Mercury Mind (The Downfall Saga Book 1) (8 page)

“Kotori,” said the musician, still focused on the harp. “The guild always gives me the worst instruments. The Bard himself couldn’t play a tune on this harp.”

“May I?”

“Knock yourself out,” said Kotori with a smile.

Donovan pulled up a chair and sat down with the harp on his lap. Closing his eyes, he let his fingers dance along the strings, continuously tightening and loosening the knobs at the top of the harp as he strummed. Finally satisfied, he played a quick glissandos on the harp before he handed it back to Kotori and got up to head back to his table.

“Wait,” said Kotori. “Do you want to play a few songs?”

“No,” said Donovan, “I just hate it when someone defiles my ears.”

Back at his table, he stared at his cider, trying to empty his mind of all thoughts, when Aine set down a folded piece of paper beside him.

“I almost forgot about this,” she said. “Eamon said he forgot to give it to you and asked me to send it to you at Haven in a few days. But seeing as you’re here now, you might as well have it.”

Taking a sip of cider to steady himself, he slowly unfolded the note. It was written in the same intricate, flowing script that Cleary had said was spoken by the Shem. He glanced up to see Aine still standing there. As soon as they made eye contact, she hurried off, leaving him alone to read the letter.

Donovan wiped a tear from his eye, and reread the letter. He caught Aine’s attention the next time she was walking past. “Do you know where a place called Jaslynns is located?” he asked.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” she said, continuing into the kitchen.

“My apologies,” said Kotori. “I didn’t mean to overhear, but you were asking about Jaslynns?” Donovan nodded and he continued. “It’s a small music shop on the other side of the river, near the center of town.” He proceeded to give Donovan instructions on where to find it.

“Thank you,” said Donovan.

“Don’t mention it,” said Kotori. “Now that you fixed the harp, I may actually make some money tonight.”

Donovan wandered over to the bar. “Is there some place quiet around here where I can rest until Osmont comes back?” he whispered to Aine.

With a knowing smile, she showed him to a small room upstairs. “As long as you don’t make a mess, and nobody needs it, you can stay here until he comes back,” she said.

The room was barely large enough to hold a bed and a small table. Laying down on top of the covers, Donovan bunched up his newly purchased cloak to use as a pillow, and lay there staring at the ceiling, waiting for Osmont to return.

Donovan opened his eyes. The room was basked in twilight. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but there was nothing to do about it now. He heard the noise again, a soft set of footsteps coming down the hallway. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and when he did, he relaxed, it was just another patron heading to their room.

The footsteps stopped outside his room. Maybe it was Aine coming to wake him, but he expected her to carry a candle in the gloom, yet the gap below the door remained dark. Very slowly he withdrew the cloak from behind his head. He bunched it into a tight ball and waited.

The handle made a slight squeak as the door opened, revealing a figure in the doorway. The figure cautiously took a step into the room. Donovan flung his cloak at it. The figure raised its arm to ward off the dark object heading towards it and became entangled in the cloak.

Donovan sprung off the bed and drove his shoulder into the figure’s ribs, pinning it against the wall, as the air rushed out of its lungs. Donovan tried to dash out the open door, but an arm flashed out, catching his thigh. It stopped his leg dead in its tracks with, what seemed like, little effort at all. Donovan’s momentum carried him over the arm, doing a somersault in the air, he landed in a heap on his back. An unyielding hand clasped his face before he’d even thought to scream for help.

“Quiet,” came a familiar voice.

When Donovan relaxed, the figure removed his hand. “Osmont?”

“Yeah,” said Osmont, helping Donovan to his feet.

“Why didn’t you knock?”

The moonlight reflected off his toothy smile and he rubbed his ribs where Donovan had hit him. “You’ve got good instincts for someone your age,” he said.

“You’re a daft, old fool, if you think that sneaking into a boy’s room is the right thing to do,” said Donovan.

“We’re heading back to Haven. I’ll tell you what I found on the way.”

Donovan packed up his gear and followed Osmont into the hallway. Turning left, Osmont led him towards the back of the building. Despite Donovan’s complaints about wanting to thank Aine for her hospitality, Osmont led them down a narrow flight of stairs and out the back door.

The sun had set and the city was bathed in pale moonlight interspaced with flickering torchlight. There were less people on the streets, and from the sound of raucous laughter emanating from the buildings they passed, it was easy to guess where they had went. Crossing the bridge, they entered the nearly deserted Temple District.

“I headed south, hoping that was the way they were headed,” said Osmont, without preamble. “I passed a few travelers who saw two men on horseback, riding at a decent pace. They had their hoods pulled up despite the heat, so I didn’t get much of a description. They rode straight through that town that I’d told you about. After asking around if anyone remembered anything significant about the travelers, while my horse was resting, I turned around and came back here.”

“So it was a waste of time.”

“Not entirely. Clearly they didn’t want to be seen. If they were both as nondescript as how Aine described Eamon, then they’d have been better off blending in amongst the other travelers, rather than calling attention to themselves. We also know that they were here with you, and I suspect that one of them is the wizard who carved that symbol into your chest.”

“I don’t see the connection,” said Donovan.

“What’s the first thing you remember?”

“Knocking on the gate at Haven.”

“Do you remember everything that has happened since then?”

“I believe so.” Donovan went on to recap everything that had happened in the last day, while they crossed the second bridge to enter the main part of the city.

“I’m guessing that whatever happened to you occurred shortly before you came to Haven. That’s why your memory doesn’t extend before that time.”

“What did happen to me?”

“Let’s wait until we’re back at Haven before discussing it.”

Recognizing the tone of voice, Donovan didn’t pursue the subject any further.

Retrieving their horses from the stable near the east gate, they headed out onto the empty road leading to Haven. After the hard ride which it had taken earlier in the day, Osmont insisted on a slow, plodding pace until his horse had warmed up again.

The road looked different in the dark. The flat, open area on either side was a pale, placid river flowing between the dark, impenetrable banks formed by the Kenelm Forest. The night was clear and bright, a large moon hung in the sky.

They were both leading their horses by the reins, enjoying the company of their own thoughts, when Osmont held out his hand. “Hold up, there’s something moving in the woods.”

Donovan strained his eyes, trying to pierce the darkness, but couldn’t see anything. It took a few seconds to realize that he could hear something moving through the brush. It was moving slowly, not attempting to conceal its presence. It sounded like it was tearing its way through the underbrush.

A figure emerged from the woods, ten yards ahead of their position. It looked humanoid but misshapen, its limbs were poorly proportioned to its body, and had an awkward, asymmetric build. It had a slow, shambling walk and sounded like stone grating on stone with every movement.

A second figure emerged near the first and slowly turned to face them. The two figures methodically advanced towards them. As they neared, Donovan got a better look at them. The first one looked light grey in the moonlight, flecked with many small, black spots. Its body had the appearance of stone, sharp edged and crumbling. The second figure had diagonal dark and light banding running through its body like stripes. The edges were more rounded and smoother than the first. Their eyeless faces stared straight ahead, and moss was hanging off them like decaying flesh. The moonlight highlighted crude symbols carved into their hearts and the top of the head, the recesses lost in dark shadow. A puff of wind blew towards Osmont and Donovan, carrying the wet and musty smell of decay.

“I have not seen a Clachward in many years,” said Osmont, his voice full of intrigue. “The rulers of old used them extensively but they’ve fallen out of practice, with men being much cheaper to hire. They are tough, highly resistant to physical and magical harm, mindless, but relentless. They can only follow the most rudimentary commands. Normally they were used to guard crypts and vaults, or to retrieve specific items or people.”

“So what are they doing here?” asked Donovan.

“I’ve never seen one in these parts before, let alone two,” said Osmont. “Unless you get in the way of them carrying out their orders, they will ignore you completely. If we weren’t so close to the capital, I’d sit here and let them go on their way, but I can’t have them scaring people.”

“What can I do?”

“You, nothing. You’d be like a flea trying to eat an elephant. Your best bet would be to run if you came across one on your own. Otherwise, they avoid light and intense heat. They bury themselves under the earth before the sun rises each day.”

Handing the reins to Donovan to hold, Osmont advanced towards the Clachwards. Donovan stood there, holding his breath, waiting to see what would happen. Osmont stopped in front of the lead one, holding out his hand so that he was practically touching its chest, a ball of energy grew in his palms. It grew until it was too bright to look at, then shot into the Clachward chest. When the light disappeared into its chest, the area suddenly became inexplicably dark. A blast of air hit Donovan in the chest, followed by the sounds of an avalanche as the Clachward crumbled to the ground.

Repeating the process, Osmont disintegrated the second one, before heading into the woods to check for more.

Donovan remained transfixed in place, having witnessed magic for the first time, when he felt a pull at his wrist. “Easy there, girl,” he said to the mare beside him. A cold, icy sensation began seeping into his wrist, numbing his hand. Turning his head, he saw a pale arm and body attached to the hand gripping his wrist, pulling him slowly backwards.

A chill breeze blew off the mountain, its icy breath froze him to the core, driving the air from his lungs. His feet left the ground as it lifted him effortlessly and began to carry him, slowly towards the forest.

The rigid arm was wrapped so tightly around his chest that he struggled to draw breath and was unable to yell for help. It had a stale, earthy aroma. He grabbed its rough arm and tried to pry it away so he could escape, but despite his best efforts, it didn’t budge. It entered the trees with an uncaring purpose, branches sliced into Donovan’s face, but the Clachward continued moving, unstoppable through the brush.

“Donovan!” yelled Osmont, having discovered Donovan’s disappearance.

Donovan watched as he scanned the tree line, his experienced eyes quickly picking out the tear in the underbrush. He plunged through the opening, into a tunnel of broken and torn branches, heedlessly continuing on. He summoned a small orb of light, and sent it ahead of him, through the trees, until he could see the Clachward’s silhouette in front of him.

Donovan flailed his legs in the air, as he unsuccessfully tried to gain leverage to free himself from its grasp.

A glow of energy appeared around his hand as Osmont pounded up behind the Clachward. He began to pummel the Clachward’s shoulder, small chunks of stone came loose with each blow. It didn’t react to his attack, but continued its steady march through the forest.

With a mighty blow, he separated the arm, which crumbled onto the ground. He attacked the other shoulder, until it too crumbled to the ground, freeing Donovan.

Donovan tried to scramble out of the way, but the Clachward turned and tracked his path, until Osmont brought forth another ball of energy and stopped it for good.

“Are you okay?” asked Osmont, helping Donovan to his feet.

Donovan took a moment to check himself over before replying. “Nothing’s broken.”

“Good, let’s get back to Haven as soon as possible.”

Osmont created a second orb of light and had the lights follow him on either side. With their path lit, they swiftly retraced their steps to the road. The two horses stood there, sniffing at the grass, as if nothing had happened.

Mounting the horses, they kicked them into a trot and rode back to the welcoming gates at Haven. Leaving the horses with the guard at the gate, Osmont told Donovan to find Professor Cleary in his office and have him come to the Headmaster’s office.

Feeling silly looking for the professor in his office at this hour, Donovan nonetheless headed to obey Osmont’s instructions. He had to pound loudly on the door a few times before he received a garbled response. A few moments later, the door opened to Professor Cleary, his crusted eyes and drool stained shirt indicated that he’d been asleep, yet he didn’t seem surprised to see him.