Something was calling to him. Far away and only faintly, he could feel it dragging at him, demanding attention. From within the maelstrom of whirling images and twisting realities, the summons was clear and warm– an anchor of solidity amid a vortex of confusion.
His eyes popped open; his nostrils were already flared. The little birds slept on, one to either side, but he was awake, head throbbing, wounds burning. Awake and smiling, for the aroma remained though the dream was gone.
“Sonofabitch!” he breathed in near delirium.
The innkeeper, hardly recovered from the previous day’s long string of catastrophes, mumbled sullenly to himself as he went about his morning chores. The man’s sudden appearance at the bar frightened hell out of him.
“Gods above!” he shouted, clutching at his chest as he turned from the fire to behold the baleful sapphire glare of the magical eye glowing within the predawn darkness.
The shout awakened the hung-over troopers scattered before the hearth, who thrashed about, cursing and searching for weapons to confront whatever was attacking them this time. The curses turned ugly when they realized it was only the dealicus making the noise.
Most, with the stoicism of born soldiers, rolled back toward the hearth and fell immediately back to sleep, but a couple remained, joining the poor soul who’s sentry shift it was and cursing bitterly, heads splitting, stomachs churning.
“What in the ‘ells ‘re ye after now?” the angry dealicus demanded.
“Coffee,” Storm replied simply.
“And what in the noin ‘ells would that be?”
The man took a deep breath and sighed. “Coffee, man. The aroma’s near to overpowering, even upstairs. I know you have some somewhere, and I’ve been having wet dreams about a cup for months.”
“Aye, an’ what ye smells is khoof, ye great troll, and I’ll be thankin’ ye not ter be insultin’ the ‘ost so early in the morn. Man indeed!”
“I don’t care what you call it,” the man insisted. Bring me a mug--no, bring me the pot.”
The dealicus turned back to the hearth, hooking clear a huge, char-blackened pot, grumbling beneath his breath.
He was starting on the second pot when the little birds appeared at the top of the stair, sitting back at a table with the two sick troopers, half naked, a silly smile plastered upon his face.
“Oh, gods, no!” Swallow cried in mock horror. “Sister, we’ve bonded ourselves to a khoof addict.”
The wolf ambled down the stairs a few minutes later, nose wrinkled in distaste. He saw the man and the man’s expression, and his own soured. That was it, then. He’d have to add some of the awful beans to the cargo, and he’d be smelling that stench for the foreseeable future. What a way to start the morning.
The first rays of the sun found the entire party scattered about the main room of the Pizzle. All but the corporal, who still floated within the nimbus of healing light, and the girl who refused to leave his side.
“When will the corporal be ready to move?” Storm asked the mage, running his fork through what the dealicus insisted were scrambled chicken eggs.
“Humph–,” Belius struggled to swallow a mouthful of his own breakfast. “If we absolutely had to, we could move him by noon.
“Say,” he turned to the harried dealicus who was forced to be both cook and serving wench this morning. “These are very good.”
The dealicus took the compliment like a barbed spear in the guts, growling and flashing his one good eye malevolently at one and all.
“I suspect we might have to,” Storm told the mage between mouthfuls. “Koli?”
The wolf, jaws bloody from his own meal, regarded the man at the table and yapped softly, cocking his head to the side.
“Well, go out, then. Soon’s you’ve finished your meal. See if we’re in an awful rush or only a terrible hurry.” He sipped his sixth mug of khoof. “And pick up a bag of coffee...er...khoof while you’re out.”
The wolf nodded and turned his regard to the mage.
“Huh, oh, certainly,” Belius told him. A few waves of the hand, a mumbled word, and the jar about the wolf’s neck was suddenly blazing.
Within seconds, Koli the man squatted beside the table, face bloody and clouded. “It still doesn’t feel quite right, taking this form in the shadows with such ease. And the stench of that khoof is no less for this poor excuse for a nose. You know, Tairn, the pigs can smell that muck from fifteen or twenty stad downwind.”
Storm regarded the naked man from within the cloud of contentment the offending aroma created. “Some things are just worth the risk,” he smiled easily.
“Bah!” the disgusted trader lurched to his feet and stomped off for his room and some suitable clothing.
“Seems a bit... I don’t know... cavalier, doesn’t it?” Belius regarded Storm when the trader had gone.
“Sure does,” Storm chuckled. “Oh come on, Belius! I’d never risk the party on anything so childish. I just can’t resist prickling Koli’s ego is all. Call it a personal failing. In any case, the pigs found us here without much trouble, and that was well before I knew coffee even existed on the second world.”
“Truly said,” the old man admitted. “How do you suppose they did it?”
“You’re asking me?” Storm put hand to chest, fingers spread. “You’re the wizard, wizard. You tell me; how did they find us?”
Challenged, Belius applied himself to the question. “They might have had compatriots within the town. The ogre who so wounded friend Luka, for instance.”
“Neat trick, then, summoning help after he was dead.”
“‘e moit’ve ‘ad ‘im a set of orders, sor, as said ‘e were ter write ‘ome as it were, at a given toime,” one of the hung over troopers offered, surprising everyone. It was the big, potato-nosed trooper who’d taken command of the troopers the previous night.
“They moit’ve come when ‘e didn’t contact ‘em when ‘e were supposed to” he ventured. “Loik wi’ ol’ Beltran’s talkin’ glass.”
“Hmm,” Storm stroked his chin. “It works. Belius?”
“As good an explanation as any, I suppose.” the mage allowed. “Not to say it’s the correct one, although it could well be.”
“It would depend,” Thrush Dancing added her voice to the discussion, “on how long it took the king’s men to find the stone wagons.”
“What would the king’s men have to do with ogres?” Storm wondered.
“The pigs are in league with Turalee,” Swallow Courting told him. “Ask anyone. We see them with far too many man weapons and in far too many man places for it to be otherwise.”
“That’s utter nonsense!” Belius exploded. “I’ve been employed by the royal family for twenty years! Don’t you think I’d know if something like that were true?”
“Have you ever considered it?” Storm asked him quietly. “Or have you simply assumed. Think now. Go back over the times. Is what she says possible?”
“No,” firmly. “Impossible.” His eyes clouded as he catalogued his career with the old king and began reviewing his dealings with the new. “Never.... no, he couldn’t.... although....”
The others at the table watched the old man’s face change as the possibility of the king’s collusion with the ogres grew into certainty, settling upon his features with the leaden weight of betrayal.
“It never occurred to me,” the old voice was subdued. “The ogres prey upon the children of man nearly as often as they do the forest people. But so many things fit together so solidly if it were so... things that never could be made to do so before.”
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“If they found the wagons right away,” Thrush Dancing continued as Belius struggled to compose himself. “And found our trail out into the grass, they could easily have deduced where we’d be going. There is little but this station for many days journey in this direction, after all. And with the magicks at the king’s command, it would have been simple to send the pigs ahead.”
“‘e went cold t’arternoon,” a hesitant voice piped up from another table.
“That’s right,” Thrush told the mage. “When the mobs came.”
Storm was looking at the trooper who’d spoken. It was that same trooper. “What’s he mean?” he turned back to the others. “Who went cold?”
The little birds stared, dumbstruck. Belius, however, gave voice. “Who went...? What sort of game are you playing, Tairn? Who went cold? Who went cold?”
Storm was as mystified as if they’d asked him to name the major provinces of the second world and their capitals in reverse alphabetical order. “Am I supposed to know?”
“Alright!” Belius roared, caution thrown to the winds, breakfast forgotten. “That’s it, then! I stood aside when you refused to heal the corporal, for I thought you to be husbanding your strength. I even forswore to comment when you pretended to use simple herbs upon my own burnt hands. But don’t you even think about trying to tell us you didn’t go cold yesterday afternoon! What sorts of fools do you take us for?
Storm looked to the little birds, staring back at him with tight expressions. “What the hell is he talking about?” he asked.
“Your magic,” Thrush told him softly.
“But I don’t have any magic.”
“Don’t have any—?” the old man thundered. “Of course you do! You’ve magic the likes of which I’ve never seen! You did a thing upon the highway that I would have sworn was impossible — that I’m still half convinced is impossible. You fight within a spell such as no one in all the second world could fathom! No magic? As like say you’ve no arms or legs.”
“Alright,” Storm’s voice was soft and level. “Obviously someone’s put something in the khoof. No, that won’t work, you aren’t drinking it. The eggs?”
Innkeeper?” Thrush Dancing called to the dealicus where he huddled behind the bar. “Could you bring us the Deimistiva sphere please?”
The dealicus hesitated, but decided that they could hardly do more to him or his place than they’d done already. And the spheres weren’t all that expensive in any case. He brought the glowing globe slowly to the table and set it among the plates and mugs, retreating quickly for the perceived safety of the bar.
“There, you see?” Belius pointed to it. “A Deimistiva sphere is essentially a magic detector. All magic, ah, spatters, I suppose one would say. There isn’t time to go into the whole of the first year’s magical apprenticeship lectures here, but suffice to say that this sphere picks up the stray energy and transforms it into light.
“A good spherecist can glance at one of these and tell you what sorts of magicks are being performed within his particular sphere’s range, and in some cases, even who the caster is. Sometimes even who trained the caster.
“The glow you’re seeing now is the result of the healing spell I’ve been working upon our wounded friend. You see those ever so faint flickers down along the base of the sphere? Those are the communication portals I’ve given the weres so they can maintain their human shapes indefinitely.”
“And?” Storm demanded quietly.
“Innkeeper?” Belius called. “Have you any crystal?”
“Crystal?” the dealicus croaked. “Der oy look loike one of the mountain folk t’ you?”
“Have you?”
Grumbling mightily, shoulders slumped, the innkeeper slouched around from behind the bar, a small goblet cradled in both hands. “Tis me dear mum’s,” he told the mage. “Break it an’ oy’ll haunt ye through th’ ages, oy will.”
“Don’t worry,” Belius assured him, “I’ll be careful.” He set the goblet down beside the sphere and sat back.
“And,” Storm repeated ominously.
“Watch the sphere and goblet.” Then he leaned back and whispered something into the nervous dealicus’ ear.
“Slavers?” the dealicus cried out horrified. “Where?”
Upon the table, the light within the sphere suddenly glowed blue-white and began to pulsate. Beside it, frost formed upon the crystal of the goblet as the temperature in the room plummeted. The effect lasted only the barest of moments, and the light was again the stark white of the healing spell with the small flickers of Koli and Keeli’s sunshine at the base. But he’d seen it. He’d felt the race of adrenalin and seen the stronger flicker that mimicked his racing pulse.
“Try to deny it now,” Belius demanded.
Storm shifted his bewildered gaze from the ice melting upon the goblet to the angry face of the mage. “How...?” his voice trailed off.
“You really didn’t know,” Thrush whispered.
“What’s that?” the angry mage spun on her.
She turned to him, wonder still coloring her face. “He didn’t know, Belius. We are one in many ways, and I can tell.” She turned her gaze back to her shaken mate. “The very idea frightens him.”
“How is that possible?” the mage demanded of no one in particular.
“The grey widow has many tales of the first world,” a weary and somewhat slurred voice answered. Keeli, red-eyed and bedraggled, had finally forced herself from Luka’ side.
Swallow surrendered her chair to the weary girl, taking the opportunity to slip into the lap of the distracted Tairn, laying her head upon his shoulder. Thrush arched an eyebrow at the ploy but Swallow only snuggled closer and stuck her tongue out at her sister.
“And this grey widow of yours has an explanation?” Belius asked, ignoring the byplay of the little birds.
The girl sank wearily into the vacant chair. “Perhaps. She can still contact the elder spirits from time to time. They tell her things.”
“What sort of things might those be?”
“The man children of the home place no longer believe in magic,” the girl recited. “They believe in a thing called science. Their mages– called scientists– weave spells of technology. This way, any one of the man children of the first world may wield the magic, and not merely the wizards.”
“You’re saying,” Belius was clearly having difficulty accepting the premise, “that The Tairn has no personal magic, but is using this... technology?”
The dealicus was setting a plate of meat before the girl, so she didn’t answer at once. Then, mouth dripping, she raised her head to regard the mage. “I don’t know, Belius. I only know that what the elder spirits conveyed to the grey widow might explain why he doesn’t know he has magic.”
“Hmph! The old mage turned back to The Tairn. “Have you any of this technology with you?”
Storm tapped the steel mask. “This is technology, although I would hardly call it magic. It’s just a device that conforms to the rules of physics. Anybody can make one with the proper training and equipment.”
“If, by fee-zix, you mean that it conforms to the fundamental laws of nature, you might just as well have described magic,” Belius told him flatly. “Is that all?”
“My eye and some circuitry built into my head; mostly optic control, communications, and data storage stuff. Some RDIF and weapons targeting. Computer interface, that sort of thing.”
Belius stroked his beard slowly, ignoring the words he couldn’t understand, for he could understand enough. “Could be, could be. Well, let’s have us a look, then, shall we?”
Storm slid his chair back abruptly, nearly dislodging Swallow Courting. “It doesn’t come off!”
“Huh?” the mage wondered as the birds erupted in giggles and the wolfling snorted past her breakfast. “Eh? Oh! No, you dolt, I’m not about to tear your head off! I’m only going to use my inner eye.”
“And that would be?”
Thrush interposed before the mage could get wound up for another lecture. “He is going to use the magical sight to see if what Keeli suggests could be the answer. It won’t hurt, and you will not be changed. Later, when time is not in such short supply, I will teach you the way of it”
He relaxed minutely, not totally convinced, but trusting Thrush. “Alright then. If you say so. What do I have to do?”
“Do?” Belius cocked an eye. “Nothing. Just sit there. I’ll do everything.”
The old mage closed his outer eyes and opened the inner, a simple task even a first year apprentice could accomplish half asleep and fully in his cups.
The room became a dimly lit cavern of eddying clouds and shifting bands of soft light as he beheld the astral aspects of his surroundings in place of the physical. The auras of his companions loomed implausibly large for such a small gathering. But one would expect such of a group the oldest of all would choose for such an epic quest, he supposed.
He gave scant notice to the birds or the girl. His concentration was riveted upon the strange being who led them. Not the aura of a man at all. Not a man of the second world, in any case. In forty-eight years of magical pursuit, since his first foray into the nether world as a six week apprentice, Belius had never seen its like.
Oh, it had aspects of a man’s aura, certainly. But it also tasted strongly of the mountain folk, even more of the forest people. There was a goodly dash of something almost dallish, and other traces that he couldn’t identify at all.
A thick, gently swaying tentacle of power grew from the center of mass, connecting to Thrush, and thence to Swallow. Although he’d been witness to the joining, Belius hadn’t until now realized the strength of the connection. The three were indeed one in a substantial way, and the sensitivity the birds showed to his emotional state suddenly made much more sense.
He looked up to where the mask was. The area was almost dead, astrally. It was, for the most part, the simple steel it appeared, although possessing a sheen that bespoke of magical fashioning.
Concentrating to see beyond, he caught sight of the technology Keeli had spoken of. A strange sort of thing, even for one who dealt daily in the strange. Like an anthill of tiny single instruction cantrips all stuffed together in a sack and crammed into the nooks and crannies of the man’s skull. It was enough to make his stomach roll over. He didn’t even want to think about the mind of a practitioner who’d fashion such a thing.
Stranger still, they were cantrips of a type he couldn’t quite identify. Something about them tugged at old memories, but not hard enough to trigger anything. One thing was sure, there was nothing there strong enough to trigger a sphere farther away than the man’s outstretched hand.
Still, something nagged. Something about the whole of him. Belius lowered his regard. And saw the sigil. Sharp as a knife blade, even in the astral, he beheld the wolf-like image glowing brightly orange-yellow like a desert sunset in high summer, its glow fading into the glow of the man himself. Closer in, the sigil could be seen to pulse from the orange-red to golden with the regularity of the man’s heartbeat.
Power of a sort he’d never encountered shone from within it. Here then, was the source of The Tairn’s magic, surely. Or was it? Closer, and he realized that the sigil was no more than a protection. A calling weird to summon or commune with some higher spirit. The pulse wasn’t coming from the sigil, the pulse was powering it.
Deeper, and he beheld the power of the man. Tightly controlled– near strangled– the power shone white-gold. Closer and he could almost remember the lesson from so long ago. The face of the wizard who’d taught him of this particular type of magic. The effort required for such deep viewing was considerable, and he was reaching the limit of his skill, but he almost had it. A tentative touch....
Belius’ eyes opened wide with a pop. He was staring open-mouthed at The Tairn.
“You see?” Keeli spoke around the carcass of a half-devoured chicken.
“The old magic,” Belius breathed, barely audible.