It
was well into the night, and there was still no word from the boy.
The last report that he had made came early that morning, right after
he had stepped through to Rasta. But the still, steady glow in the
stone of the beacon ring at Sonja's finger told her that he was alive
and unharmed. That meant that he had been captured, or else he had
simply neglected to follow orders—and if that was the case, he
would be lucky to go to sleep without a whipping, much less with a
full stomach. I'm
going to have to go out looking for him, aren't I? Sonja
thought in exasperation. For
his sake, he had better be in prison! She
knew that the boy would find some way or other to cause trouble. In
spite of his incredible power, Sonja questioned the king's judgement
in employing him.
With
a crash of thunder from her clapped hands, Sonja roused her two
comrades. They shot out of their beds like rockets and blinked
stupidly for a few moments, still asleep in their minds even though
they had been woken. “The boy hasn't reported back to us,” Sonja
told them before they had a real chance to come to their senses.
“That means we go after him.”
Morgana
was the only one who stayed awake into the dark of night. After these
long, exhausting, much-too-bright days, the subtle glow from the
stars brought energy back to her, intermingling with and enhancing
the glow of her aura. She wandered uncloaked and free through the
starlit fields, flitting this way and that, sure that at any moment
she could lift herself up off the ground. She had turned her thoughts
to the comforting darkness, the quiet whispers of the night
breezes...and the little magic boy, who was away in the city,
relishing in the first good sleep of his life. Her pride was the only
thing that stopped her from begging him to teach her the secrets
behind his abilities. She would rather have swallowed a live fish
than go begging a fourteen-year-old human to mentor her. Still, the
power to engulf an entire army in inescapable flames was a compelling
one. He was the only human that she had any sort of fascination with,
even bordering on respect.
As
the darkness of the night grew, so did Morgana's aura. She grew
lighter and airier as it twisted, morphed, and shaped itself into the
form of glowing wings upon her back. Yes!
With
a bell-like she took a flying leap, and her wings pulled her up and
away from the ground. The dark of the night, the light of the stars,
and the summer winds converged, and she melted into them.
The
late night was the only time Morgana had for these private flights,
with darkness and starlight as her only and much-preferred company.
The landscape became a blur as she increased in speed, her wings
beating against the air with joyous vigor. She sang, her voice as
high and clear as a flute, and she was glad there was no one else
else was around to spoil the happiness that she found in solitude—at
least, until she spotted the dark figure making its way in and out of
the low-lying shrubs, thinking it was using the shadows to conceal
its presence. Oh,
stars above, Morgana
thought in dismay, already angry with anyone who dared to intrude
upon her euphoria. Like a bat swooping down upon its prey, she
cornered the figure, which was entirely concealed beneath a black
hooded cloak. Immediately, it struck out, stinging Morgana's ear as
she quickly turned her head. She grabbed both of its arms and
forcefully twisted them behind its back. “Start talking,” she
said dangerously. “No one with a brain would be padding around here
this late at night, and I've got no patience for those without.”
“I'm simply searching for
something,” a dainty voice answered from under the hood, “something
that I lost in these parts.”
“Try the daylight, then,”
Morgana said. “What sense does it make to go looking for anything
in pitch darkness? And now you're going to come with me; this place
is restricted and you've got no business here. Run, and I'll chase
you until your legs give out. If you're thinking about fighting me,
be aware that I have power that your little mind could not even
comprehend. Surely, your best option here is to come quietly.”
“And just who are you to
treat me this way?” the woman answered shrilly. “I am minding my
own business, I assume you were minding yours, and then you come out
of nowhere and start yanking me around like a bag of garbage! Who do
you think you are?!”
“Take off that hood,”
was Morgana's no-nonsense response.
“I
asked who you think you are, miss!” the woman snapped, and she
received her answer in the form of a white-hot fireball, held right
under her chin. “Take
off the hood,” Morgana
demanded. Trapped, the woman tossed her head back so that the black
hood fell away.
“That wasn't hard,”
Morgana said, calling off the fireball, “was it?”
“I'd still like to know
who you are,” the woman snapped, “and why you think it's at all
appropriate to treat me this way!”
“I am Rasta's Knight of
the Amethyst,” Morgana replied, “and now you are coming with me.”
Eluani was apt to awaken in
the middle of the night, and whenever she did it, she could never
settle herself back to sleep right away. Her dreams were vivid—both
the blessing and curse of a seer—and very often had some message to
tell her that she would have to spend a decent amount of time
decoding the symbols to unlock. Tonight, she was troubled by a dream
of Magus, curled up on an old, thin bed in a dull room, which Eluani
supposed had been his room at the mages' convent. He sat with his
knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around himself, shaking
all over as if afflicted by some internal tremor. He did not react
when she approached him, and when she lightly brushed his shoulder
with her fingers, he looked at her as if he did not know her.
“Magus?” she inquired.
“Are you all right?”
He
did not answer her. His body shook wildly, and Eluani reached out
both hands to steady him. She drew back quickly when she discovered
that his skin was as hot as a burning stove, and then she screamed as
his body was completely engulfed in flames. She woke up in a cold
sweat, trembling all over. It's
only a dream, Eluani, she
wanted to tell herself, but she couldn't—she knew that her dreams
were rarely only dreams. She paced around the palace's grand lobby,
trying to make sense of it all. Those Aldinian soldiers on their way
to the city had been met with a similar fate by Magus' hand, so
surely it had something to do with that. But what did
it
have to do with it? Why had he appeared at the convent (she was sure
now that it had been the convent), and why had she been the one to
receive this vision at all? Had it been her own dream, or had she
been given a window into his? Had she received a view into his terror
and remorse?
The palace doors opened,
and Eluani abandoned her thoughts and steeled herself for a
confrontation. But it was only Morgana, dragging along some hapless
woman who scowled like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar.
It was clear that she had crossed Morgana in some way, and when
Eluani approached them both and gave the woman a look-over, she knew
the reason behind it. “Why do you stare at me like that?” the
woman asked shrilly, drawing back as much as she could with Morgana
holding on to her so tightly. “It's uncomfortable! Stop that right
now, or...”
“So you think you're
going to take back the boy,” Eluani said, and for a second the
woman looked as though she had unexpectedly been struck. “Well,
that just isn't going to happen. Whatever you promised him, he has
been given three times that. There's no need for him to return to
you. He...”
“And
what do you
know
about him?” The woman abandoned the facade of a scared and confused
wanderer, and now spoke like a predator that had cornered its prey.
Eluani would not divulge any details. “Everything,” was her
simple reply.
“Then you know that
you've no right to keep him here,” the woman said. “You've no
right to give him anything. He belongs to the kingdom of Aldine.
He...”
“Not anymore,” Morgana
interrupted. “The boy threw aside his loyalty to Aldine just as
easily as you humans chuck your garbage into the woods.”
“Explain!” the woman
demanded.
“We don't have to,”
Eluani told her. “Either way, he won't be going with you. And you
will be...”
Eluani shrieked as she felt
her body heat up as if she had been suddenly tossed into an oven. She
fell to her knees, twitching and writhing and beating at herself as
if trying to extinguish some invisible flame. In a second, Morgana
had the woman in a hold and herself enveloped in a protective veil.
She held on with all of the force that her willowy body could manage
as her captive struggled against her. If only she could work up a
good binding spell...but before she could even attempt, her captive
had broken free With a snap of the fingers, Morgana was blinded by a
flash. Awakened by the commotion, the other knights arrived to find
Eluani on her knees, breathing heavily against the pain from the heat
as it subsided, and Morgana fighting against the whiteness in her
vision. “She's escaped!” Eluani gasped. “She got out! Go after
her!” The knights did not ask who “she” was. They took off, and
Eluani noted that Alicia held the troublesome shuriken blaster as her
only weapon. Lovisa helped Eluani to her feet and examined her for
injury. “I'm all right,” Eluani assured her. “It was only a
spell. Get on out there with the others.” Lovisa obeyed, and
Morgana trailed behind her as her vision returned. Her aura blazed
with the intensity of a miniature sun.
Eluani sat down, wrapped
her arms around herself, and closed her eyes. She willed herself to
think only of Morgana's captive, scowling sourly like a child caught
in the act. All at once, the image changed; she was taller, stronger,
and her face bore an expression of grim determination. Rings gleamed
on the fingers of one hand, and in the other she held a wooden staff
in the shape of a serpent. Her robes were the purple and gold of
Aldine, with the coat of arms of a golden dragon embroidered at her
breast. Her name was Sonja Farrel, and she was the chief of the
arcane division of Aldine's army. Magus had been under her command...
Not
anymore! Eluani
thought jovially. The boy's ties to her had been incinerated right
along with those poor soldiers. Smiling, Eluani folded her arms and
waited for Sonja's inevitable return.
I
did it! I did it! In
any other circumstance, Alicia would have broken into song and dance.
She watched as her comrades overtook the fallen mage, who was still
trembling from the shock of the blast that had downed her. Alicia
kissed the barrel of her weapon whose message she had finally managed
to decipher: activate
the runes and the blades will detonate. “I
knew that I would figure you out!” she whispered to the weapon
before kissing it again like a new friend that she was glad to meet.
The mage was cornered like
a deer by a pack of wolves. Sure, she had some impressive magic, but
there were seven of them and they were closed in on her. Their mages
were no slouches either—Morgana and Rodin pushed their way to the
front, their eyes and the cold glow of their magic veils daring her
to try anything more. Ion had her by both arms and held her so
tightly that a struggle would do so much more harm than good. Alicia
pointed the blaster, her finger poised upon the runes that were
already beginning to glow green.
“I give up,” the woman
said stoically. “I surrender.”
“Good choice,” said
Troy, taking a rope from his utility belt and tying up her hands.
Upon removing the rings from her fingers, he noticed that one of them
bore a stone that gave off a series of quick blue flashes before he
slipped it off. He passed it to Morgana, who turned it over in her
hand before holding it above the woman's head as if to taunt her.
“Tell me what this is,” she demanded.
“A ring,” was the
mage's stony response.
“I
know it's a ring, fool! Tell
me what it is used for.”
Morgana slowed her voice as if she spoke to a toddler.
“It's a beacon ring,”
the mage replied, “for the communication of distress signals.”
“Crush it,” Morgana
ordered Troy as she handed it back to him.
“Yes, go ahead and crush
it, big man,” taunted the mage. “It's too late for that to make
any difference. By now I've sent out more than enough signals for my
comrades to pick up on—they can be rather dull, but they know a
signal when they see one.”
“Thanks for the warning,”
Morgana said dryly. “Troy, help me with this. The rest of you,
scout the area and leave not a single blade of grass overlooked.”
She hooked her arm through the mage's arm, and Troy clasped her bound
hands with one hand and her shoulder with the other. “I'm locking
her up in the cellar,” Morgana told him. “It's the closest damn
thing to a dungeon that we have around here. I'll deal with her, and
you keep watch at the door and send a report to the princess. I know
humans like to sleep at these hours, but there's got to be somebody
standing by.”
“What about Eluani?”
Troy asked. “What's she going to do?”
“I forgot all about her,”
Morgana admitted with a roll of her eyes. “Tell her to keep watch
at the doors; tell her what's going on, of course, but be quick about
it.”
Troy's automaton horse
stood against the bole of a willow tree, gleaming imposingly in the
moonlight. He set their captive down upon its metal seat and climbed
up behind her, folding his arms around her in a bind. She grunted
slightly, but made no attempt to resist. “Go on in front,” Troy
urged Morgana, but she shook her head. “I don't ride on these
contraptions unless it's necessary,” she told him, “and it isn't
necessary now. I'll lead ahead. If she gets the urge to jump, I'll be
right there to catch her.”
“I couldn't jump even if
the urge did strike,” the woman saucily replied, “not with Mr.
Big Man clamped down on me like this.”
“I'm just letting you
know that I've got both eyes on you,” Morgana told her. She went on
ahead and motioned for Troy to urge his horse after her. “And now,
tell me your name,” she ordered. “If you're planning on using a
fake one, we do have a psychic waiting back home.”
“Sonja Farrel,” the
woman responded. “By my honor, the honor of a master magician of
Aldine, it is my true name. And by that same honor, you won't get
anything else out of me.”
“That's fine,” Morgana
said. “I think you'll discover soon enough that I can get anything
I want out of anybody.”
For a while, all three were
silent. The peaceful songs of the summer insects and frogs seemed
almost deceptive. Then, Sonja asked sharply, “What business do you
have with the boy?”
“What
business do you
have?”
Morgana retorted.
“He was assigned to me by
the knight master, by the order of His Majesty King Harkinian,”
Sonja explained. “He is mine to keep after, mine to lose, and mine
to find. If you've got him locked up somewhere, then by the command
of King Harkinian, you will release him or I will take him by force.”
“So, he's the precious
lost thing that you were skulking around in the night for,” Morgana
said. “You know, it is disgusting that you speak of him as if he is
a common object or a pack animal. He is a being with a life, his own
mind, and a soul. He is not a thing to be passed around, lost, found,
and taken.”
“He is an unfortunate and
unwanted youngster with no place in the world,” Sonja insisted. “He
belongs to no one. He has no purpose, no direction, not even a bed to
sleep in at night. He exists at the level of a common rodent. And yet
the king had his own reasons for seeking him out. If King Harkinian
dictates that he is to belong to me from now on, then he is to belong
to me from now on, as the king holds the ultimate jurisdiction over
what is to be done about his common citizens, including the unwanted
rats that scurry in and out of the back streets...”
She could hardly get this
last word out before Morgana whirled on her, dealing two stinging
blows to both of her cheeks. She fell into Troy, who shifted as he
tried to maintain his grip on her. “You bitch, if you talk about
that boy like that again you'll be dead where you stand!” Morgana
hollered. Her anger shocked her; she had never before been compelled
to jump to the defense of a human. It was the way of the fairies to
settle their own business and let the humans settle theirs. But the
way this woman talked about a poor soul as if he was no better than
vermin filled her with red-hot fury. She was all set to strike again,
had Troy not called out, “Morgana, enough!”
“She's got no right to
speak of him that way!” asserted Morgana.
“Punish her in the cellar,” Troy told her, “not out here in the open And you,” he
added, struggling against the woman's attempt to break free and
retaliate, “you're not going anywhere. You asked for that, so you
just take it.”
“The way you treat your
prisoners in Rasta is disgusting!” Sonja snapped.
“And I suppose that over
in Aldine, you wrap them up in fluffy blankets and give them ice
cream?” Troy replied sarcastically.
Morgana was still seething,
and her aura pulsed like an increasing flame. But she kept quiet,
taking comfort in the knowledge that Magus had abandoned his loyalty
to Aldine, and so would never return to the vile woman who thought of
him as street filth. She made up her mind that from then on, he would
be under her personal protection; anyone who came around looking for
him would have to answer to her. The rest of the way was silent and
uninterrupted. When they reached the palace gates, Morgana turned to
Troy and said, “Go tell Eluani what's going on, then keep watch
here at the gates. Anything that looks like it might be out of place
very likely is. You can hand our honored guest over to me. I'll keep
her entertained, all right.”
“Roger that,” answered
Troy, and when Morgana raised a brow at him, he said, “That means I
got it.” He hauled the captive to his shoulder and slid down off of
the horse's back. Morgana worked up a binding spell, which Sonja
immediately objected to. “There's no reason for this! I have
absolutely no interest in taking off, not if it means being jerked
around by Big Guy all over again!”
“Well, now you can't,”
Morgana said coldly, “so it doesn't matter whether or not it
interests you. Besides, it saves me the trouble of rummaging around
for a pair of shackles.”
Troy saluted Morgana—a
distinctly human gesture that was completely lost on her—before
entering the palace. Really, she wasn't so bad. Her strong will made
her a competent soldier and natural born leader just as much as it
made her a disagreeable curmudgeon.
It was three hours past
midnight, and the fields had fallen as silent as fields ought to be
at such an hour. Admist the commotion of the previous hour, Rowley
and Shattick had kept out of sight as they made their way to the
capital city. Now that the sign marking the city entrance had finally
come into view, they realized that they would have to turn back;
something was wrong. Their beacon rings had gone completely dead,
which could only that Sonja had somehow lost hers, or else...no, they
wouldn't think about that. She had lost it, that was all, and as
Sonja was not the type to lose things out of carelessness, they could
only assume that it had been taken from her.
What
an inconvenience! It had taken them all of two hours to make their
way to the city, and now who knew how long it would take to find
Sonja? By the time they finally did enter the city, they would be
much too tired to do anything about it. Rowley imagined a warm room
in a welcoming inn; he heard that Rasta's “hotels,” as they were
called, were above and beyond the little brick inns of Aldine. But he
knew that Sonja would likely insist that they set up camp out here in
the fields. Another
night of stale bread for you, Rowley, he
thought disdainfully, and pondered the difference between hotel food
and inn food.
For the second time, they
passed by the site of a wildfire; it was far too dark to see any ash,
though Shattick had discovered some when he ran his finger over the
earth. Where grass and weeds had once grown was now a dull, lifeless
circle, and the nearby shrubs and reeds had been singed. The area
reeked of recent smoke and something else that neither of them could
identify but that they both hoped they'd never have to smell again.
They passed by quickly, holding their noses, feeling no need to
linger longer than was necessary—they had already investigated
enough on their first trek past here to conclude that this place held
no significance to them.
The vast fields branched
off into wild country that could easily go on forever before there
was any sign of Sonja or the boy. The six towers belonging to Rasta's
Palace of the Jewel appeared in the distance, gleaming pearly white
against the darkness. Stricken by a sudden epiphany, Shattick halted
in his tracks, and Rowley grunted as he knocked into him. “What are
you doing?” Rowley whispered fiercely. “Keep moving!”
“There it is,” Shattick
said, pointing to the glittering spires. “The Jewel's in there!
That's right where they keep it! If we head that way, we'll be there
in about forty-five maybe even thirty or twenty if we're super quick
about it.”
“Not without the
commander,” said Rowley. “You know we can't make a grand move
like that without her approval.” He spoke as if he was scolding a
schoolboy, and Shattick shot him a disapproving glare. “We could
spend all night and then some prowling around for her,” he said,
“or we could realize that we're only a hop, skip, and jump away
from what got us into this in the first place! Besides, won't she be
so thrilled when she discovers that we've got such a gift for her?”
“Their soldiers are
guarding it,” Rowley reminded him, “and if they were anything for
us to mess with, then we wouldn't have needed to send the boy over at
all!”
“And
just look how far the boy has gotten!” said Shattick already
heading in the direction of the palace. “Forget the boy; they
probably killed him and dumped him off somewhere. Perhaps they tied
him down and set him ablaze, and that's where all the ash and the
smoke came from. Either way, we don't have him, and we don't have
Sonja, but the Jewel is right
there, and
here we are, fully equipped! It's just too perfect to pass up,
Rowley! Who knows if the opportunity will ever strike again? We can
take on a few soldiers! We've taken on larger armies than
that! Now come on, don't just stand there looking stupid!”
In this mood, Shattick was
irrepressible. Rowley knew that he would be left behind if he did not
follow, and he was not too keen on a solitary battle with soldiers
that had managed to obliterate an Aldinian golem. With a sigh, Rowley
followed and bowed to the inevitable, hoping that his commander's
wrath would be the worst thing he would have to face when this was
over.
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