Fire Mage (14 page)

“I tried the ale…you wouldn’t like it.” Nikulo hiccupped. “I tried the wine too…dreadful. You wouldn’t like that either. Cider seemed like the best option. Harvest time of the year, after all.” He nodded his head knowingly at Nuella and lifted his mug in a toast. “To youth…may you always refuse to die.”
 

Lenora took a sip, and whispered, “Does your quest have anything to do with the Jiserians?”
 

Talis edged closer to Lenora. “We share a common foe. Just last week, our city, Naru, was attacked by Jiserian sorcerers. But they haven’t defeated us yet…at least I hope not.”

“Do you have any idea how powerful the Jiserians are?” Rikar said, and squinted at Talis. “Without the most powerful of magic, we’ll be useless against them. You haven’t got a clue what is needed.” He drank the cider, and wiped the sides of his mouth.
 

“But we can stop them.” Mara glared at Rikar. “That’s why we’re on our quest. Turn things in our favor.”

Lenora looked doubtful. “Father is leading us to Khael. They say Khael and the lands to the north are free from the Jiserian’s grasp—”

“Father said they are allied yet protected,” Nuella said, her voice uncertain. According to Master Holoron, the city of Khael was an outlaw city, filled with pirates and brigands. If Khael was allied with the Jiserians, they probably wouldn’t be welcome. But they needed to go through Khael to find passage by sea to the island.

Just then a big man with sagging jowls and darting eyes came stomping over. He glowered at them and grabbed the mugs from the girls’ hands. “What are you doing? Why are you talking to
these
people. And why are you drinking this!” He set his eyes on Talis and looked him up and down, and huffed, the smell of garlic and liver wafting from his lips.

“I think you misunderstand,
Father
,” Lenora said, standing firm. “These travelers are from Naru, recently attacked by the Jiserians—”

“Naru? You’re from Naru? But why would the Jiserians dare attack your fair city?”
 

The big man relaxed his shoulders, studied Talis more closely, then finally sat next to his daughter. The bench groaned under his weight. He wrung his hands as if they were wet. “Don’t pay any mind to my gruffness…who can trust strangers?” He smiled, as if trying to assure them his suspicion was natural. “Tell me, has Naru fallen?”

“Nay.” Rikar put a whetstone to his dagger. “We repelled their aerial invasion. Unlike, it sounds, your village….”

“Not a village lad, a great city, Bechamel Downs, lain waste by hoards of Jiserian mongrels. Strange beasts, made of mud and sticks and twisted vines. They sieged our city for weeks, as if toying with us, sending us petitions for our surrender each night at dusk. Our foolish leaders refused each time—”

“I’ve never heard of your city.” Rikar twisted up his face. “Well it doesn’t surprise me, honestly, your leaders probably sold you out in exchange for titles in the new Jiserian Empire…people do that, you know. They did it at Onair and countless other cities along the western coast.”

“Who are you, boy?” Lenora’s father said. “You talk as if you’re a king—”

“Perhaps one day…mother says that’s a possibility.” Rikar looked at the beams, eyes blinking rapidly.

“The Lei Family line is in waiting for the throne,” Mara said, her voice terse.

“They’ll be waiting a long time if they’re dead. Enough of this talk.” Rikar stared at Lenora’s father. “Our party is in shambles…ruined by an attack from Jiserian necromancers in the desert. Your daughter here tells us you’re traveling to Khael. Yes? So, so, we also travel to the coast… Shall we, bind together, safety in numbers and all that?”

“I don’t see why not.” Lenora’s father shook his fat jowls left and right. “Yes, it’s decided. Travel with us to Khael, join me and my daughters, and our two servants. Together we’ll be nine.”

“We’ll need to talk it over…as a group.” Mara glanced at Talis.

“All this talk is making me hungry.” Nikulo jutted his chin at their table. The barkeep had just set down a huge bowl of stew filled with pork and cabbage and potatoes, and roasted bread, topped with what looked like garlic and butter. It smelled better than it looked.
 

“If I didn’t have the gift of sight,” Lenora said, “I wouldn’t say our paths are intertwined. Because they are. Somehow the way ahead is made clearer after meeting you….”

The way she spoke made Talis feel as if fate had spoken. If he resisted, the gods would be angered. For a brief moment, when she had voiced the words, it was as if time stilled, and her eyes were illuminated with some strange fire. He couldn’t resist even if he tried.

Mara elbowed him in the ribs. “Snap out of it.” She pulled his arm, leading him to the table.

Talis was about to grumble, then he thought the better of it. When Mara was determined like that it was impossible to say a thing. He filled his bowl and ate, thinking about Lenora. She might be a mystic, but from Mara’s expression of contempt, Lenora was a witch.

When Rikar and Nikulo and Talis all voted to travel with Lenora and her family, Mara was furious. She promised them no good would come from traveling with strangers. But Talis couldn’t help notice the edge of jealousy in her voice. After all, Lenora was beautiful and from an exotic kingdom, and he was curious to discover the secrets of the mystic school of magic.

Rikar and Talis had found enough gold in their purses to buy four horses, the last of which was a small, fat horse that seemed perfectly suited for Nikulo (despite his protests). Talis glanced up as a stable boy finished placing a saddle and bags onto his horse. He handed a small silver coin to the boy, and grinned as the boy’s eyes went wide staring at the coin.

A stiff wind sent the cypress trees swaying above. The horses whinnied, spurred by the unsettled air.
Talis thought of Naru, vowing he’d never forgive himself if anything happened to his family.
 

As he mounted his horse, he gazed east, filled with a sense of foreboding. What was out there waiting for them? His thoughts were interrupted as Mara rode up alongside.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea.” Her horse circled around, as if anxious to begin the ride.

“We can always go off on our own if it doesn’t work out with them.”

She came in close, and whispered, “Have you seen those
servants
Lenora’s father was talking about? More like an evil-looking sorceress and a grim reaper with a scimitar… We carry the most valuable relic in the world, how can you trust them? When it was just innocent-looking Nuella, that witch Lenora, and her fat father, it seemed harmless.”

Talis chuckled, not imagining Mara could ever be so jealous. “She’s not nearly as pretty as you.”

Mara blushed, looking down. She was about to retort when Rikar and Nikulo rode up, followed by Lenora and her sister. Nikulo’s horse seemed to strain under the weight.

“And what joker thought it was funny to give me this horse?”

“Why you’re perfectly matched.” Mara tried to stifle a snicker.

Lenora’s father trotted up, flanked by the sorceress and the blademaster. “Enough talk, off we go.”
 

The sorceress stared at Talis as if searching for clues. He felt a heat prickle under his skin, recognizing her use of magic. He knew he had to stay guarded against her magical senses.

After they left the village, they took a spindly trail to a bridge suspended between two huge boulders. The river flowed hundreds of feet below. The horse's hooves clapped against the wood as they trotted ahead.
 

In the warming of late afternoon, the sky cleared and Talis lifted his eyes and his mouth fell open. Sheer granite cliffs towered over them, to the left and the right, rising to the zenith. The glow of the sun reflected off the cliffs, a wash of brilliant light. Sentinel pines a thousand feet tall stood guard at the entrance of a pass that knifed through the mountains. But the mountains dwarfed those pines, rising seven or eight times higher.
 

The next day they trekked inside the dark pass, torches in hand, curving up and around until they broke out of the corridor and reached twilight on the other side. They’d climbed several thousand feet and the air was cold and dry. Swept before them, mountain lakes and sheer, jutting granite spires dotted the carpet of spruce and redwood and cedar. Talis loved these mountains, the invigorating, fragrant smell of pine, wind racing through rocks and branches. The shade of trees providing sanctuary from the unyielding sun, and when thirsty, the taste of sweet water from mountain springs.

After two days winding through the forests, the once fair skies turned dark and the air chilled. The horses whinnied nervously.

The blademaster stiffened and gazed at the sky. “Storm's brewing.”

Talis studied the thick grey and black clouds churning high above. Fierce winds shook the treetops and leaves and needles danced with each gust. The invigorating air rushed into his lungs, of storm and pine and cedar. It was as if nature was a crouched mountain lion, ready to pounce on its next victim. A drop of rain splashed into his eye and another landed on his chin. With a storm as fierce as this seemed, they’d need to seek shelter for the night.

Soon rain pelted his face and hair, and he grimaced and pulled his hood over his head. The trees grew animated with the force of wind, and large sheets of rain painted the grey sky. Inside his wool cloak he was warm and protected, but after awhile he was drenched.
 

The blademaster tried his best to keep the party moving, the wind whipping into a frenzy. Waves of leaves and rain made it impossible to see. Talis could feel the agitation of his horse under the erratic wind—her nostrils flared and she shook her head in contempt. Each moment a struggle, and each minute darker, he wished he was back in the warm comfort of the inn. The suffocating air from the low clouds and rain constricted his chest, making each breath more difficult than the last.
 

A sudden vast movement in the sky ripped the wind stronger, and the wind rushing through the trees howled in fury. Limbs cracked, branches flew and smashed against tree trunks. With the wind came an outpouring of torrential rain—the kind that reaches inside you and claws and digs and squirms, until you want to scream.
 

He glanced around, then kicked his horse and sped up to the blademaster. “We need shelter. I can barely stay on my horse.”
 

“Where?” the blademaster yelled, his strained eyes searching.
 

Talis blinked, wiped his eyes, and inspected the forest. Far off in the darkness, he spotted a flicker of light. The storm made it nearly impossible to see, but the light was there again, stronger now. Maybe it was a village? He stopped and turned his horse. He pointed at the light and the others squinted.
 

The blademaster nodded and rode on. One light expanded into many, dancing through the trees. Talis relaxed when he realized he was right, they’d found a village. Huts glowed and glimmered from fires inside. Smoke wafted out. He rode around a hut near the circle, and jumped at the sight of an old man sitting under a canopy attached to a hut. A smile crossed the man's face as he stared at the newcomers. The blademaster wielded his sword out of instinct, but softened after the man lifted his hands, and bowed in supplication. He wore tattered animal skins, as if from a hunt done years ago.
 

“Take shelter from the elements, friends. I’m Barnabus, our leader.” He motioned them inside. “Be our guests and warm yourselves by our fires.”
 

Talis glanced around and a chill shimmied up his scalp. Other old women and men poked their heads out of the huts, their eyes held a tired, hungry look, as if receiving the first visitors in years.

The blademaster sheathed his sword and slid off his horse. The wind gusted as he took refuge under the canopy. The sorceress followed, and the smell of roasted meat entered Talis’s nostrils as the blademaster went inside the hut. After a moment, he poked his head out and waved the others on. Talis licked his lips, imagining the taste.

Barnabus led Talis and Mara past several huts. Aged men and women stared at them as they passed. Their faces were filled with harsh wrinkles and their backs hunched over. Barnabus opened a flap to one hut and led them inside. “Our village is humble and our huts small,” he said. “You're welcome to stay until the storm clears.”
 

By a low fire in the center of the room, an old woman stirred an iron pot filled with stew. She wore a white lace apron. She smiled with soft, caring eyes as they entered. Her long silvery hair was tied up in a bun. She reminded him of his grandmother—always cooking stew on cold, wintry days.
 

Talis bowed to her. “Greetings, I'm Talis Storm. Thank you for your hospitality.” He pulled off his wet cloak and lay it on a bench near the fire. He was soaked to the bone. Shivering, he hovered around the flames, feeling life returning to his hands. He sighed as the warmth seeped into his body. Now if he could just sleep—no, he was hungry. He couldn’t decide what to do first.