Magic Astray (The Llandra Saga) (10 page)

Chapter 9

Though the tower was large on the outside, Randall was surprised at how small the corridors and stairwells were on the inside. The tiny rooms were connected by maze-like passages that were so narrow that the group had to travel single-file to traverse them. He supposed that the design made it easier to defend the keep; a lone man could easily block off a passage, preventing invaders from swarming the structure in numbers.

“I do not like this place,” Nia whispered in elvish. “There is no air to breathe.”

Randall nodded, glancing back over his shoulder at her. He’d had a bout with claustrophobia the first time he’d ever visited Paranol, and he was sure that this experience was much worse for the distressed elf. He reached back and squeezed her hand for comfort.

Eventually, they came to a larger chamber on one of the upper floors. While most of the furniture Randall had spotted inside the tower was crude and utilitarian, the décor in this room was of a higher quality. Instead of rough-hewn stools, there was a large table covered in cloth, surrounded by high-backed padded chairs. The luxury seemed out of place in a military compound.

“This is the officers’ mess,” the Mage explained. “My name is Kirsti Mikkelsen, and I’m the commissioned Field Mage for this outpost. Welcome to Horsehead Tower. Please, have a seat.”

Kirsti smiled, and her expression seemed genuine, but it was difficult for Randall to forget that she had attacked him only moments ago. He cautiously took a chair opposite of the Field Mage, and Nia did the same. Berry hopped off Randall’s shoulder onto the table, and began examining the candlestick with interest. The Mage’s eyes flicked back and forth between Nia and the imp, before fixing onto Randall.

“Please, don’t be nervous,” Kirsti said, spreading her arms wide. “You are safe here. I am sorry about my earlier behavior, but I had to be sure that you were who you claimed to be. It was never my intention to harm you.”

Tell that to my shoulder
, Randall thought, unconsciously rubbing his still-throbbing arm. “Well, I’m Randall Miller. This is my…friend, Nia,” he said, gesturing toward the elf. He had almost said ‘girlfriend’, as she had playfully suggested earlier in the day, but his throat tightened and refused to say the word. At Randall’s gesture, Kirsti once again looked at the elf, staring with open curiosity until Randall’s voice broke the silence.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s a Field Mage, and why do you talk like that?” he continued.

A wry smile tugged at the corner of the Mage’s lips, and the hint of a blush rose to her cheeks. “You mean my accent? I’ve been told that my Talish is quite good.”

“Talish?” Randall asked, shaking his head in confusion.

“Your language. I grew up speaking Dalmak, but learned Talish from my grandfather.” Noting Randall’s blank look, she laughed. “Did you think everyone in the world spoke in the same tongue?”

It was Randall’s turn to blush with embarrassment. “Well, yeah. Except the fae, everyone I know speaks the same language. I didn’t even know it had a name.”

Kirsti’s smile turned sympathetic. “On Tallia, practically everyone does. But I’m from Salianca, and it’s a big place. There are dozens of countries, with just as many languages among them. Some of the larger kingdoms have more than one, due to the nature of conquest.”

“Oh,” Randall replied. It had been a long time since he had been reminded that he was a small-town yokel, and he didn’t care for the experience. “If you’re from Salianca, then what are you doing here?”

“I’m a mercenary,” the Mage answered, puffing out her chest as if it were something to be proud of. “On Salianca, it is common for a stronghold to employ Mages that are well-versed in the art of war. Due to King Priess’ decree against the use of magic, such tactics were lacking on Tallia. The Mage Council felt it important to strengthen their defenses when they took power. I speak Talish, and have been involved in four campaigns, so here I am. The pay is very good.”

Randall took in the information, nodding. He was reminded again just how different a place Salianca must be, with magic openly practiced as a profession. If armies had Mages within their ranks, battles must be epic displays of power and destruction. He shuddered slightly at the thought.

“But where are my manners?” Kirsti asked. “I promised you a meal.” Her eyes shot back toward Berry and Nia for a brief moment. “Your…companions. Do they eat?”

Nia snorted before answering. “I am sure that anything you bring will be fine.”

The Field Mage started, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise at Nia’s answer, but she quickly regained her composure. “Sergeant!”

An armored man quickly opened the door, stepping forward and snapping to attention.

“Inform the kitchen that they will be preparing dinner for four,” she ordered.

“Yes Ma’am,” the sergeant replied, before turning on his heel and stepping out.

“There are no elves on Salianca,” Nia chortled in elvish. “I have no idea what she sees when she looks at me.”

“Really?” Randall answered, before turning back to Kirsti. “You really don’t have any elves on Salianca?”

“We do not,” Kirsti answered, letting another long look linger over the pair of fae. “We have no elves, nor dwarves. Nor whatever that is,” she said, nodding her head toward Berry.

“Well, that explains why you aren’t scared of him,” Randall replied. “He’s a donnan. Just about every Mage who has seen him has mistaken him for another of his kind that they call ‘The Harbinger’. Now that I think about it, the only one who didn’t was Aiden.”

“That make sense,” Nia interjected. “If Aiden was already in collusion with Mamaeth to rebuild the Summoning Device, he would know that Berry was a different donnan.”

“That’s why he thought I’d be willing to join his side,” Randall said, as the realization dawned on him. “If he thought that I’d summoned Berry on my own, then he must have believed that I’d be interested in helping him with the Device.”

Kirsti looked back and forth between the pair as they spoke. “One of you is going to have to fill me in,” she said during a break in the discussion. “Because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Randall took a deep breath and sighed deeply. “It’s a long story. I’ll cover the details over dinner.”

* * *

The meal was modest, but it was a welcome relief from field rations. While Randall had come to enjoy living out in the wild, he had to admit that he truly missed a good, home-cooked meal. Berry enjoyed the braised chicken the most; once it was gone, he constantly returned to the plate of bones, scouring the carcass for any small scraps of meat that the others may have left behind.

As the plates were cleared away, Kirsti leaned forward in her chair, addressing Nia and Randall in serious tones. “So, if what you’re telling me is correct, this other donnan, Mamaeth, is looking to use an artifact called the Summoning Device to bridge the gap between Llandra and our world.”

Nia nodded her head enthusiastically. “Yes, and Rhys has mustered the elves to join in the cause.”

“We would have gone straight to Ninove,” Randall interrupted looking chagrined. “But Rhys sent out hunters to stop us, and I fared poorly in the exchange. I’m afraid I will have to rest for at least a few days before I can travel long distances on this leg.”

Kirsti nodded in contemplation. “You are welcome to stay here until you are whole,” she offered. “I will send a messenger to the capital with your tale. But you must hasten there as well, as soon as you are able. The Mage Council has been looking for you.”

“For me?” Randall squeaked. “Why are they looking for me?”

“They have questions. There are songs in every tavern about you. You are the boy who came from parts unknown to start the Mage war and kill the head of the Rooks, only to disappear again afterwards. But even taking account the exaggerations in such tales, the fact remains that you dispatched Aiden with unique and powerful magic. I imagine the dwarves will be wanting you for themselves as well.”

Nia raised her eyebrows and looked at Randall questioningly. He groaned loudly, putting his head in his hands. “I turned him into dwarven steel,” he said softly, answering the unasked question. “I left him there, in the field, a warning to anyone who considered crossing me. It was arrogant.”

Nia gasped, her eyes widening in shock. Kirsti sat back in her chair and nodded. “So it’s true, then,” the Field Mage said. “It can be hard to separate out the truth from the tall tales this far from the seats of power.”

“It’s true,” Randall said. “But he was trying to kill me. I thought he’d killed my family!” he exclaimed, his voice rising in protest.

Kirsti smiled and spread her palms wide. “You will receive no recrimination from me, Randall Miller. It was war, and you conducted yourself admirably.”

“But I didn’t want to have to kill him. I didn’t want to have to kill anyone,” Randall said forcefully.

“Better them than you,” Kirsti said with a shrug, as if that settled the matter. “In war there is horror and savagery, but you have brought glory onto your name. Come, let us drink to your health.”

With that, the Mage strode to a small cabinet and retrieved a silver tray from inside, bringing it to the table. Sitting on the tray was an elaborately decorated glass carafe, surrounded by a half-dozen tulip-shaped glasses so small they looked like something you might give a small child to drink out of. She looked at the group sitting at the table for a brief moment, as if trying to come to a decision, before pouring a measured amount into three of the glasses.

“I imagine that the drink will be too much for your small friend,” she said before passing glasses to each of them.

Randall brought the glass to his nose and smelled the clear-colored liquid. The odor was strong and unpleasant, reminding Randall of turpentine, and an involuntary shudder ran down Randall’s spine.

Kirsti chuckled and raised her glass. “To your health,” she toasted before downing the concoction in a single gulp.

Nia took a small sip of the drink, and broke out into a broad smile. “It’s like elf wine!” she exclaimed, swiftly draining the rest of her glass. “Cherries and almonds?” she asked, moving her tongue around in her mouth and savoring the flavors.

“Cherries only, brewed with the pits. That’s where the bitter nut flavor comes from,” Kirsti said, smiling back. “It’s a specialty of my people, and the one small reminder of home that I allowed myself when I came to this country.”

Randall shrugged and downed the spirits, trying not to inhale the noxious odor as he did so. The liquid burned like fire as it went down, and he didn’t taste cherries or almonds at all—all he could taste was a hot solvent-like flavor that seemed to penetrate his tongue and cheeks as it went down. Gasping in shock, the fumes of the drink seared his windpipe, and he broke into a retching, coughing fit that threatened to bring the drink right back up again. Twice, he burped his dinner halfway up before he managed to clamp down on his stomach muscles to keep everything where it should be.

Nia pounded him on the back, laughing, until he got himself under control. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he looked directly at their host. “That’s nasty,” he declared, unable to bring himself to offer any form of polite compliment to the drink.

Kirsti tilted her head back and laughed. “You’ve never had the water of life? It takes getting used to. But after a few more drinks, you won’t taste the alcohol at all.”

“I’m not ever drinking that again,” Randall declared, shuddering and suppressing another belch.

“Oh, come on now,” Nia interjected. “Surely you wouldn’t want anyone to find out that two girls could drink you under the table,” she cajoled with a wink.

Randall closed his eyes and gave a resigned sigh. “Fine,” he said. “One more, and that’s all.”

An hour later and Randall decided that the two women were right: after a while, the stuff did taste good. And, he realized something else.

“I can’t feel my nose,” he slurred to Berry. His chin was on the table, and his face was inches away from the donnan, where it lay curled up, breathing deeply. “Hey! Are you schleepin? Whatchoo schleepin for? We’re having a party,” he declared, poking at the donnan with one finger.

Strong hands grabbed him under the arm and levered him back to a sitting position. “It’s probably time for you to go to bed too,” Kirsti said as she pulled Randall to his feet. “We’ll take you to your room. Help me get him walking,” she ordered Nia.

“Aw, really?” Randall asked as his head lolled over to look Kirsti in the eye. “You know, you’re pretty.”

“Yes, really. You’ve had quite enough to drink, I think.” She looked over at Nia as the two women muscled him out of the room. “Your friend is kind of cute. Is he yours?”

Chapter 10

When Randall could no longer stand the sunlight stabbing at him through his eyelids, he groaned and sat up in his bed. His head pounded fiercely and his body ached as if he had just helped Pa load a cartful of flour.

“I feel awful,” he groaned to himself as he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Naturally,” came Berry’s chittering reply from a spot on the floor near the bed.

“Hush, you,” Randall grumped, swinging around on the bed to put his feet on the floor. The cold stone floor stabbed at his already fragile nervous system and he groaned again. “Today is not going to be a good day,” he predicted.

Taking stock of his situation, Randall noted that he was dressed in an oversized nightshirt, and that his clothes were neatly folded and placed on the floor near the foot of the bed. The bed itself was of a plain, utilitarian design, consisting of a straw mattress on a simple wooden frame covered with a rough grey blanket. The room itself was equally sparse, containing only a washing basin filled with water and a chamber pot.

Randall availed himself of both amenities, using the washing basin to try to rinse some of the foulness from his mouth and scrub the sour smell from his armpits. He spent an eternity at the chamber pot. It was as if his body had saved up all the alcohol he had drunk the night before, only to release it from his bladder all at once.