broad smiles. Children ran rosy-cheeked and capricious through cobblestone streets. Eolyn found herself mesmerized by pungent aromas of smoked meat and rotting fruit, by the ear-piercing laughter of children, and by the thundering clatter of horses and wagons.

The sun already floated high in the midday sky when a new sound caught Eolyn’s attention, a low pulsing resonance that seemed to carry her name. People around her stopped their labors. Many started toward the source of the strange music. Children ran ahead of the gathering crowd.

Eolyn followed them toward the town center, where she caught sight of an elegant procession. Rhythmic drums interwove with the seductive refrains of flutes, bells, and other instruments unknown. Women in fine gowns lent rich voices to the music, while others danced in graceful circles marked by flowing veils. Several members of the procession passed on horseback and one of them, a beautiful woman with dark flowing hair and sun-warmed skin, spoke words in a strange tongue, her voice swaying with the cadence of the drums.

In the midst of their slow march, one man stood out. He wore robes of charcoal gray and carried a false staff that appeared to move with a will of its own. He stood as tall as Achim, but was much leaner in build. His movements were quick and nimble, and his coloring unusual, with fine hair cropped short and silver-green eyes set in a pale face. He brought to mind images of Dragon: the translucence of her scales, the creamy line that stretched down her throat toward her underbelly.

With a resounding voice, he invited everyone to the show, a show for young and old, a spectacle of illusions created especially for the fine people of Moehn.

“That’s him!” A child next to Eolyn bounced up and down, clapping his hands. “That’s Mage Corey! Quick now, maybe he’ll give us some sweets!”

Led by the boy, a pack of children charged into the parade. Their rambunctious courage was rewarded with a shower of candy from Mage Corey’s sleeve. In this moment, Eolyn realized how close the mage had wandered. She stepped aside to disappear in the crowd, but it was too late. Mage Corey caught her movement and set his silver-green gaze on her.

Eolyn tensed under his focus.

His face filled with a disarming smile.

He strode forward and improvised a fool’s dance around her, finishing with an exaggerated bow. When she responded with laughter, Mage Corey produced a lily from his sleeve.

“My personal invitation to a beautiful woman,” he said. “Present this at the entrance, and you pay half price, five pence instead of ten. A fine bargain for a show you will not forget.”

“But I don’t have any—” Before Eolyn could finish, Mage Corey moved on.

Money.

With a disappointed sigh, Eolyn tucked the flower into her belt. Ghemena had warned her about money, strange metal objects that appeared when people exchanged goods or services. Eolyn had never touched a coin and therefore could not visualize one. For this reason, she wanted to secure employment, but employment would not come soon enough to pay her way into Corey’s Circle. And she dearly wished to have more knowledge of this ‘spectacle’.

The heat and heavy step of a large animal interrupted Eolyn’s thoughts. One of the pageant horses paused next to her, its rider a handsome man with thick black hair secured loosely at the nape of his neck. A curious expression passed over him, as if he recognized her, though Eolyn knew they had not met before this moment.

“What is your name, my lady?” He pronounced his words carefully, with a melodious accent that inspired images of wind moving across open plains.

“I am Sarah of South Moehn.”

He smiled as if she had let him in on an important secret. “I am Tahmir of the Syrnte.”

Tahmir reached forward. His fingers passed over her temple and descended in a gentle arc behind her ear. The gesture sent a shiver of sparks through Eolyn. She would have jumped back were it not for the tranquilizing effect of his touch.

“Will you come to the show this evening?” he asked.

“I would like to, but I can’t. Not until I…” She stopped short when Tahmir produced a single coin from behind her ear. He tossed the five pence into the air, compelling her to catch it.

“I cannot accept this,” she said instinctively. Ghemena had warned her about accepting gifts from men, though at the moment she could not for the life of her remember why.

“Nor can I give it,” Tahmir replied. “How can I give that which is not mine? And by the same token, how can you accept something as a gift if it is already yours?”

Eolyn closed her hand over the coin and studied the hazel eyes of her benefactor, trying to assess his intentions.

“So we will see you at the Circle then?” he asked.

“Yes. I suppose you will.”

With a pleased nod, Tahmir of the Syrnte continued on his way.

Corey’s Circle was set up
just outside the town walls, a cluster of benches and galleries surrounding a central open space. Eolyn arrived as the sun hung low over the horizon. Already the place was overcrowded. Boisterous children elbowed each other for a spot in front. Others climbed onto the shoulders of their parents.

Just as Eolyn managed to find a place on one of the hard wooden seats, Mage Corey opened the show. He cast a circle and invoked the blessing of the Gods. As soon as he finish, acrobats bounded into the space with all manner of leaps and jumps, warming the crowd into smiles and applause. Syrnte riders followed, brandishing flame tipped swords and inspiring cries of wonder and delight.

As twilight gathered, Mage Corey reappeared for an act of illusions, skillfully delivered, though Eolyn could not help but notice he tended to cheat with real magic. Corey went from one trick to the next with bold jokes and parodies of grim old mages, evoking roars of laughter from his audience.

Just as twilight faded into darkness, a singer they called the Mountain Queen appeared. She was a tall woman with striking features and snowy blond hair cropped short. As the townspeople cheered, she beckoned to her companions, the beautiful dark-haired woman who rode in the procession and nine female dancers. A small group of musicians took their place at the edge of the Circle.

When the enthusiastic welcome of the audience melted into anticipatory silence, one of the musicians intoned a single note. Upon this, the Mountain Queen layered her full voice, calling forth the other instruments. She took the hand of the dark-haired woman, whose song wove deeply into her own. Together they brought the music into a crescendo that set the dancers in motion.

Eolyn caught her breath. During the years of her apprenticeship with Ghemena, she had studied Primitive Magic and applied its principles to sacred holidays and spells. Yet it was not until this moment that she understood the true power of this most ancient and least understood form of magic. The performers captured the spirits of wind and forest and transformed them into something even more sublime.

The people of Moehn connected their hands. Voices and bodies swayed in a single whole. Three times the Mountain Queen led them through the melody, each reiteration more intense than the last, until the harmonies hit an impassioned climax and then diminished, leaving a hushed and reverent crowd in their wake.

A moment of rich silence passed before the people burst into thunderous applause.

Eolyn recalled Ghemena’s words.
You will recognize them
by their unique magic. They are hiding in visible places.

Could these be the friends her tutor had promised?

She dared to hope they were.

After the crowd dispersed, Eolyn ventured into the cluster of tents where Corey’s people had retired. Calling on Fox for stealth, she moved in silence among the shadows.

A vibrant energy hummed about the place as equipment was cleaned and stored, and costumes exchanged for simpler robes. Easy chatter filled the air. Somewhere just beyond the tents, the musicians had regrouped to improvise lighthearted tunes with the help of a few pints of ale.

Eolyn’s careful ear located Mage Corey’s voice, sharp and agitated, in one of the larger tents. She slipped through the entrance and saw him seated at a small table. In front of him stood a sour-faced man wearing the brown robes of a Middle Mage. The fabric was of a finer make than Mage Echior’s, and trimmed in gold. Upon seeing them, Eolyn hesitated.

“I assure you, Mage Melk,” Corey insisted, “there was no unauthorized magic in tonight’s show.”

“But those women—”

“Dancers and singers, nothing more.”

“And the lights!”

“All managed mechanically or with the intervention of my own magic,” Corey assured him.

“But the
music
, Mage Corey! No music like that has been heard in this land, not even in the time of the magas.  Surely you realize it was far too powerful for a humble audience such as ours.”

“We have already discussed this, Mage Melk. My musicians come from all corners of the known world, from places you have probably never heard of. I brought them together to craft entirely new kinds of melodies. Am I to disband them now for having met my expectations?”

“If their work inspires subversive magic? Yes.”

“There are no magas in this show.”

“How can you be certain?”

“Because the magas were destroyed, my friend.” Corey spoke as if explaining to a small child. “There are none left.”

“Master Tzeremond does not share your optimism.”

“Well perhaps he should. It might help him relax a bit.”

“I must also object, Mage Corey, to the very vulgar jokes you made in reference to our most revered Master.”

“Oh, for the sake of the Gods!” Corey threw his hands in the air. “Are you so incapable of understanding humor?”

“When it comes to matters of serious importance, yes. You must understand I will send a full report to the King’s City tomorrow.”

“Send your report. The Council will judge it a waste of their time, much as this conversation has been a waste of mine.”

The Mountain Queen swept into the tent just then. She strode past Eolyn without as much as a sideways glance. During the performance, she had worn a stunning winter blue gown that sparkled with silver embroidery. Now she was dressed as a man, with a simple tunic and a plain colored cloak.

“Hello, Corey,” she said warmly. “I see you have a visitor.”

“This is the Magistrate of Moehn. Mage Melk, I present to you the Mountain Queen. You may question her directly if you like.”

Mage Melk responded with a curt nod and exited the tent in silence.

“He’s a friendly one.” The Mountain Queen spoke with a curious lilt.

“They won’t talk to a woman if they suspect she’s a maga,” Corey said. “They fear her witchcraft will seduce them.”

“All the better for me I suppose. But how do they ask questions during a trial if they can’t talk to the accused?”

“They bring in a High Mage to do their dirty work.” Corey produced a small silver flask. “It’s a nasty business, and I’d rather not discuss it tonight. What an insufferable fool! His title alone is a joke: Mage Melk, Magistrate of Moehn. It makes my teeth itch.”

“With all due respect, Corey, you take a lot of risks the way you speak with these magistrates.”

“I know very well the risks I take.”

The Mountain Queen shrugged, drew an apple from her cloak, and took a crisp bite. “Have you not noticed the beautiful woman waiting in your door way?”

Corey focused on Eolyn. The tension departed from his shoulders. He opened a flask and poured himself a drink of crystal clear liquid, the stinging scent of which reached Eolyn several feet away.

“I’ve left you waiting a long time, haven’t I?” he said. “Come into the light where I can see you.”

Eolyn stepped forward.

Corey’s eyes narrowed. “You look familiar. Where have we met before?”

“This afternoon, in town. During the pageant, you—”

“Ah, yes, I remember now. How may I assist you?”

“I came to thank you for your invitation. The spectacle was enchanting, and…” Eolyn shifted on her feet. “I thought there might be an opportunity for employment with the Circle.”

“I see.” Corey downed his drink. “Though if I had a job for everyone who came asking…Come closer, so I can have a good look at you.”

Eolyn approached until she stood in front of the table. Corey took his time assessing her, from head to foot and back again.

“Well,” he concluded, “you’re pretty enough, and we don’t have anyone with quite that tone of fire in their hair. What can you do?”

“Do, sir?”

“Can you play an instrument? Dance?”

“No, I don’t play any instruments. I have danced, but I don’t have the grace of your dancers.”