Chapter 8

Shaman Magic

Amka of the Osahali, the Yashai princess was certainly a beautiful woman—although Ideron suspected that the gravitas of the title might have been mistranslated. She was likely the daughter of a tribal chief because as far as Ideron knew, Yashai had no King. Her hair was so blond it was almost white, a stark contrast to her dark skin. Her wedding dress was a blend of Urungeald fashion and traditional Yashai. A flowing skirt of intricate white lace after the Urungeald trends, and on top, a complex network interlocking white cords with decorative teeth knotted into them. Ideron smiled thinking of the Uranian nobles' reaction to having teeth and bone incorporated into their fashion.

“Princess Amka,” Ideron said as he bowed his head and Eryn behind him doing the same, both wore the blue robes of Order Litcus today, gold trimmed for the occasion. They were in a gardened courtyard away from the main central courtyard of the fortress—where the feast was being prepared. The sun beat heavily in the early morning, making Ideron sweat in his robes. Amka seemed unperturbed by the heat as did her four companions. All of them Yashai, in dress garb similar to Amka’s in knotted cords and all lightly armed with daggers—so still not fully trusting of their new allies, it would seem. Farho’s own contingent of ten men stood at the edges of the garden. Whether they were to protect Amka or to watch her was debatable.

“We are Magi of Tal Eyne. Here as representatives of the Tals and God to bless your union.”

“Your god and mine are not same, I not think,” she said in broken Urunian.

“Our god is the only god, so I believe they are,” he replied, not skipping a beat. She did not respond and Ideron was unsure whether or not she had understood his meaning.

“We have a gift for you. Have you heard of protection wards in your homeland?” she shook her head and Ideron continued, “a runic warding to protect you from any harm, it is customary for people of higher rank to have such warding granted for important occasions” — Both the runic warding and the custom were both obviously lies. A person could shield themselves with a barrier of ether for a few seconds but to hold it over another person for a day would be a ridiculous notion, not even the Tal Prime would have a strong enough connection to ether for that.

“Roo Nik?” she said, teasing out the syllables, “is like shaman magic?”

“We try to avoid the term magic, but yes. Eryn, if you would?” Eryn stepped forward, his eyes heavy on Amka. Ideron noting for once, the boy actually managed to keep his thoughts to himself.

Eryn traced out the tracking rune, he added some other flair to it to disguise the true intent, should any of the Yashai be versed in runes. Clever—likely unnecessary—but clever all the same. Amka gasped as the runes traced in air left a glowing after image that dissipated in whisps of misty ether. No, the Yashai were not accustomed to runes it seemed, perhaps the rumours that ether did not flow in Yashai were not entirely unfounded. Or perhaps it is just that nobody there knows how to manipulate it. Eryn’s ether mist drifted and coalesced into a thin ribbon which wound around Amka’s torso nestling in amongst the white cords that made up her dress. At first she stepped back, a look of concern on her face. “It is just the warding, princess. It is nothing to fear,” as Eryn said the words, the ribbon of ether vanished. As Ideron had taught him, the ether didn’t exactly disappear, rather it condensed into a tiny piece. If you looked close enough, you would notice a tick sized fragment of condensed ether resting on her back. So condensed that you could hold it in your fingers and it would have substance. Solidifying it like this meant that while Eryn would still need to concentrate in the back of his mind on maintaining the tracker, it wouldn’t require a constant flow of ether. It would fade over time, even with Eryn’s efforts but it would be enough to last for a few days at the least.

“This is shaman magic,” Amka said, “I have seen it done before”

“I have heard that Yashai is a barren place for ether, this ‘shaman magic’ you speak of shouldn’t be possible there?” Ideron asked.

“Yashai not barren,” she replied, “not like this place”

“Sorry I didn’t mean like a desert, I meant it is barren for ether—shaman magic—it cannot be used there.”

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“If you know where to go and when. It can be done,” she said. Ideron wanted to press her more on it, but it seemed that his time was finished as Lord and Lady Torren began making their way towards them.

“Magi, thank you again for coming. The hands of god are always welcome in our walls,” Lady Torren said smoothly. Her orange silks shone in sunlight almost as strongly as the hoard of golden rings and adornments, “if you would excuse our son’s bride — she has a very busy day. Please, if would join the rest of the guests in the main courtyard. The ceremony will begin shortly.” Ideron and Eryn both bowed appropriately and left, Ideron giving Lord Farho a noted nod to indicate that the incantation had been done without any reason for concern. Lord Farho smiled and nodded in return. Most nobles were morons when it came to ether and magi — having full trust in the Tals to never lie to them — a trust that the magi of the Tals heavily relied on.

As they left the gardens, Ideron tried to recall all of the fake incantations he made over his recent years in serving Order Litcus. It was far more palatable work then when he served Order Karsus, even as his mind approached the memories of his time in Karsus he could feel his breath becoming a little shorter, his heart beating that tiniest bit faster. He steadied his breathing and deftly shifted his mind to other topics.

The inner sections of the fortress were a structured grid of courtyards. Back when the castle’s primary purpose had been as a garrison, these courtyards would have been used for training drills for recruits. Over the years — likely under the fanciful direction of Lady Torren — these courtyards had been repurposed as exotic gardens with patio seating areas so it was a surprise when they walked past two young men sparring with blunted training swords. The clanking of ringing metal disturbing the otherwise tranquil peace of the garden. They were also trampling the grass that whoever tended these gardens must have struggled to grow in this desert.

The pair had terrible form, they were very clearly unpractised. And sparring with each other would do little for either boy's skill. They need to find better sparring partners to improve.

“Don’t linger in each other’s striking range,” a voice like gravel crunched on stone called to them from the sheltered walkways. It was only when Ideron and Eryn approached did Ideron realise the speaker was an Orak. A tall creature, leaning against a shaded pillar watching the pair’s disastrous attempt at a duel.

“I haven’t seen many of your kind mentoring humans before,” Ideron commented. The Orak eyed him, taking in his and Eryn’s magi robes.

“I can’t imagine you’ve seen many of my kind at all,” the Orak replied, the words sounding broken and difficult in his mouth. With his sharp teeth, his mouth did not seem designed for speech. It was true that Ideron had not seen many Orak in his life, in either the Tals or the northlands.

“You’re an Orak,” Eryn said dumbly. State the obvious as usual, Ideron thought, giving his apprentice a pointed glance. The grey-skinned creature didn’t bother with a response and simply carried on watching the pair.

“Their technique is sloppy but they seem to be earnest in their training,” Ideron noted as the two boys panted and sweated in the sunlight.

“They’re greenboys, held those swords barely a fortnight. Not sure why their master picked them up,” he glanced back at Ideron as if assessing him again, “you’re battlemagi.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Was,” Ideron conceded, “I am Ideron Amurri of Tal Eyne.”

“Greeves,” the Orak grunted. Ideron was unsure whether that was his name or just an acknowledgement.

“That’s an interesting sword,” Ideron commented, indicating the long black sword strapped to the Orak’s back, “is that an Orakalcium blade?”

“It is,” Greeves replied.

“I know a few Magi that would pay a man’s weight in gold for that much Orakalcium,” Ideron said.

“What did I say about that overhead swing, Jax” Greeves shouted at the boys, “any swordsman worth his shit would gut you in a second if you try a stupid move like that.”

“Sorry, Greeves,” both boys replied despite the instruction only being at one of them. Greeves didn’t seem to acknowledge Ideron’s comment on the Orakalcium blade, so he decided to press further, “There was an order of Orak Knights that carried those blades I’d read, I can’t recall the name. And so much of the old histories are lost.” Greeves gave a small laugh, “The ‘old histories’” he mused, “is that is what your scholars call it.”

“Eli! Jax! Wine!” The call came from one of the balconies above the courtyard and the two boys lept, discarding their swords and running to the nearby stairs to the upper levels.

“I’m guessing their master sees them more as cheap manservants than actual squires,” Ideron said.

“Could be,” Greeves said watching them go, “but not my place to judge.”

“You’re a guest at the wedding?” Ideron asked.

“Sort of. If you’ll excuse me,” he responded and then proceeded to follow in the direction the boys had gone.

“Bit weird, an Orak being invited, don’t you think?” Eryn asked once he was well out of earshot, “reckon he’s with the Yashai?”

“I’ve never heard of Oraks fighting alongside Yashai,” Ideron replied, but he couldn’t shake his suspicion, “I’d bet half the guards in this place have their eye on him.”

“You think he’s a diversion then?” Eryn asked and Ideron admitted that it was a good thought. If you wanted to keep the guards distracted, throwing a monster from children’s stories into their midst was a good way to do it.