Wingsandrites, p.8
WingsAndRites, page 8
part #10 of Dark Servant Series
“Do you need water or wine to mix it with?”
“Wine,” said Rak. Jisten walked to the Ylion’s private wine collection. He pulled out a bottle at random, uncorked and poured it. Rak ground the leaves into a fine powder that he added to a small amount of the wine. “Have him drink this, and if he will not drink it, we will have to use a tube.”
Jisten sat on the bed and propped Forael up. He stroked Forael’s lips with the goblet. “Please drink, Ylion, the alternative is extremely unpleasant.”
Photas’ tenor was faintly heard arguing with other voices at the door. Wondering for how long the young priest had been trying to get in, Rak strode to the door, raised the bar, and yanked it open before the sun priests could bring their makeshift battering ram to bear on it. “Let him in!” he barked, outraged at the delay. The other priests scrambled back from Rak’s wrath, and Photas strode in with the red mastigi perched on his head, her claws full of his hair and clicking madly.
“The rest of you find something to do that does not involve destroying your Ylion’s bedroom door. And silence that blasted alarm! Shoo!” Rak swept the hallway with his glare before he closed the door. Photas was staring at Forael with wide eyes, immobilized, so Rak pointed to Dethrian. “Chaos bolt!”
Photas’ throat apple worked and he bit his lip. The red mastigi peered over his forehead, gazed into his eyes and clicked. She put a small forepaw on his nose. He knelt by his senior and ran his hands over the man’s head and chest. “Still simmering, too. Evil, evil. If Dethrian was hit…what happened to Pennick?”
“You can do this,” said Rak encouragingly. “I have seen you work. You are very skilled. I cannot touch him.” He prayed for the young sun priest’s success.
The mastigi clicked in the exact same rhythm as Rak’s words, imitating his encouragement. Photas blinked at her. “Yes, yes, I know the spell. I can do this.” He called power and it flared on Dethrian, fighting the residual chaos. It arced up suddenly at the startled man. He threw his hands up and called more power by instinct. The extra power sizzled in a satisfying way and burned through the chaos. The mastigi flew in circles around Photas’ head.
Dethrian stirred and propped himself up on his elbows. “It seems neither fair nor just that I have a hangover when I have not indulged,” he pronounced.
“Chaos bolt, Iatrion. What do you remember?” asked Photas.
Rak mixed a different goblet for him. “Willow bark.”
“I remember that I need a stiff dose of wine and willow bark,” Dethrian said.
Rak handed the goblet over, careful not to touch the man. He left Dethrian to drink his wine. Forael was sitting up and drinking, his blue eyes slitted open. “Ylion.” Rak was relieved to see the man awake.
“Cousin? Whatever has happened? Why do I smell chaos magic burning?”
“You were drugged, cousin. Dethrian was checking on you and took a chaos bolt in the back. Photas healed him.”
“Drugged? With what? And why? And who?” Forael’s blue eyes fully opened.
“Klafen. It does not grow in this land. Koilatha is too wet for it. It thrives in A’filozenoi and the kingdoms bordering my home. It was concealed by magic, but the odor was not masked. As it is a sedative, someone wanted you unaware of what was going on.”
Photas helped Dethrian over to the bed. Rak stepped back to give the sun priests space. The Iatrion sat heavily on the bed, but still managed to check his Ylion. Forael took it with good humor, but then he pointedly checked Dethrian.
“Excellent job, Photas,” Forael pronounced.
“I told you that you could do it,” said Rak.
The red mastigi clicked agreement. She flew over to Photas’ shoulder and stroked his chin with her head before returning to Dethrian. She clicked earnestly in his face and he listened gravely before nodding.
“Scarlet thinks that you deserve one of her hatchlings,” Dethrian said.
“Oh, the Ylion will get a hatchling before me,” Photas demurred.
“I have a surplus of eggs,” Rak muttered as he regarded Dethrian with interest. The man was either delusional or more deeply talented than he'd previously realized.
“You can understand her?” Jisten asked.
“You can’t?” Dethrian replied serenely. “There are a dozen eggs,” he told Photas. He looked at Rak. “Is there something on my face?”
“You understand that mastigi,” Jisten said. “That’s a talent, I believe.”
“Is it? But S’Rak bonded her to me. I thought that was what it did.”
Rak nodded agreement with Jisten. “Half of my Thezi can’t make sense of the mastigi. Their brains are too small.”
“Are you saying that I have a small brain?” Dethrian smiled gently. Scarlet clicked indignantly and drew herself up.
Forael chuckled.
“Ix,” grumbled Rak, hating the impreciseness of the Koilathan language. “You have to have great talent and power to hear the voice of something that small.”
Dethrian stroked down the agitated wings of his mastigi. “There, there Scarlet. He was complimenting me and I was teasing him. And your courage and intelligence belie the size of your brain.” The mastigi clicked happily and settled down on his shoulder.
Rak snorted. “Brain size and intelligence are not related. If you doubt me, look at all those brains going to waste out there.”
“Don’t you steal my Iatrion,” Forael warned.
Rak grinned at Forael. “What? Steal one of the only three decent sun priests I have ever known? All of whom are in this room?”
“Yes, exactly that.” Forael grinned back. “If you convert all the good ones to the Night, what will be left for the Day?”
“The ones who ignore Auranz as studiously as He ignores them. That would only be fitting.”
Photas sputtered, throat apple bobbing furiously and Forael solicitously patted him. Dethrian had a faraway look in his eye.
“Ylion, Pennick was assigned to watch Murson. I am worried for him. He could be dead or unconscious.”
“Or converted to chaos,” Forael said with regret. “Photas, I don’t know that you’re his equal should he have turned. Cousin, may I impose on you to accompany Photas? You need not battle Pennick, only check him for chaos. We are in desperate need of ascertaining chaos priests in our midst and there are no spells readily available.”
“I would be honored to assist you in this.”
Pennick was slumped over his desk, his robe doused with ale from a tipped over tankard atop his manuscript.
Photas swallowed. “Is he shamming? He got the manuscript wet. Very unlike him.”
Rak touched Pennick’s limp hand with a single finger. Black flames and golden light shot out from the point of contact and Rak snatched his hand back. “He is a sun priest.”
Photas laid hands on his fellow. “Less chaos than in Dethrian.”
Rak’s expression was rueful as he stuck his scorched finger in his mouth.
“At least you didn’t pass out.” Jisten stroked Rak’s wing.
Rak left off the finger sucking to look up at his Valer. “That is too bad. I so enjoy waking up in your arms.” They shared a smile.
Photas put steady hands on Pennick and chanted with a strong voice. The chaos shot out and he extinguished it immediately. “Help me put him in bed?” Photas asked.
Jisten easily lifted the sun priest and Photas prepared the bed.
Rak studied the ale-soaked manuscript, then called nightflames. He didn’t know if the flames would consume ale, but he knew they wouldn’t consume paper, so he figured it was worth a try.
“Dear cousin,” Photas wrung his hands. “Will you teach me of chaos? I want to help the Ylion craft a spell to see through a chaos priest’s trickery. Neither our dear Sun Lord nor Forael’s predecessors saw any need for such magic.”
“The detection of chaos is a tricky thing,” said Rak quietly as the flames consumed the ale. “I can sense active chaos, but not passive. Chaos priests are superb mimics that can fool even the Gods they pretend to serve. They have infiltrated the brotherhood in the past, and invariably caused great damage and heartache before they were defeated.” Rak lifted each dried page of manuscript and set it aside.
Photas’ throat apple worked as his glass rimmed eyes looked downward. “Thank you for the warning, cousin.”
“But I do not think that the day-conflict can be faked. Perhaps what we need in Okyro is a contingent of sun priests to work as counter-surveillance and test us all for spies in our midst.”
Photas blinked owlishly. “Wouldn’t that hurt the sun priests as much as it hurt the night priests?”
“Ai, that is the problem with my plan. For now, I will just ask the Movai to send me a copy of our book on the detection of chaos mages. We do have one. Perhaps it will be of some use to you.” Rak glanced at Jisten. The captain was pale again. “I need to take Jisten back to the palace. He is supposed to be resting.”
“Indeed.” Photas peered at Jisten, who raised his hands.
“I’ll go! I’ll go!” Jisten said with a smile.
Rak guided Jisten out of the Sun Temple, refusing to believe any protestations of health. Three soaking wet avtappi waited for them at the barrier.
Scorth alerted from his perch on the palace roof. The sun priest who isn’t is headed this way.
“Jethain!” Jisten exclaimed.
“Scorth, blast him!” Rak mounted smoothly despite Vyld already being in motion. Jisten was just as fast and the three avtappi were lock stepped at the gallop before the echo of Rak’s command faded.
Chapter Thirteen: Dragon vs Chaos Mage
Scorth launched off the palace roof with powerful downstrokes of his wings. The wind of his passage stripped the flowers and tossed the trees in the formal gardens below. He spiraled steeply upwards until the palace receded into a tumble of cubes.
The dragon nosed-over and stooped on his target. Transparent membranes slid over his eyes and he clamped his jaw on the roar he wished to sound. Then the ever-present watchtowers ruined his attempt at stealth, ringing out their new sequence for dragon-attack.
Scorth’s angle shallowed until he streaked parallel to the road towards his target. He blasted fire directly at Murson the moment the sun priest came into range.
Murson swiveled in his saddle to face the dragon, gesturing with both hands. Sickly yellow power ballooned outwards. Scorth’s fire struck the expanding sphere and reflected back. The chaos magic arrowed in on the dragon in the wake of the flames.
Scorth swerved hard to avoid his own, now enhanced flames, dumping forward momentum in the process. He impacted the largest mansion on the street and, for a timeless moment, clung to the parapets. As the masonry crumbled away, he pushed off the wall with his hind legs.
Murson chanted in a guttural voice, his fingers clawed towards the dragon, rending the air before him. A bone-deep buzz sounded as the flies poured out of the rents and scythed towards Scorth. The dragon wheeled on a wingtip to avoid the flies. He plunged, talons outstretched to snatch the chaos priest.
Six identical chaos bolts shot up from Murson. Three harmlessly impacted the dragon’s armored belly. The other three passed the dragon, then reversed direction and hit his vulnerable back, where the wings joined the body. Scorth bellowed in pain and tumbled to the road. Cobblestones flew up in a cloud around him.
Dragonfire blossomed out of the dust cloud as Scorth flamed, still defiant despite his crash. Murson deflected it and a manor’s garden went up in flames.
Fire alarms alternated with the fly alarms and dragon alarms as Murson tried to spur his horse past the dragon. Between fire, flies, and dragons, the horse rooted itself to the ground, eyes rolling and mouth foaming. Murson stripped the horse of its will and it lurched into an awkward gallop.
Scorth’s long black tail whipped around and slammed into the horse’s front legs. The horse was eerily silent as its forelegs collapsed and it crumpled to the ground. Murson shrieked in rage as he wrenched himself off the horse and turned to punish the dragon. In desperation, Scorth chucked a cobblestone at him, missing Murson’s head by a few feet. The dragon’s tail lashed through the remaining cobblestones, sending multiple missiles at the priest.
A hastily summoned shield sent the cobblestones clattering to the street short of their target. With the nimbus of power still around him, the chaos priest sprinted for the palace gates. Too close to risk rebounding fire, Scorth lunged, jaws slamming shut inches from the trailing hem of his cloak. The katrami swirled about and renewed their attack on the grounded reptile. Scorth broke off his attack on Murson to flame them.
Murson called to the palace guards outside, “We’re under attack! I must reach the king!”
The guards saw the dragon, the flames, and the flies, and let the sun priest inside. They sounded the internal alarms and began to close the gates.
Several long gusts of dragonfire set more gardens alight, but thousands of crisped insects pattered to the street. The palace guards cheered as the swarm was incinerated. The watch towers faltered in their alarm sequence at the sight. There was no dragon-incinerating-flies sequence. The guards in the closest tower entered a lively debate on how to convey that message.
Scorth told Rak, He got past me. And I need to practice throwing things more.
* * * *
Rak balanced in a low crouch over Vyld’s withers, wings partially spread for balance and angled to slice through the air without creating drag. Jisten imitated his jockey’s stance on Zala’s back beside him, sans wings. Vrema raced on Rak's other flank, riderless, but raring to fight nonetheless. Rak wanted to feed the avtappi power that they might run faster, but he dared not waste energy that he’d need to kill the chaos priest.
Avtappi were far faster than horses, and the various watchtower alarms had cleared the streets. Vyld, Vrema, and Zala raced at their full, unenhanced speed down an empty road towards the flies and fire ahead. Scorth flamed the flies before the two riders reached the swarm.
Crisped corpses rained down on them as Jisten focused on the closing gates and shouted, “Belay! Belay! Open the gates!”
Kordri looked up and squinted. “It’s the Capt’n! Let him through!” The guards brought the massive gates to a halt, the gap just large enough for the racing equines to pass through. Jisten waved and shouted as Zala and Vyld shot through the gates, trailed closely by Vrema.
The avtappi charged up the shallow marble steps leading to the formal main entrance which usually stood open during the daylight hours. It was wide and tall enough for a horse to be ridden through. The brass-clad double doors were closed. Jisten leaned down, twisted the lever and pulled, but the door didn’t budge.
“This is Captain Jisten! Let me in!” He pounded on the door until Rak hauled him back.
“It could be bespelled! Guard entrance!” Rak shouted. The palace had at least a dozen ways in that Rak knew of other than the front doors. Vyld and Zala spun about and leapt down the stairs. Vrema was already in the guard court, pawing the cobblestones impatiently. The guard entrance was too narrow for horses, so Rak and Jisten were forced to dismount, and Vyld and Zala joined Vrema's restless pacing, the blood of all three beasts up. Inside the palace, Jisten put his long legs to good use, setting a bruising pace that Rak was unable to match.
“Jethain is in his study this time of day,” Jisten said, the distance between him and Rak increasing.
Rak had no doubt that Jisten would do something downright life-threatening. “Wait for me, and make sure you use the sabre I gave you. Remember the fight in Jethain’s room? Chaos magic cannot affect night-blessed steel.”
“I’ll buy you time to attack Murson.”
“Ix, we must attack together.” Rak wished he could forbid Jisten to attack at all. Not only was the Valer still recovering from injuries and blood loss, Rak’s life was bound to his via the kironi magic. But Jisten was the captain of the guard, charged with protecting the prince. The prince of the prophecy was worth more than Rak and Jisten combined.
“Together, then,” agreed Jisten, slowing just enough that Rak could pace him.
Chapter Fourteen: Chaos Mage vs Dark Priest
Peas, in pod, 33 bushel, 2 peck. Peas, shelled, 12 bushel, 1 peck.
How many pecks are in a bushel again? wondered the prince. He always forgot that.
Potatoes, baby, 8 barrel. Potatoes, red, 28 barrel. Potatoes, sweet, 14 barrel. Potatoes, yellow, 53 barrel.
Jethain stifled a yawn as he checked over the kitchen inventory report. If the common person knew how much sheer drudgery went with this position, he thought ruefully, they wouldn’t be nearly so envious.
For a fleeting instant when the door burst open and slammed into the wall, Jethain was grateful for the interruption. Then he dove under his desk, and the chaos bolt aimed for his head hit his bookcase instead. First the bookcase cracked, then the wood, and the books and scrolls on the shelves, aged to dust.
* * * *
Crook, a lean death hound named for his crooked tail, the one that Jethain adored, leaped over the desk. His flame pupiled eyes glowed as he attacked the chaos priest who threatened his master. Rak had given Jethain to Crook when he’d seen the attachment was mutual, namely after the hound had destroyed a dozen ruffled shirts on Jethain's behalf.
Murson waved a hand, but Crook could see magic. He phased into the spirit realm to evade the attack and then returned to the physical world, locked onto the taste of Murson’s soul. A tapestry fell to dust, aged to oblivion in lieu of the death hound, who dodged two more attacks before closing with the chaos mage. The large oaken desk cracked in several places and the accelerated aging process began.
Murson screamed in the guttural language of chaos. He grabbed Crook’s throat, holding the beast at arm’s length. He couldn’t stop the powerful war hound for more than a few moments, but that was all he needed. Crook couldn’t dodge the chaos magic that coursed through him from the direct contact of the mage’s hands. The hound convulsed several times before falling limp.
