The mage from nowhere, p.44
The Mage From Nowhere, page 44
“Yes.”
The other sorcerers seemed to notice what was happening and came to join them.
They spent the rest of the walk back talking about Tarak’s family as if he had some responsibility over their actions or, if not, that he at least understood them better than anyone else could. It took a fair amount of convincing before the sorcerers seemed to realize that Tarak knew nothing more than he let on. He had told them everything.
Supper was ready for them by the time they arrived back in the castle. Michael had gone off to speak with the king and, amazingly, convinced his majesty to provide ale for everyone as celebration. Girls and boys sat together, the princess among them. Leon had taken a new spot at the table on the dais with the king and his advisers.
Michael stood up and raised his mug. Everyone quieted, even at the royal table.
“To the quell of Basael. I say ‘farewell!’ to his hell. Will this work? Time will tell. But for now we will partake and feel ease when we awake. Tomorrow will be a better day. Let us keep the fray at bay. Cheers to the king, he won’t lead us astray. To the real gods only…I will pray.”
Tarak applauded with the others. Charlie seemed absolutely enthralled, however as he nearly spilled his drink in his haste to put it on the table and clap enthusiastically.
“Did you practice that?” Charlie asked as Michael sat back down next to him.
“Yeah, pretty much the whole way back.”
Tarak was not the only one to supplement his ale with another two, though he seemed to be the only one to supplement those three with three more after. There was lively chatter in the dining hall that lasted until nightfall. Tarak did well to forget everything worrying him. Even as he set his head down on his pillow in his room, alone, the spirit of the night stayed with him.
Let the morning bring about worries, if it must. For now, he would rest and enjoy imagining how Oreca and his friends had reacted to Caarda’s note.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
It had been a week since Basael had left, and six days since Nykal Lennox had seen his daughter. His older daughter, on the other hand, had paid him a number of visits and had been the topic of many frustrating conversations with Leon.
Tienna had not progressed very much in her lessons. This was common for most people trying to learn how to use mana, because most people were not innately good sorcerers. Leon had explained that after many hours of his instruction, Tienna’s range had improved but was still narrow, and she still could not seem to cast more than a single note at the same time.
For many people, this would deter them from continuing their study of sorcery, and it did somewhat for Tienna. She had spent much of Nykal’s time during their clandestine meetings trying to convince him to let her assist in other ways. She could go about the city and find out the needs of the citizenry. He already had people doing this. They were the guards of the city, handpicked by his trusted friend, Byron Lawson, who had helped immensely during the war.
Tienna said she could provide Nykal with updates on his sorcerers’ progress.
Leon did this.
What about their thoughts and feelings?
Unnecessary, because they already confided in their king, and a spy would only make things worse.
She asked what else she could do.
Nothing, came the answer.
It seemed that Tienna was not suited for sorcery or for counsel, as Nykal had suspected.
One question remained: What was he to do with her? For now, he almost looked at her like Basael, a problem better kept close. At least with Tienna, he cared more about how she felt not because she was so dangerous, like Basael, but because she was really starting to convince him that she was not the manipulative and selfish woman her mother had turned out to be.
Nykal’s soon-to-be son-in-law had come to the castle the day after Nykal and the others had returned from visiting the rift and sending off Illia. Trevor Chespar had requested of Nykal that he take his betrothed on an excursion to visit the neighboring cities and towns and enjoy the sights. Trevor thought Callie would like this because she had been asking him to spend more time with her. Now that there had been rain and crops were finally growing again, Trevor thought this would be a good time for leisure.
Nykal did not inform him of the warning Basael and Caarda had given Tarak. There was nothing that could be done about that right now anyway, especially not by Trevor Chespar. Although he was now the head of his powerful family, he was still young. Nykal also did not inform Trevor that Callie did not seem to be in the mood for leisure because she, too, had learned of this warning and also of something else. She seemed to have some sort of gift for a new type of sorcery in the mortal magic specialization. If Nykal knew his daughter, she would not rest until she found out what this gift was. Additionally, it seemed that her interest in Trevor had been waning.
So it came as a complete shock when his daughter put up no argument about leaving with her betrothed for a week. Nykal was now wondering if he might not know Callie as well as he thought. Could there have been letters exchanged between them to spark her interest again? Or even a visit he was unaware of?
It was more likely that Callie would sneak off the premises than that someone would sneak into the castle without Nykal knowing. She had made friends with many guards and workers. They might be willing to cover up something, mostly because she could be very pushy.
Nykal felt that she was safe with Trevor, though. He had proven himself to be an honorable young man, and Callie had proven herself to be quite the young fire mage. He did fear that rumors might start with Callie venturing off with Trevor for a week, but this seemed unlikely to be an issue. Most castle gossip remained within the castle walls, and the same could be said of Trevor’s staff keeping information within his properties. The people valued their jobs too much to spread gossip.
During this time that Callie was away, Nykal had gone north to Tryn, where his wife had been residing ever since she’d found out about Tienna. He saw his queen, Esma again. She looked well, fortunately, a sharp contrast to how Nykal had fared without her. But Esma always looked well. It was the strength of her beauty. It shined through even when she was exhausted, anxious, or sad, and he found her to be these three things after speaking with her again and letting her know what Tienna had done. His eldest would be at the castle now, and there seemed to be little he could do about it.
Esma said she had not forgiven him but had accepted that Tienna was part of his family. Although she’d needed some time away from Nykal, she would never abandon Callie or blame Tienna. If the older girl was content where she was, that was fine. Esma should be able to see and even speak with her now that her rage has passed.
“What changed?” Nykal had asked, hoping to gain some semblance of his former life back.
“I have accepted how I feel,” Esma had answered. “The sight of an innocent girl cannot make me feel worse toward you because that would involve something first making me feel better toward you.”
Nykal had felt many moments of fear and loss during the recent war, but nothing hurt him as much as his wife’s words.
“I will return the day Callie comes back from her trip,” Esma stated. “I may share a table with you but not a bed.”
“I understand,” Nykal said. At least she was returning and seemed to be speaking to him again. That was something.
At the castle, he had been involved in many discussions about the rift. It almost seemed like a waste of manpower to guard it. The rift dwelled underground with nothing but forest around it for miles. He believed Basael that it could be unstable, but he also believed Basael that it could be of use for anyone with some proficiency for artistry. But how unstable was the rift? Could he be sending any of his sorcerers to their doom if he allowed them to spend time there?
It was only Eden who seemed interested in returning, and she had several times. She had reported to Leon, who had reported to Nykal, that she had made contact with that small creature many more times over the past week. She had begun to bring little pieces of meat to feed him and had given him a name: Saffy, named after a sapphire because of his blue pigment.
Nykal had discussed with his counsel the possibility of the creature being a dragon, but everything they knew was based on old tales. They sent for someone more knowledgeable. Zarin claimed to have met someone who had firsthand knowledge of this other realm, a captain and trader by sea who had recently retired, an elf by the name of Fatholl.
The king wanted to meet this elf personally. He came to the castle later in the day. The elf had with him a retinue of other elves, but also analytes and dorrin followed the elf through the open gate of the castle. It was strange to see a small group of the three races all standing close. Nykal had never seen them all together like this before, but he welcomed it. Unity was one of his goals since the war.
Nykal preferred to meet people in his courtyard rather than in the throne room when possible. He made as many of his meetings public as he could and wanted the people meeting him to feel unpressured. This elf may be a friend. God knows Nykal needed more of them, especially those who had been across the ocean.
It was a dangerous trip overseas no matter the destination, unless of course one was mad enough to head to the large kreppen island of Hammashar. The trip there was a simple one, but there were easier ways to commit suicide than traveling to kreppen land. All trades with krepps involved the lizard men coming to Nykal’s kingdom, and everyone preferred it that way. The currents of the ocean made it difficult for even the most skilled captains to get around Hammashar, which was why most fishermen did not take long trips.
The easiest way to sail west and avoid Hammashar was to leave from the western side of Dorrinthal. Considering Newhaven sat on the eastern coast, this was not feasible without a trek through at least some of Curdith Forest, which was known to be dangerous.
Even after all of that, the shortest voyage to Oppol, straight west of here, took a week with good conditions. Going south instead would take a ship to Jolrune. Massive sea beasts seemed to lie in wait for ships along this route. There were very few survivors of such encounters but enough to confirm the stories were true.
Nykal had heard even less about the places beyond Jolrune. Trades came from Oppol to the west, and from Vandav to the south. Most dorrin ships disembarked from Rohaer, while all the elven ships came from their kingdom of Evesfer. Even the analytes had a dock on the southern side of Korrithin. Goods obtained by analytes and elves eventually made their way up north to Nykal’s kingdom, leaving little reason for him to send ships all the way around Dorrinthal to reach the same places.
Mana supposedly was not different around Dorrinthal. Languages were, but spellcasting remained the same or close enough to the system most people knew. Some sailors might claim sorcery was different, but these were not sorcerers. Mana was not their expertise.
What remained a mystery was how mana might be different past the manastorms, which blocked travel farther south. Perhaps the elves and analytes knew more, but there was little information shared between the races. Nykal had hoped to change that with an alliance with the analytes, and Zarin now acting as an advisor.
Basael claimed he had traveled everywhere and had much to share about the differences in mana. Nykal had been asking himself ever since Basael left how reliable this Ancient really was. Perhaps he had been telling the truth and there were other Ancients to the south. They may have changed mana after all, and it was this clash between systems of mana that created the manastorms. It would explain why there were maps of these southern continents even when travel was impossible; because it used to be possible long ago—before Ancients started bending mana to their will.
Fatholl might have something to say on the matter. People of all ages followed this elf. The only generations absent were the very old and the very young. Although Fatholl had gray hair, long enough to pass his shoulders, he did not appear old. His age seemed to be a mystery.
He was an elf with defined features, prominent cheekbones and jawline, a strong nose above a mouth that seemed prone to frown. His gray eyes were as sharp as daggers. Fatholl was not tall or short and could be considered somewhat thin.
He looked like a man who had mastered fear so much that the word “brave” could no longer apply to him. There was no respect in his gaze, but there was no hatred either. It was strange for Nykal to meet anyone and witness this expression, whether it be the first impression or the hundredth, but Fatholl appeared to be looking through Nykal’s eyes, judging him. Even more strangely, Nykal felt something almost palpable from this gaze.
Nykal had assumed this elf had accumulated such a diverse following because of his appealing looks, and perhaps charisma, but Nykal sensed no charisma from Fatholl and was beginning to doubt appearance had anything to do with it. Fatholl seemed able to speak without words. Not just speak. Learn. Nykal had just about no sense when it came to mana, but he had felt something standing near Caarda and then Basael. It was something else he felt now, however, something more personal. There was a connection between him and Fatholl as the elf peered into his eyes, but what?
By the time Fatholl blinked, Nykal felt as if they were old friends. He thought that he could trust this man. He could tell Fatholl anything.
Of course he wouldn’t. Nykal had more sense than that. But he did enjoy the calm feeling he had in Fatholl’s presence. His heart rate had finally dropped back to the slow, strong beat it had been before his wife found out about Tienna. The king had begun to worry that he could never relax again.
“You have questions?” Fatholl asked.
“What is your experience with creatures from the other realm?”
“There is more than one other realm, your majesty. Do you speak of the dark realm—the source of esitry?”
“Yes, that is the one. Why is it called the dark realm?”
“I believe that is the name people gave it before testimonials came to light. From what I hear, the realm is more blue than dark. The sun is red, the moon is black, and the pull of earth is lighter. The creatures there differ from each other greater than the animals do here. I have not heard of dragons specifically, but I would not doubt their existence.”
“Zarin told you.”
“Yes. There are many large and fierce creatures in this dark realm. I have seen some of them brought before me by summoners. There are flying beasts long enough to carry grown men on their back and other land animals large enough to flatten a small town with little more than a turn of their body. The presence of even a friendly dragon would cause problems if it meant other beasts from this realm may arrive. Would you like my advice on the matter of this portal?”
“I may hear it.”
“Close it however you must. It is a door that should be forever shut.”
“We seem to lack the capability.” Nykal did not know why he was admitting this to Fatholl. He knew he should not, but it felt right.
“Natural portals are difficult to overpower with sorcery. I suggest flooding it with dirt and stone, anything heavy you can throw into the rift hastily. It will be dangerous for anyone nearby. This is a risk you must take.”
“What do you fear may happen if we leave this rift open?” Nykal asked.
Fatholl had answered every question without pause, and this was no exception. “It is not the creatures from the dark realm but their masters, the summoners, who pose the greatest risk to your people. The creatures, alone, cannot survive long in our world. They must build up a tolerance through practice and repetition, and it’s their link to their masters that drives them to spend more time here.”
“You have learned this by speaking with summoners?”
“I have, in Aathon. I came from there just recently. Sorcery behaves very differently than here.”
Aathon was one of the continents supposedly impossible to reach. The others were Ovira and Greenedge.
“How did you get past the manastorms?”
“The manastorms have dissipated.”
“I have heard that but didn’t know if it was true,” Nykal admitted. Basael had mentioned this. “Who knows about this?”
“The elves. Soon the analytes. Eventually the dorrin. What else have you heard?” Fatholl asked.
“We have come in contact with a powerful sorcerer who calls himself a god, Basael—”
“Sire.” Lord Langston put his hand on Nykal’s shoulder.
Nykal jumped. He had not heard his advisor coming up behind him. Nykal glanced around to see Tarak and Michael standing nearby as well. Had they been in the courtyard this whole time? Yes, Nykal slightly remembered them training here as he’d walked past them to meet Fatholl.
“It is fine.” Fatholl spoke in a soothing tone. “I am a friend, here to help.”
“Oh,” Lord Langston replied. “That is a relief.”
“Please continue,” Fatholl told Nykal.
“Basael claims there are other ‘gods’ like him in these faraway places. They have altered mana in such a way that it is simpler, more accessible, and the more sorcerers use it, the stronger these beings become.”
“Does this Basael believe there is such a being here, manipulating mana?” Fatholl asked.
“He does not,” Nykal replied. It pleased him to answer Fatholl. He felt like a schoolboy with an answer to present to the class.
“And where is Basael now?”
Tarak answered, bothering Nykal. “He left because he and my father saw they were going to be killed by some sort of beast. Basael claims to have our best interests at heart. He says he leaves to stop these ‘gods’ in other countries, but I know him. He is scared.”
Michael said, “He might do good for us out there.”
“He might,” Tarak agreed. “Until he feels that his life is in danger again. Then he will run off to somewhere safer. He takes many of his followers with him.”
“You mention your father,” Fatholl said.
“Yes, Caarda. Have you heard of him?”
“I have, and I have heard of Basael as well. I did not know Caarda had a son. There is nothing known about you.” Fatholl glanced up at Tarak for some time. The elf held attention as if it empowered him. Nykal had to remind himself that Fatholl was not king here.
