Rogue Magician (The Magician Rebellion) (3 page)

“
Of
course, my king... and thank you.” Sane bowed and left the king's side.

The
sorcerer hurried to his study where he opened a small black trunk filled with
dozens of round cuts of wood about an inch thick each and small enough to fit
snuggly in the palm of a man's hand. On the front of each one was a unique
symbol carved into it and on the back was carved or painted the name of a city
or place. Sane searched through piles of the wooden pieces flipping them over
and reading the name of each one until he found one that said Baj. He squeezed
it firmly in his fist.

Reaching
Kellen would be a simple task for the sorcerer. Colum was a day's travel by
horseback, but Sane was not confined to such mundane means of travel. However,
he feared that casting the spell could disrupt the vision that he was trying
dearly to cling on to. His visions were not always clear to begin with and like
most dreams the details tended to fade in time, but using magic hastened the
process and could make him forget the vision completely. Coming only in dream
form they were often laden with symbolism and subconscious messages that would
have to be sorted through for meaning. It was possible that Sane's vision of
his dead friend had a non-literal interpretation, but he was certain that it
was real. He could still see Kellen's body lying beaten and bloody staining his
once bright and shining armor.

Enough.
There was no other choice. The only way Sane could make it to Colum in time was
through magical means. It would do him no good to know that Kellen faced death
if he could do nothing to prevent it. Forgetting the vision was a risk that he
would have to take.

The
air was cool off the great lake and refreshing against Byrn's face. It was
early spring and it felt good to be basking in the sun. The winter had been a
harsh one this year forcing the young man to stay cooped up much of the time.
There was little need for couriers during the winter meaning there was little
reason for the young man to stretch his legs. Occasionally, there was the odd
job in town passing a message from a trader to a merchant telling him that his
shipment was being held up by the snow and the like, but nothing that allowed
him to venture far from home.

Byrn
sat under a tree daydreaming of the future, as most young men were apt to do.
This day he dreamed of being a master swordsman jumping into battle and felling
legions of enemies with a swing of his sword like Targan the Berserker in the
Tale of the Undead Isle. Over the last two winters Byrn learned the basics of
swordsmanship as part of his courier apprenticeship and he took to it well
enough, but he possessed no great skill for a boy his age and it was unlikely
that he would develop the stamina or fortitude needed to become the kind of
great warrior that songs were sung about. “Better to learn to ride like the
wind than stand and fight,” his master and adoptive father, Tannys Lightfoot,
had told him when his lessons in swordsmanship began, “You're employer won't
care how many bandits you fought off or how valiantly you died. His only
concern is if you delivered his message swiftly. Likewise in war, a master
courier can make the difference between victory and defeat. We are unsung
heroes, but heroes all the same.”

His
father would soon have a message that needed delivered, Byrn thought. It would
be a simple matter for an apprentice rider like himself. Running correspondence
from one farm to another or telling one of the local merchants that his order
of mutton would be a few days late. The morning was slipping away and Byrn
pushed thoughts of heroism and bravery from his mind as he mounted his horse
and headed towards Colum.

His
ride into the city was leisurely. It would be a poor thing to rush needlessly
and risk trampling a passerby in one of the narrower streets that honeycombed
Colum- another lesson from his father. After a few minutes he came to a small
home located in the trading district. Beside the door there was a wooden sign
bleached by the sun with a picture of a winged boot painted on. The live-in
shop was called the Winged Boot as the sign implied. It was not a terribly
creative name, but was effective in garnering new business.

“
Father,
I'm home,” shouted Byrn as he entered the storefront of the home, “...Father?”

“
In
here,” Tannys Lightfoot answered from the kitchen. His voice somehow managed to
sound both rough and comforting, “Go for a morning ride, did you? Not getting
into any trouble, I hope.”

“
No,
I just wanted to get out of the city for a little while. Spring is finally
getting underway and I wanted to take Emma out for a ride. I imagine she needed
to stretch her legs as much as I did.”

“
I
knew I made the right decision when I took you in and made you my apprentice.
You have the same wanderlust that I did at your age,” Tannys told him with a
gleam in his eye. “Just be sure to keep your itchy feet under control now that
you will be starting out on your own as a journeyman this year.”

Entering
the kitchen Byrn could smell the freshly cooked eggs as his adoptive mother,
Marian, put them on three plates. A loaf of freshly baked bread already sat in
the center of the table. “You have excellent timing,” she told the young man,
“Sometimes I swear you are part bloodhound.”

“
No,
I just know your routine,” replied Byrn sitting down to enjoy his breakfast,
scrambled eggs with bits of bacon mixed in. Byrn's stomach growled in delight.
He broke off a piece of the loaf and took a big bite of the still warm bread.
It was the simple things like this meal that reminded him how lucky he was to
be taken in by the Lightfoots and given an apprenticeship. If not for them he
would still be living in the orphanage or more likely would have been kicked
out when he turned fourteen and living in the street as a beggar or thief.

Marian
laughed at the boy, “You're not a hound at all. You're all stomach!”

***

Not
far to the south of the lakeside where a young man was fantasizing about
becoming a great hero there was a cave that no one dared go near for fear of
the creatures that lived deep underground. If anyone was foolish enough to
venture into those caverns they would find themselves surrounded by a pack of ogres.
No one was sure how many resided in the cavern’s tunnels, but a pack of ogres
were known to grow to two dozen with an ample enough supply of food and that
was the general estimate held by the cityfolk.

It
was unclear if the woman entering the cave was foolish or just desperate, but
no matter what her reason she entered showing no signs of trepidation. She was
in her early twenties and very beautiful with raven hair and blue piercing
eyes. Her slender figure was hidden under a black cloak with a blood red skull
on the back. At her side she carried a staff made from the wood of the Great
Forest in the elven kingdom of Raiden known for its magic harnessing
properties. Had any seen her staff it would instantly have given her away as
being a magician just as the red skull insignia on the cloak would have marked
her as a necromancer.

Her
footsteps were light, but determined. She had no desire to wake an ogre by
accident. It would do her no good to be killed in this place.

Lifting
her left hand a soft flame emanated from it lighting the way through the cave
as the sparse sunlight diminished the further in she went. It took only a few
minutes to find what she was seeking. As she approached she could see the
gray-green skin of an ogre's belly rising and falling as it slept soundly on
the dirt floor. It was one of four of the beasts lying in the expanse.

Once
the cloaked woman could see the whole beast she stopped and held her staff
straight up placing the butt firmly on the dirt floor.
I'm coming for you, father,
she thought hopefully. Closing her eyes
she took a moment to clear her mind of all fear and worry so that only a calm
clarity remained. She exhaled lightly one moment and inhaled more heavily the
next. The beautiful young woman opened her eyes and began to sing. A sweet
melody of peace and love sprang forth, but her voice was low and controlled.
She sang in a whisper like a mother singing a lullaby so that only her intended
ogre was close enough to hear.

The
ogre was still deep in hibernation, but as the woman sang it began to stir from
its long slumber. For months the beast slept as the winter passed and now as
the foul creature was finally waking a loud growl of hunger came from its
belly. It was consumed with an overwhelming desire to feed.

Sane
watched the family exchange through their kitchen window. Inside the boy called
Byrn ate and laughed with his family. The sorcerer blissfully remembered what
it was like to be young and ignorant of the world’s dangers. When life seemed
so simple and the world seemed right and just... but that was long ago before
he knew anything of magic and he was much younger than this boy. Sane wondered
if he was about to impose the same fate on Byrn. To learn the harsh lessons of
loss and sadness better saved for a man much older, but rarely was the world so
kind.

A
half hour had passed since Sane woke from his dream and it was already starting
to feel like a distant memory. Why was it always so hard for him to remember?
In his dreams the visions were so clear, but when he woke they began to get
muddled like the reflections in a pool after a handful of pebbles were thrown
in it.

“
Why
am I here?” Sane muttered to himself. A nagging frustration that he should be
doing something important kept eating at him. Maybe it had something to do with
Byrn Lightfoot. He had a certain presence, an aura, that was almost... magical.
The sorcerer came here to protect someone. It must be this boy.

Sane
closed his eyes as he tried to remember what brought him here. His breathing
was soft and measured. His heartbeat slowed as he centered himself to enter the
trance-like state necessary to relive his vision. It would leave him exposed
and unprotected, but he saw little choice unless he wanted to find Kellen and
ask for his assistance, but the sorcerer remembered that time was of the
essence. He was just not sure why. After a few moments Sane was back in his
vision reliving it. He could see everything that was to happen, but it was all
jumbled together like the pieces of a puzzle waiting to be fit together.
Byrn,
he thought,
Show me, Byrn.

The
images cleared in the sorcerer’s mind and he began to see an image of the young
man forming there. It was night and Byrn was carrying his mother to the temple
of Ashura as the life rapidly drained from her body. The woman was bleeding
from a gash on her head and she appeared to be suffering some internal damage
most likely from an ogre attack.

The
city was in shambles many of the buildings in the temple district were
destroyed or badly damaged. Rubble lay around them as the young man hurried to
find a healer. The temple was overrun with the injured and the dead. Byrn sat
his mother on the hard ground unable to find an unused cot.

“
Please,
everyone just remain calm and we will help you as best as we are able,” shouted
the high priest to the crowd.

A
pounding came from off in the distance. It was feint at first, but the sound
rapidly grew louder as the ogre invasion reached Ashura’s temple. Without
warning a vendor's cart arched through the air and came crashing down in the
middle of the crowd killing several of the already injured people.

A
moment later the ogre that hurled the cart was in sight and almost on top of
the crowd before anyone could react. Byrn drew his sword and pointed it at the
hulking monster. The blade shook at the tip as he realized he was all that
stood, literally, between these people and death, but he pushed his fear down
and stood resolutely.

No, that's not what
happened. That is not real,
Sane reminded himself as clarity began to return in
the dream-state. This wasn't about Byrn at all and it wasn't night. It was much
earlier, because he knew time was short. Sane needed to go farther back to find
the thing that brought him here. Byrn wasn't the reason the sorcerer was in
Colum, but if the young man was part of his visions then he may have a role to
play in this before the day was finished.

***

“
Who
is that?” asked Marian looking out the kitchen window.

Tannys
and Byrn looked up from their plates that had consumed their attention moments
before. Outside was a priest standing remarkably still just outside their
kitchen window. Although the man was looking in their direction he appeared to
take no notice of them at all.

“
What
is that priest doing out there?” wondered Tannys. “He looks like he is in some
kind of stupor. I saw the same look on a fool’s face once when he was kicked by
a mule and knocked senseless.

“
Sir,
what are you doing out there?” When there was no response Tannys knocked
lightly on the windowpane. “Can you hear me?”

The
green robed man's face was expressionless as he stared blankly ahead. He looked
almost like a statue standing outside the Winged Boot's kitchen window. Byrn
half expected a bird to fly down and perch on the man's head, but the young
courier dismissed the mildly humorous image as he was genuinely concerned for
the healer's well being.