Blademage Adept (The Blademage Saga Book 3) (13 page)

“Bertus? I don’t think…” Kevon frowned. He’d gotten no indication of a relationship between the young Warrior and the Mage in Eastport, but they’d had less than a day before being forced to part ways. “I don’t think…”

“You’ve said that already,” the assassin chided. “Finish putting your pants on, and let’s take a walk.”

“The Realm be damned. I’m not leaving your side again.”

“This is why I didn’t tell you before,” Mirsa sighed. “There are things more important than any one of us, things that need doing.”

“We’ve got the others. We’ve got the dwarves behind Kevon now, Carlo and the royal army, for all we know. Plus whatever help the elves will be.” Bertus clasped Mirsa’s hands together between his own. “The world will be fine, we need to take care of you.”

“Who do I have to speak with to get a fried trout for breakfast around here?” Kevon’s voice drifted through the sheer curtained window from a tree away.

“We do have to deal with that, and soon.” Bertus gave Mirsa’s hands another squeeze before standing and moving to the door. “Coming?”

“There he is!” Kevon shouted as he spotted Bertus coming out of the doorway. He threaded his way across the branch bridge, holding on to the railing and wheezing by the time he reached the landing.

“You’re in no shape to be out and about,” Bertus admonished Kevon. “Go back to bed.”

“No. I need. To do this,” Kevon gasped. “Too much time. Lying down. Already.”

Alanna glowered sideways at Kevon. “How is the Mage? Still sick?”

“She’s staying here, and I’m staying with her,” Bertus announced. “For as long as it takes.”

“I understand. And agree. You’ve both done so much already. It’s time I took more responsibility for this task,” Kevon admitted.

“Aelion asked us to meet him before noon, further up in the city,” Alanna announced. “With Kevon in this state, we should leave now.”

“You two go ahead, I’ll get Mirsa, and we’ll catch up with you.”

“We’ll see you up the mountain, then,” Alanna nodded to Bertus, and took Kevon’s arm to steer him past the doorway and onto the next bridge of branches.

They ascended along the branching paths, skirting around residences and avoiding obvious dead-ends. The midair city varied in height from as low as twenty feet above the steepening mountain, to rarely more than fifty feet above ground at the bottom level of bridges. More houses were layered above. Stopping regularly to rest and drink from water-collection pools, Kevon and Alanna were in sight of a woven wall of branches pierced by a single wooden door when Bertus called to them from an adjacent pathway.

“There?” The young Warrior called, pointing to the door, at least a half a dozen trees distant, and a hundred feet or more above them.

“He said we couldn’t miss it,” Alanna shouted back, dragging Kevon to his feet again.

Two bridges later, and the four met back up, continuing their upward trek in relative silence.

“What?” Bertus asked as he topped the last ascent to their target. “You guys are already here?”

“The Elder asked
us
…” Rhysabeth-Dane motioned to Kylgren-Wode.

“You’ve been sailing on my boat,” Captain Yusa grumbled. “I’ll follow where I want to.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Kevon said, slumping against the weave of vines and branches near the door. “Does anyone know what this is all about yet?”

“Aelion has finished helping me translate the Elven portion of the book,” Rhysabeth-Dane mentioned. “He said there might be something else he could do to help, but was very secretive about it.”

“Reko’s not so sure about-”

The door creaked open a few feet, and Relaniel stepped out. She glanced around, frowning at Yusa, before speaking. “The Elder awaits you. Come.”

The group filed in through the opening, and Relaniel pulled the door shut behind them.

“Everything today reminds me of Elburg,” Kevon whispered, surveying the garden that lay below them and past the vine curtain ahead.

“This way,” their Elven guide led them down a spiral ramp that hugged a nearby tree, and stretched all the way to the manicured meadow below. She gestured to the flower-lined stone path that snaked up the hill before them. “He awaits you at the top.”

“It’s much stronger here,” Mirsa commented, as they began their way up the slope. “The Light. I can feel it… radiant, yet constrained.”

“I feel it too,” Kevon labored for his next breath. “The power is like a wet fish, slipping from your grasp as you reach for it.”

“I don’t feel well,” Bertus clutched at his stomach. “I haven’t eaten today though.” He waved the others ahead, doubling over, bracing his hands on his knees. His vision swam, and for a moment the shadows flickered. Shaking his head, he straightened up and followed the others.

The crown of the hill rose above the trees that surrounded it, giving a breathtaking view of the ocean behind and around them. Kevon shaded his eyes and looked upward, noticing two imperfections in the light above them near the peak.

“The ocean is my life,” Yusa growled, “But this is not how man was meant to see it. I feel like I’m going to fall straight up into the sky.”

“I doubt men have seen this before,” Rhysabeth-Dane snapped. “And you’re not the only one who is uncomfortable right now.”

“I meant no disrespect, little sister,” Yusa laughed. “It’s the land-sickness getting the better of me.”

Rhysabeth-Dane huffed, and continued up the hill, Kylgren-Wode scrambling to keep up with her.

“Thank you for agreeing to this,” Aelion called from up the path, strolling down to meet them.

“I didn’t agree to anything,” Bertus muttered, resting his hand on the hilt of the ancient sword he’d reclaimed his first day on the island.

“Nor I,” Kevon reaffirmed, scowling as the Elder met them on the path. “We’re merely here at your request.”

“Not prepared? Relaniel…” Aelion smiled. “I forget my Apprentice is not always as comfortable around others as I am. No matter. I believe you are ready enough.”

“Ready for what?” Alanna asked after the elf, who was already headed back toward the summit.

Kevon shrugged, took two deep breaths, and resumed his upward climb.

The focus of the power on the hilltop was evident well before Kevon reached the summit. A high-backed throne, double the size of Alacrit’s in Navlia, sat dead center on the hilltop. The nearly flattened area around the throne stretched barely a dozen feet from it in all directions.

“Close your eyes,” Kevon whispered to Mirsa.

“I know…” she answered. “I can still see it, too.”

Kevon advanced toward the source of the power, stretching his hand out toward the arm of the throne, marveling at the way different roots had entwined to form the near perfectly smooth artifact.

“No being has touched the throne since M’lani’s exodus,” Aelion announced, stepping in front of Kevon. “And none shall, until her return.”

“Well then, it’s been fun to look at,” Alanna grumbled. “Can we go now?”

“Amuse me for a moment.”

Yusa’s barking laughter echoed over the hilltop, as Alanna’s face contorted in confusion.

“Amu…
Humor
you?”

“Ahh. Yes. Now you have done both?” Aelion smiled.

“That was actually funny in three languages,” Rhysabeth-Dane chuckled.

“I would have you rest longer,” Aelion continued, “But time, and light, are a factor.”

“Of course,” Kevon nodded.

“You’ve been healed as much as I can manage in so short a time, but there remain some weaknesses that I’m unable to even approach. Time and rest, I’m afraid, might not be the answer.”

Perhaps the Guilds are right to forbid the mingling of sword and sorcery,
Kevon winced.
For more reasons than we thought before.

“Since the arrival of the second ship, and the revelation of the Dwarven prophecy, I’m convinced that you need to be made whole, so that your journey may continue.”

“You’ve already said that you can’t heal him,” Alanna protested, glaring at Aelion.

“Yes.
I
cannot. We may be able to open the way to one who can.”

“A portal…” Mirsa whispered. “A portal that you would open here could only lead…”

“You disapprove?” Aelion asked.

“No…” Mirsa shook her head. “I’ve opened many Dark portals, with only the failing light as a focus. Four of my classmates and I could not even begin to open a Light portal at noontime.”

“With my help, you’ll do just that. Are you ready to begin?”

Seeing Mirsa nod, Aelion motioned for her to step closer to the throne. “Who will accompany Kevon?”

Alanna’s fingers twined around Kevon’s.

“I’ll be seeing these new horizons for myself,” Yusa mused.

“Well done. Three should suffice.” The Elder stood to one side of the throne, and knelt, facing it. Mirsa watched him, and stepped to the other side, mirroring his actions.

The bound light infusing the throne and surrounding hillside shifted, concentrating, purifying itself even further, twisting and braiding into a form before the throne that Kevon could see with open eyes, without concentration. The arched framework seemed to glitter, waves of power spreading outward from each sparkle, washing over the semi-transparent construct.

“Now.”

Kevon saw the Light rune form in Mirsa’s mind, and with the sun overhead providing the initial push, the portal spell expanded within the Elder’s guidelines. Soft warm light radiated from the doorway between Mirsa and Aelion, bright enough to obscure the view beyond, but soft enough to gaze into.

“I don’t need to remind you of the…”

“The light. We get it.” Alanna squeezed Kevon’s hand. “Ready?”

Kevon gazed into her eye for a moment, and turned to face the portal. “Let’s go.”

Kevon and Alanna stepped through together, melting into the warm light. Yusa grimaced, edged through sideways, and was gone.

Chapter 22

“We’ve camped here two nights, and still no sign of the ship,” Carlo complained, gazing out over the waves toward the northeastern horizon. “I would have preferred riding to Eastport.”

“It would have taken weeks longer, and I don’t fancy a path through dark woods, after what we’ve been through,” Alma retorted. “The prince sent Magi to Eastport to charter passage on a ship that meets us here. This is closer to Navlia, and closer to the Glimmering Isle than Eastport is. Have a little patience.”

“We haven’t been attacked in a week or better,” Martin offered, “And the troops Alacrit assigned to us have been the only thing keeping us alive.”

Carlo frowned, and poked at the fire with a stick. “They slowed us down, at first. It took half of the infantry dying, and two of the archers, before they could keep our pace. And that last battle… four of those Obsidian Reapers?”

“We lost a Mage in that fight, too,” Alma reminded him. “The other three have been on edge since then, not sleeping for a day or more at a time.”

“It’s possible he was a traitor,” Carlo spat into the fire. “No sign of the enemy since he died? Good riddance.”

“If there was a traitor, let us pray he is no longer with us,” Alma agreed. “The damage he could do aboard ship might be more than on land, and we’ll be shipbound soon enough.” She pointed to the triangle of sail to the north that caught the last rays of evening light.

“The three Magi are quartered in one of the upper cabins. We have infantry and Stoneguard rotating watches on that cabin, inside and out. Dwarven regulars and our archers patrolling the decks. More watching over cannon in the hold. The sailors are nervous. If this were a commercial vessel, we’d be over the side already.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Carlo turned to Alma. “Anything further on the Magi?”

“They’re drained from yesterday, pushing the ship to the edge of the shallows. Fighting to keep their sanity while we sail over the depths.”

“The crew says that we should be able to follow a nearby island chain most of the way, they estimate nearing them in less than a day,” Martin reported. “It’s a longer route, but given our capabilities,”

“Longer is faster, direct is dangerous,” Carlo muttered. “Nothing is ever simple with them, is it? Supplies?”

“More than enough,” Alma assured him. “We had provisions for nearly twice as many mouths, plus the extra on the ship. Three weeks or more, for a trip that should take four more days?”

“Only four, eh?”

“Depending on the Magi. You saw what the three of them together did our first day aboard.” Alma shuddered. “I don’t even like to think about it.”

Carlo nodded, remembering where, in the shallowest parts of the sea, the wake of their passage had exposed the ocean floor. The thundering of the torn seas colliding behind them, and the trail of dead fish that surged around them when the Magi slowed their mad rush still echoed in his dreams, and tainted his nostrils. “Let’s say
five
days.”

“I’ll let them know, as soon as they’re coherent,” Alma reassured Carlo. “Will there be anything else?”

“You three are free to go,” Carlo waved them toward the door. “
You
…” he said, pointing toward the Dwarven translator, “I have more questions for.”

The translator spoke a few words in his native tongue, and his Stoneguard companion followed the others out of the room. “What do ye need te know?”

“Sending so many of your people to help Kevon, there must be more to it than an old picture.”

The dwarf fidgeted.

“Your work alongside us so far has been a great stride in relations between us,” Carlo warned, “Do not let secrets kept from us prevent the possibility of a deeper alliance.”

“There’s been little said, even since we left the Hold,” he admitted. “Whispers of ancient lore… Britger-Stoun may know more.”

Carlo waited, his eyes never moving from the dwarf’s face.

“Ah. One more thing…” the dwarf’s eyes shifted aside under Carlo’s gaze. “Every dwarf that left the Hold fer this mission… swore a blood oath te protect the Blademage with their lives.”

“I see.” Carlo thought a moment. “Your boys take that kind of thing seriously?”

“They do. Oathbreakers are killed or banished from the Hold. Their family names are marred by shame fer generations.”