Merchants and Mages (Highmage's Plight Book 2) (14 page)

Mage Amiss

Chapter 21

“W
hat do you mean that you cannot scry him?” the elf demanded. “Has he cloaked himself, somehow?”

  “Cloaked? If he had accomplished that, he would, at least, appear in dreams like a shadow. No, according to the scryers, he no longer exists.”

  “No longer exists?” the elflord echoed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Let me explain it this way. Say his name.”

  “Master, uh, Master, um…” he stammered. “This is ridiculous.”

  “He no longer exists. He apparently never existed. Even memory of him has grown vague. The scryers were looking for him earlier enough that they still remembered what to look for, but they do not recall anymore. He is gone, completely.”

  “But… but there is no such magery!”

  The mage opposite him frowned, “Yet there is now… and that is what worries us most.”

  A look of cunning crossed the aged mage’s face, “And such a power in our hands could give us the entire Province, perhaps the Empire.”

  The younger mage smiled, “So it would.”

  “Well, we must seek what he was seeking, then.”

  “That might be a problem.”

  “Why?”

  “No one quite remembers what that might be.”

  “Then, go through his papers!”

  “Whose?”

  “Oh... What position did he have?”

  “That’s why I came to you. One of the scryers remembered he had your position in our ranks.”

  The elf stared at him in silence. My position? “Leave me. I have much to

consider.”

  “Aye, Milord, that is doubtless.”

George Bradley was asking himself why he had impulsively chosen to bind up the tapestry. The only answer he could come up with was that he had been prodded. “So, there you are, after all.”

 
:I did not detect the Summoning, George.:
  Raven looked up and saw the staff glow ever so faintly.

  “No, it has been rather quiet since we left the Barrows,” he muttered, seemingly to himself. “We thought that was because I was doing everything I could to continue our travel to the Imperial Capital. But what if it was because of something else?”

 
:Conjectured alternatives offer a number of possibilities. One: the Summoning’s activity threatens the success of its purpose. Two: the Summoning has been blocked through some unknown circumstance and may have only briefly been able to interact. Three: the Summoning is not the culprit, per se. Four…:

  “Enough,” George muttered, glancing at Se’and’s continuing attempts to re––order the tapestries. “There is another way of, perhaps, resolving this, Se’and.”

  She sighed in frustration, “I am on to something here.”

  “Perhaps... But I may be able to help if you can, at least, tell me more about this Legend of the Black Swords, which you say these tapestries depict.” 

  With a glance at Fri’il, she rasped, “Very well; but the earliest version only because the other treats the first as more of a prophecy and not as anything historical.”

  “Please,” he agreed with a gesture for her to sit down.

  “Move that one there, Raven. Very well. The legend deals with the House of Kyrr.”

  George stiffened. “Kyrr, again. The boy lord who saved the Shattered
House about four centuries ago, and your ancestor.”

  “And father of Erone Secondson, ancestor of my Sire’s House, as well,” Fri’il added.

  George frowned. That made Lord Kyrr rare, indeed. He had sired two sons in a land where the birth of but one was the cause of celebration and hope, helping their desperate society of women survive for another generation.

Tale of Black Swords

Chapter 22

S
e’and began to restate the tale of the Black Swords. “There was a terrible war in the Northlands. The Demonlord’s armies were on the march.  The Aqwaine Empire had lost thousands of soldiers, entire legions, it was said. A message for help came by ship to Catha and the Lords debated, then rejected the appeal outright. Only Lord Kyrr voiced favor in going to the Empire’s aid. The other lords objected because they had no defense against magery. But Lord Kyrr proclaimed, ‘Had they not dealt with the Dark One’s minions in the past?’

 
“‘Yes,’ they replied, using the Mother Shaman’s blessed black metal on the tips of their spears and arrows. ‘But in a great battle the metal would be quickly spent and their forces would be slain.’ Then Lord Kyrr brought forth his sword of the blessed black metal and said, ‘This is bane to the Demonlord’s mageries. My House’s foundries wrought hundreds of these swords. Let us go and help the Empire defeat the dread enemy.’

 
The lords laughed, ‘What can but a few hundred such swords do in such a great battle?  Let your House take those swords to the Empire’s defense if you will it... But our decision is plain. We will not come to the Empire’s aid!’

  “And so it was that Lord Kyrr and the Sisters of his House took ships to the Empire. They joined the Highmage’s last forces and fought in the Northlands. Many Sisters fell there. The final battle was terrible. Lord Kyrr led his House in the great charge and the bearers of the black swords provided a bane to the Demonlord’s mageries. The Sisters fell upon the enemy and opened the way for the Imperials to break through for victory. Lord Kyrr was injured in the battle and stayed many days in the Empire before he and the survivors returned home. That is the legend these tapestries show, Milord.”

  Fri’il shook her head, “Tell him of the fate of the black swords.”

  Moderately exasperated, Se’and nodded, adding, “Upon their return to Cathart, Lord Kyrr saw the greedy looks the Lords had for the black swords. The other Houses coveted the famed swords. Offered Lord Kyrr great wealth in return for but one, and Lord Kyrr turned down every one of them. When it looked like his refusal would lead to bloodshed the swords were suddenly gone and no Mother Shaman could even say how or to where. It was rumored one sword remained: the blade worn by Lord Kyrr himself, given as a gift to one in the Empire. He claimed, one day this gift would return to Cathart and be inherited by the Second Son in the days heralding when our Curse was to end.”

  Se’and turned away and began pointing at each depicted scene. “There is the charge...  This one seems to take place earlier. This one shows them fighting hand–to–hand. That one, Fri’il, move that over there. It has to be a scene earlier than that one... Raven, no, that one belongs over here… it has to.”

  George shook his head. “And some say this legend is a prophecy and not about Lord Kyrr, I take it.”

  Fri’il hastily replied, “Some say that, others say it happened and will happen again. That Cathartans will fight bearing the black swords in defense of the Empire yet again.”

Dustin hesitantly approached the door, then knocked. A man watched him carefully. “Ah, Dustin, do come in,” the servant, Farrel, said. “My Master and I are sorry that we had to leave so suddenly yesterday. But the matter was quite urgent.”

 
“I understand completely,” Dustin stated as he entered. He noted the tapestries all seemed to still be in the room, then struggled to smile. “I just came by to see if you were all right, is all.”

  The merchant came over and assured him that all was well. “Would you care to dine with us for dinner this evening?”

  “Oh, thank you, but I regret that I cannot. One of the Faeryn masters has asked me to join him tonight.”

  George frowned, realizing that the young elfblood was lying, then heard himself say, “That is wonderful. We will expect you to bring him with you, tonight, as well.”

  Dustin gaped, “Uh...” 

  Se’and glanced at Je’orj in surprise as he hastily ushered the elfblood out of the apartment. “By the Sixth Bell, then! Oh, you must excuse us. We have some business to attend.”

  The door closed firmly behind Dustin, who took a few hesitant steps away. He quickly found himself being hastened down the hall. He was led into a newly occupied suite. The man who called himself Terhun muttered, “That was quick. Were they there?”

  “Yes… all of them.”

  “Excellent. Do you have any idea when they might be leaving the apartment?”

 
“No. But I have been invited to dinner tonight, with my Master.”

  Terhun chuckled, “Then your Master shall join you. Fetch me a good cloak to hide my ears,” he said to one of his associates.

  The other agent stammered, “Is that wise, sir?”

  “You will have a full team outside. I will be safe enough.”

  Dustin swallowed, having heard the emphasis on ‘full’ team.
Who was this man that he commanded mages?

The aged elfblood could think of only one reason he would have left his sanctum in Lyai, unaided. But it was ludicrous. Was he not the dread lord’s most senior agent in Lyai? His task was to bring about the fall of the Lyai. And he nearly had on several occasions. The assassination of the Lyai’s father had been his greatest success, yet, the price he had to pay to accomplish it meant certain unpleasant choices had to be made. Those who knew his true name had no knowledge of his role in his Dark Master, the Demonlord’s plans, or his ambitions.

Why would his minions lie to him about this, unless they saw an opportunity to profit by it?  He started to breathe heavily. Had they learned his true identity? Was this a gambit to pull him down, or did this foolishness give him an opportunity to advance his own ambitions? He suddenly shivered. Or had he held this position for but only a few moments before his predecessor’s existence ceased?

How could such a power exist? Not even in legend had he ever heard of such magery. It was a paradox.

 
Paradox,
he suddenly thought and gaped.
A paradox was in play.
Such

power
could defeat all his Master’s plans. But how? The only warning of unexplained events was his Master’s alerts to his minions that a human mage was on his way to the Empire. He had at first scoffed at the very idea, yet, the Demon Lord’s messages of warning had become more frequent and almost… dare he admit it… shrill of late.

 
Was the existence of a human mage, someone without elvin blood to work magery, the source of the paradox or but a symptom? He sat back and considered. If a paradox was a work, where was the earliest sign that the Demonlord’s plans were going awry? In frustration he tried to reason it out, but after hours had passed he could think of nothing.

 
Then go about it from another angle
, he considered.
Where would the Demonlord have had his greatest victories?
Simple: prevent humanity from ever having come to profane this world.
Too simple
, he told himself,
think in terms of the Empire
. The Aqwaine Empress had risen to power and the Highmages had barred the former Elfking’s depredations on humanity.  The current Highmage, Alrex, had not been seen in months. Some were saying he was dead or dying. Could that be a sham? Could he be here in Lyai? But if he could erase from existence, the Demon Lord’s minions, certainly the Empire would been doing something dramatic in the Northlands to protect kingdoms, such as Gwire, from falling. Gwire would soon be lost, heralding the beginning of the end in earnest.

  What if the paradox went back even further? The previous Highmage had been so traditional and conservative that he had helped cede chaos throughout the Empire, adjusting things more to the Demon Lord’s liking after that upstart, Faeryn, had brought new mageries to the Imperium. Now, Faeryn had been the most unlikely of choices for Highmage and his great battle against the Demon Lord had made him a legend. His followers were a constant nuisance to his task, particularly those secretly part of the Lyai’s Service.

To this day, the Demonlord railed against the very mention of the name Faeryn, claiming that the end should have come for humanity then and there. The aged elf shook his head. Faeryn had brought humanity a reprieve from oblivion. Was the paradox there? Had the final battle’s odds been changed?  If so, how could he prove it? 

  Finding that answer would present certain problems, he could not trust

the learning of it to anyone else. Oh, my, could that have been it? But what proof that history had been changed could there be?

  He left his sanctum and went to the Mage Guild. The old gate keeper opened the door and remarked in surprise about his presence. “Forgive me, but I thought you long since dead.”

  The aged elf grinned wickedly, “Home for a visit.”

  “Welcome, then...” A strange expression passed the old elf’s face, “Funny, I could have sworn someone else came here, some time ago, that I thought must be long dead as well. Ah, I remember now. It was Lord Erianda.”

  “Erianda, you say?”

  “Why, yes,” he stared back hard and raised his hand to his head. “I

am so sorry, Lord Erianda. I do not
know why I said that. I must be

getting confused by the Great Enchantment.”

  Lord Erianda stared back at him, struggling to keep the look of horror from his face. He suddenly remembered an old nightmare that had haunted him for many long years. In the dream he had a brother and remembered that his brother had killed him, as a boy, as an offering to the Demonlord.

  Hastily, Erianda stalked off toward the Archives, wondering if he really wanted to know the truth.

De
picting Past from Present

Chapter 23

A
t the Sixth bell, their guests arrived. Dustin introduced his Master, Galt Faeryn. George welcomed the cloaked figure, then they sat about the table for dinner.

 
Terhun gently fingered his amulet and felt the reassuring contact with his mages outside.  Should he need to do a parlor trick, they would help him. Should he find himself in trouble, the pair of them would deal with it, in ways that had been to the rue to the Demonlord’s minions in the past.

  “Master Galt, Dustin is a very impressive young mage,” George stated.

  The journeyman stammered, “Thank you, milord.”

  His Master nodded, “He is a good lad and proven to be an apt pupil.”

  “I must say, I have been very impressed with the Faeryn mages; although, I must admit that I have heard little of differences between mages.”

  “Only two kinds
of mages concern humanity, by–in–large, my dear sir; mages who serve the Empire and those who serve the Demonlord. The fact that a second, more practical, school of magery exists concerns few people in reality.”

  Se’and frowned, “I am afraid that I do not quite understand, Master Galt... Do you imply that there are mages in the Empire who secretly serve the Dark One?”

  The cowled figure sat back. “Sadly, I must admit that I believe so.”

  “Here in the provincial capital?” George rasped, seemingly horrified at the thought.

  Terhun smiled thinly, “One must be ever vigilante, my dear sir. We live in perilous times, always have. Imperial history is quite clear on that.”

  George looked at his guest and noticed him glance over at the four rolled up tapestries.  “Ah, Dustin has told you of the depictions, no doubt.”

  “Most certainly; he was most concerned that his knowledge of history

was sorely lacking and asked me if I knew anything of interest, which could shed light on whether they depicted actual events or were mere fantasy.”

  Se’and smiled, catching Je’orj’s gaze briefly. “It would be my pleasure to show them to you after we have finished dining.”

  Dustin carefully swallowed, afraid he might otherwise choke. The triumph in Terhun’s voice seemed unmistakable. “I would appreciate that very much.”

The pair of “Service” scyers watched the scene through shallow bowls of water. Nothing seemed amiss as the dinner continued. The water uncharacteristically rippled, then steadied before either mage thought to adjust the spells. The sense of contact with Terhun continued unchanged with no sense of urgency or alarm. The scene dragged on as another course of food was presented. If anything, the image made the pair hungrier.