Wandering Lark (40 page)

Shona’s grasp lightened. Around them, the world passed smoothly by. Etienne watched the horizon to keep from getting giddy. Up here, the wind was a little stiffer than below. The crisp autumn air had a distinct chill. Oh, she would welcome fresh acorn mast bread and perhaps a cup of acorn and cinnamon tea as well. Hot, with a little cream, she promised herself. Pleasures of her childhood long forgotten and neglected.

At length, the platform slowed then bumped to a halt. The guides were using pikes to grab anchor ropes tied to rails, and those who worked topside were using similar hooks to grab the platform and secure it to the edge. People rose from their seat swiftly, eager to be on their way, so at first, the view was obscured. But then, they parted enough for Etienne to see the main square. The common, as it was called. Around its edges, merchants hawked wares to the new arrivals. She could see the great ropes and chains that were used to raise and lower the platform. Giant wooden wheels and a series of pulleys that handled the great lengths of rope and chain were secured to strong parts of the tree, and teams of six oxen were set into the harnesses that drew them.

“How do they manage oxen up here?” Shona asked as she stared at them.

“Much more easily than horses,” Etienne said. “Horses do not travel up here well. And it takes less oxen to lift the platform with so many people on it than it does horses.”

“Clever how they came up with the pulley system to shorten the rope,” Wendon said. “Otherwise, the oxen could never drag it up in one long pull.”

“Yes, I understand that is actually the invention of some mageborn or another,” she said.

“Seems to me the mageborn could do the same with levitation spells,” he said thoughtfully.

“Oh, I am certain they could,” she agreed, and her mind roved back to the flying platform Turlough had used to chase them around Shadow Vale. “But having ridden such a platform, I can assure you that it has its disadvantages as well. Apart from the cost, can you imagine having to hire all the mageborn it would take to get people in an out of a city like Blue Oak? They would have to charge much more to pay them.”

“Still, a mage could make a profit that way,” Wendon said. “They could offer the service to rich, important people. And it’s really just a matter of finding the right combination of spells.”

She shook her head. Fenelon had found that combination through a long series of experiments she was glad to have not witnessed. The platform Turlough used had been Fenelon’s invention, after all.

“Come on. I suspect I know which inn Gareth would want us to wait at,” Etienne said. “A humble but well kept place on the eastern side. And once we are there, I will treat you to acorn mast bread and tea and whatever else is on the menu. In fact, we shall think of this as a holiday and enjoy ourselves immensely.”

“Oooo, I like the sound of that,” Shona agreed. “Enjoy ourselves before we’re captured, sundered and executed for defying that old gyte Turlough.”

Etienne gave Shona a hard look. The lass grinned sheepishly.

“I meant it as a jest,” Shona said.

Wendon said nothing, but he nodded.

Etienne suspected he was missing poor Thera.
Blessed Brother, I do hope she is all right,
she thought.

Dawn rolled across the Cursed Moors
and wiped out most of the disturbances of the night. Alaric had slept soundly and awoke feeling refreshed for the first time in a long time. In fact, he didn’t feel as achy as he had the previous morning. Of course, the bruise on his stomach was still there as a reminder of the “attack” on his person Ronan claimed happened.

Alaric wasn’t sure. Had he said something under the influence of the wine that set Talena off? And if she did think he was a heretic before now, why had she let him go this far. After all, if she was so convinced of his guilt already, why had she not turned him in? Why had she not been the one who took him to the Temple to begin with?

No good would come of worrying about it now, he told himself as he glanced across the smoldering remains of their campfire at her sleeping form. She was snuggled into her blankets like a small child. The sight made Alaric smile, for it reminded him of his youngest sister Fiona. She always slept in a similar position, grasping her pillow as though frightened it would run away.

“We should be on our way,”
Ronan said, stirring restlessly inside Alaric.
“We should leave her behind.”

“Talena, wake up,” Alaric called.

Her head popped up out of the pillow. “Whuh?” she murmured and showed her hair out of her face where it had gotten tangled and skewed by sleep.

“It’s morning,” Alaric said. “We should be on our way, shouldn’t we?”

“Oh...yes,” she muttered and crawled into a sitting position. Her eyes briefly rose to look up at the rafters. “Are the raveners gone?”

Alaric closed his eyes and let his mage senses drift outward. He sensed the little brigands were hiding in the boles of the trees and in some of the lower reaches of this keep. But none of them were close enough to matter.

“Yes, I believe they won’t be bothering us now,” he said.

Talena nodded, rubbing sleep from her eyes and leaning her head on her hands. Then she forced herself to her feet.

Alaric had gotten up as well, fetching his pack from Vagner’s back. How it had remained there all night was a miracle. He opened the sack the landlord had given him. The bread was a bit hard, and the cheese was starting to develop a patina of mold, but he could live with the former, and the latter could be cut away easily enough. He drew his dagger and cleaned it on his sleeve, then started cutting the bread and extracting bits of cheese. When enough was free, he offered Talena her pick. She gave him a funny look, then took a piece of each.

“Well, since you seem to know something of conjuring,” she said carefully. “Any chance you can relight the fire so I can make some morning tea?”

“My pleasure,” Alaric said and went back to the circle of stones and smoldering wood. He held a hand over it, drew essence from the embers and whispered,
“Loisg!”
Flames blossomed. He glanced at Talena and said, “Your fire awaits you, my lady.”

She made a face. “Not the best choice of words,” she said as she crossed dug through her own packs for the tea and a small pot to heat water from her waterskin.

Alaric shrugged. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he said.

Talena nodded and began to fix her tea. Once the water was on the fire, she sat back on her heels and looked at Alaric once more. “How do you stay young?” she asked.

“Beg pardon?” he asked.

“Heretics usually age fast and die,” she said. “Few of them live past thirty winters...”

Thirty winters?
Alaric thought. “It must have something to do with how they use their power,” he said. “I was always told that it’s the magic that keeps us young for so long.”

“That can’t be true,” Talena said.

“Why not?”

“You saw Desura at the temple, did you not?”

Alaric frowned. “Yes,” he said.

“She’s my age,” Talena said. “The power she possesses has been eating her life away from the time she came into her first blooding.”

“Blooding?” Alaric said.

“Aye...her woman’s blooding,” Talena said.

“Oh,” Alaric said and nodded as his face flushed. He knew well what she meant now, having grown up with irritable sisters. “Yes, of course.”

“All heretics are like that,” Talena said. “They get old fast and die young, at least, the ones that the Temple keeps alive for their purposes do. Desura will be fortunate to see another five winters at the rate the power is eating her life away.”

“But the only way the power eats our lives away is if we use our own essence to feed the spells,” Alaric said. “Do the mageborn in this land not know that?”

Talena looked puzzled. Alaric felt Ronan stir restlessly as though agitated by what he had said. “I’m not sure I understand,” she said.

“Look,” Alaric said, hoping to enlighten her. “Mageborn have a core of power in them, and they use that essence, that life force, to feed their spells. But if they pull too much power from themselves, they can drain themselves dangerously close to death.”

“So how do they make magic without hurting themselves?” she asked.

“It’s very simple,” Alaric said. “There is power in everything in the world. The elements, the plants, the animals...even rocks have earth magic locked inside them. A mageborn can draw this essence and use it to feed their spell, and in doing so, they avoid harming themselves.”

“And what of the thing you draw this power from?” she asked, sounding more interested than she did before. “What becomes of it?”

“That depends as well,” Alaric said. “If I draw essence from a stone, it is not hurt since stones have no feelings. But if I draw the essence too fast—draw all of it at once out of a single stone then the stone will crumble to dust. If I were to do that to a plant or a tree, I would make it wither and die.”

“And animals?”

Alaric sighed. “They will die too.”

“Then what good is it to draw power from others if it will kill them?”

“Mageborn are taught from early age that they must respect all living things with the same regard they hold for their own lives,” he said. “The woman who first taught me the use of my power was very firm in teaching me right from wrong. We must never ever draw essence so that it causes harm to others. All mageborn are required to take that vow, and those who refuse risk having their power sundered from them. Unfortunately, not all mageborn gladly adhere to that law. There are some mages who take great pleasure in causing harm to others. They will steal lives to feed their spells and to extend their own. We call this blood magic.”

“Have you ever...” Talena hesitated.

Alaric shook his head. “Old Marda would have taken a birch to me if I had ever dared do so, though I will admit that I have never had to face that challenge.”      

Talena frowned. “So where are you from that these
mageborn
are allowed to live as free men?”

“Careful, Lark,”
Ronan whispered.
“Do not tell her.”

Alaric mentally shoved Ronan back. “I was born in the kingdom of Tamnagh, which is one of the Fourteen Kingdoms of...”

His words faltered when Ronan lashed back with a mental blow that hurt like a firebrand. Alaric gasped from the scourge of pain, grabbing his temples as they throbbed in agony.

“You tell her too much!”
Ronan roared.
“You would destroy all I have worked to achieve.”

“Stop it!” Alaric cried.

The blinding pain drove him to his knees. The hand with the ring felt as though it was on fire, and the bitterness of cinnamon burned his tongue. He fought against the pain, trying to do as Fenelon taught him and drew a soothing shield of power around himself, but Ronan’s attacks were like the slashing of demon claws, and tore into each shield before Alaric could draw more power and restore them.

“Stop it, Ronan!” Alaric shouted again.

“Leave him alone, Ronan!”
Alaric heard Vagner bellow, and he could not be sure if the voice was in his ears or in his head. But suddenly, there was a wash of demon essence growing around Alaric, protecting him with a shield of impenetrable power.

The pain subsided quite suddenly then. Alaric gasped for air and leaned over, touching his forehead to the cool ground.
Horns, Ronan,
he thought as he rubbed his temples.
If you wanted me to keep silent about your presence, that was not the way...

But Ronan was silent inside him, seething with anger as his spirit essence retreated.

Alaric opened his eyes to find Talena kneeling in front of him. Her eyes were soft with a look of concern. “Lark, are you all right?”

Slowly, he nodded, fearful that the scourge would start again, but it did not.

“What happened?” she asked.

“A sudden headache,” he said. “Nothing more. Really, I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve got some willow bark syrup in my pack,” she said. “A dose of that ought to help.”