The Making of a Mage King: White Star (41 page)

He stood there gazing at the mountains.
Mountains are strong. Ghosts don’t haunt them. Time and distance don’t confuse them. The magic scarcely affects them. I need to become strong like those mountains. With strength like that…

“Sean? Can you hear me?”
Armelle’s voice, accented by Clayton’s touch, wrenched at him.
“Love, don’t go so far away.”
Her voice quavered.

He took a deep breath and pulled his eyes away from the mountains. “Dance with me,” he murmured.
I don’t need that stony strength, not if it costs me this.

Frei found him in time to watch him dance with the ghost of the young woman he had had the pleasure of meeting. He was glad they had that kind of connection, though he had never heard of it manifesting like this. The dance was fascinating to watch; with no music to be heard, there was utter silence. Sean’s soft boots made even less noise on the short grass than they did on the street. Where the only other dance he had witnessed between these two had been fierce and deadly, this one had so much love in it, it filled the heart to near bursting just to watch, and yet it was heartbreakingly sad at the same time.

Eventually, despite the dance, Sean noticed that he had a spectator, so he wound his dance to an end and his wife faded. The shudder in his sigh might have been missed if they weren’t surrounded by so much silence. “What can I do for you,
ganio
?” he asked, sounding tired, or perhaps just mellow.

“I’ve never seen anything like that before,” said Frei. “Have you any idea what happens when you do something like that?”

“What are you talking about?” asked Sean, as he raked his hair away from his face and approached. “I was just…just visiting my wife…in a way.”

“Yes, I could see that.” He struggled to explain. “Some members of my family can…see…what magic does. I don’t mean we can see when something blows up or catches fire; everyone can see that. I mean something like what you just did here, as well as that dance you did in front of the inn. Those are spells too, and they affect everyone and everything around you for quite some distance. It’s like watching you weave a web; it’s like dropping a pebble into a pond, making little waves that go out and out. You’ll have to forgive me; I haven’t tried to tell anyone about this since I was a kid. Not since I realized that no one else saw what I saw.”

“You don’t do any magic of your own,” commented Sean. He saw no glow about the man whatsoever.

“No sir, nothing of my own,” replied Frei.

Sean was curious. “Aside from what you saw here, what are some of the things you notice?”

Frei cast around for some of the more common things, things he saw every day and had learned not to notice. “Um…the lady who does my laundry, she’s well-known for her ability to get stains out of clothes, even grease stains. I think the innkeeper takes his aprons to her. Somehow when she’s washing, she’s using magic; I can see her magic attacking the stains and dirt while she’s washing, but I don’t think she’s aware of it.” He searched his memories for another example and smiled with one corner of his mouth. “There’s a wealthy merchant in the square. He’s modest, and known to be honest, but he scarcely has to haggle to get the price he wants. I think he knows it’s magic that gets him his way, but he doesn’t try to stop it, and he
is
fair.”

“What about big magic?” asked Sean, with an unconscious wave of his hand toward the north.

“I haven’t been able to go north for years,” replied Frei. “I can’t even bring myself to buy any of their produce,” his hands clenched into  fists. “It’s like…” he looked at his fists, puzzled.

Sean noticed the fist too. “That about describes it, throughout the entire valley. I’ve straightened it all out now; it doesn’t do that anymore. Produce coming downriver will be scarcer for a while, I think, unfortunately. Someone like you might have been able to help me figure it out sooner. So, what is it that you see when I dance with Armelle?”

Frei laughed out loud. “Because of that dance, dozens of young men are going to find the courage to ask their ladies to marry, dozens more married men, young and old, will be courting their wives like they haven’t done…for a very long time. And I’ll cut off my right hand if we don’t have dozens of babies born next spring as a direct result of that dance, but there isn’t really any way to check that.”

“Really?” Sean said, grinning sheepishly. “I had no idea. What about the dance in front of the inn?”

“That one? I’m willing to bet that every man and boy in the valley suddenly found themselves sharpening swords or knives. The Aarauians could have dropped down on us at the height of their strength…. Well, I think so anyway. How many times have you done those dances?”

They’d walked while conversing, and the inn was again in sight. “I don’t know…a couple other times like tonight, one other time like in front of the inn; I use sword routines to work off extra energy, sometimes… There are other…spells like that too.”

“Like what?” asked Frei.

Very few patrons were left in the inn’s common room when they entered; a single table held soldiers playing cards with beer at their elbows. When the innkeeper brought them their beer, Sean handed him two gold coins. “That’s for breaking your table, and for putting up with us. We’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.”

The man bowed, ogled the coins in his hand, then bowed again. “Thank you, my lord, thank you; you are most generous.”

Over beer, Sean told Frei all about seeing Soran. He told him that he’d never been able to find Soran when someone was watching, at least not if he knew they were watching. Then they discussed his uncle; everyone knew about Ludwyn, of course, but he hadn’t bothered this place much; it was too important. “It looks like Ludwyn didn’t do much of anything outside of the main valley, with the exception of a few points of interest.”

Frei made a face and toyed with his half-empty beer glass, drawing a squashed figure eight on the table with the condensation from the bottom of the glass. “That’s part of the magic too,” he said, then shook his head with regret. “You can’t appreciate the good if there’s no bad.” He looked his young companion directly in the eyes. “There’s no denying that you’re Soran’s blood.” He rested a hand over Sean’s heart. “It’s all there; it’s what makes you who you are. It’s your strength. You just have to balance it; make it come out the way you want.”

They continued to talk throughout the night, though they moved the subject away from Ludwyn. Sean was able to glean many tidbits of information from the man. In that one long conversation, Sean suspected he had learned twice as much from this man as he had learned from Hélène in all the time he had been in her company.

As they continued their conversation, the card players left and a seedier group – six in number – entered calling for whisky in raucous voices. Sean and Frei both glanced up at the unnecessary volume of their demands.

“What are you lookin’ at?” asked one of them, and the rest of them bristled and turned to face them.

Sean was forcibly reminded of an old western where gunslingers entered the bar looking for trouble. “Trouble,” Sean said in answer to their question. He glanced at Frei; his nod said he agreed.

“You lookin’ for trouble are you?” asked a second man. All six of them were concentrating on Sean now.

Frei looked at Sean. He saw the dangerous glint in his eyes and sat back to watch. He wondered if Sean would use magic. Somehow, he didn’t think so.

“Actually, I was looking
at
trouble; I never look
for
trouble, but I delight in ending it,” said Sean, His voice dropping to a deadly timber as he spoke. He slowly stood and stepped away from the table.

The innkeeper stepped through the door, blanched, then disappeared again.

The ruffians took in Sean’s armor, totally disregarding the circlet of silver around his brow and the fact that he still wore all three of his swords. From their look, Sean could virtually read their thoughts. Any one of them might have balked and backed down, but together, they just couldn’t. After all, he was just a kid, and he only had two hands; what use were three swords? There were six of them, and they had armor too, though it was only studded leather. That was good odds, wasn’t it? Especially since it looked like the old man wasn’t going to interfere.

Sean let them close the distance between them before he moved, but even then, he didn’t move much. The voice of Master Mushovic echoed,
“Never throw away your sword. Never disarm yourself. You’re a fool to disarm yourself before a fight. What if you miss?”
But it only served to remind him to take care with his range.

He reached over his shoulder and a knife hilt blossomed from the chest of one of the men.

He touched his chest and another hilt blossomed from a second man’s chest, almost before the first man had hit the floor.

The sword at his right hip was the next blade to move, and another body staggered back before collapsing; the man behind him was forced to jump back, away from the length of blade that reached for him from his partner’s back.

The sword at Sean’s left hip flew next, as Sean remembered getting slapped up back of the head, but another man staggered back from the force of it to crash against the bar; his stiff legs and the length of the blade kept him off the floor for a few moments, then he sagged and doubled forward.

The last two men would have run, but their way was blocked with bodies, so foolishly, they fought. With a single spin, the only time he moved his feet, Sean was between them, and both men were left headless. The memory of Mushovic groaned and shook his head in disapproval.

Shrugging away from his old sword master, Sean stepped through the carnage, methodically retrieving his blades and cleaning the blood from them before returning them to their sheathes, then with a sigh, he cleaned up the rest of his mess. The bodies disappeared, followed a moment later by the blood.

When the innkeeper peeked out again, the last thing he expected to see was a quiet room with two men talking over empty beer glasses. He brought them a pitcher. “Thank you, sir, for keeping the peace. Those men looked hell-bent for trouble.”

“They were hell-bent all right,” said Frei, with a wry grin. “I don’t think you’ll ever have to worry about them again.” When the innkeeper left, he said to Sean. “Your young friend was right. You can take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, Laon’s right too. I’m a mage. I tend to forget to protect myself when I use magic,” said Sean as he downed half a glass of beer in one long draft.

Frei was recalling the names; he’d have to have a discussion with one of his commanders. The man was too lax with his men, and now six of them would be thought missing.

The cook came in the back door, dusting snow from her cloak and making Sean aware that morning had arrived. Frei let out a guffaw, then brushed his cheek nonchalantly. When Sean looked again, he saw a slight flush on her cheeks, but that could have been just the cold, if it weren’t for the secret smile on her face; the kind of smile not meant for anyone else to see. The sight made him chuckle and duck his head. Frei let out another guffaw and Sean knew that he was blushing every bit as much as the cook was, and he didn’t have the excuse of having come in from the cold.

The innkeeper came in drying his hands on his apron. “Will you be wanting breakfast before you leave, sir?”

“Yes,” Sean replied.
I wonder how many of my friends I still have
. “How many are still here? Do you know?”

“Yes, sir. The young Master Larry and his lady, Mistress Jenny,” he listed off. “Mistress Mattie and the young man you spoke to last evening are still upstairs. The others didn’t come in last night.”

“Thanks, that’s all that’ll be eating here then,” said Sean. When the innkeeper left, Sean delicately tweaked Larry’s ear and said, “Breakfast will be ready in a bit,” and got a groggy acknowledgement in response. As he gave the same message to Mattie, he noticed Frei’s eyes. They seemed to be following something up to the ceiling. “What’s it look like?”

“Fine magic, like delicate silver threads. It’s quite pretty, actually,” replied Frei.

Sean reached in another direction. “Cordan, can you be ready to move in about an hour?”

“Yes sir,”
he replied.

“Is Ferris there?”

“He is.”

“He’ll be riding rear guard until further notice.”

“Oh, gee, thanks,”
said Cordan.

“Cordan, just so you know; I scared Mattie pretty bad. I didn’t want to, but I…I had to. Just so you know.” Cordan didn’t reply. Sean winced and cut the connection. Frei reached for the pitcher and found it empty when he tried to fill his glass.

There was a noise at the top of the stairs and Sean looked up to see Laon with his arm draped over Larry’s shoulder. Mattie was backing down in front of them, hanging onto Laon’s belt, his free hand clinging to her shoulder. Jenny followed, looking worried. Sean readied to catch them if they fell, but they were doing okay, so he didn’t interfere.