Back Under The Stairs - Book 2 in The Bandworld Series (28 page)

Now, when the lightning struck -- and it fell
down on them even in the night! -- the lightning hit only the
streets of Xanthin. People in the streets were killed, but not as
many as before when the ... bolts ... tore down houses.

Why did the Mage not protect all the people
with his magic? She did not know. Would she ever understand the
most dreadful of all Mages, John-Lyon-Pfnaravin?

Most days of meetings in this wood and gold
and marble room, Platinia sat behind the Mage. To strengthen his
thoughts and feelings when she sensed that was his wish. Today, she
would listen to the men. Listen to their talk. Today, she would try
to understand.

The Mage was dressed in a silk robe. All
white, striped with the gold of Stil-de-grain. Outside in the hall,
there would be the Mage's guards. And Whar.

Like when they were at the Claws, Whar
guarded the Mage both day and night.

Platinia did not like this Whar!

From across the room there came a knock on
the wide, grooved door.

"Enter," said John-Lyon-Pfnaravin. He said
this in a loud voice that went over the polished table, across the
room, and through the door.

The door was pushed open, the Head soldier,
Nator, coming in.

After that, other men came, too. Gagar, who,
when no one else was there, would let her pet his birds. (Somehow,
though he was a man, she was not afraid of Gagar. Was this because
he seemed more like a bird than like a man??)

Gagar's birds were big! Big for birds. In
many colors, though most, here in Stil-de-grain, were yellow. When
they were at the Claws, most of the talking birds were orange. All
the yellow birds had glisteney, golden eyes and long, downturned
beaks.

Though she loved to pet the talking birds --
Gagar even let her feed them bits of fruit sometimes -- the birds
never talked to her!

When everyone was in the room and seated
about the big, shiny wood table, the Mage spoke. "I want to know
the people's reaction to the continued bombardment." (Platinia did
not know this word ... bombardment.)

There was much silence after that. Looking
past the Mage, Platinia saw the men's faces. But could tell nothing
of their thoughts. Nor could she see into their minds. There were
too many in the room for her to do that.

"Coluth?"

"Now that your magic has protected the
houses, the people are ... less afraid."

"But still afraid."

Silence.

"I have heard the wish," said Nator, the Army
Head, "that the Mage would use his power to protect the streets as
well."

"You can't put up a lightning rod on every
corner ..." The Mage stopped suddenly, as he did sometimes when
saying something no one understood. "Any Mage's magic has
limitations. Installing the magical lightning rods on every home in
Xanthin will have to do for now. What I want to know is, is there
any sign of open rebellion against my ... that is ... against the
king's rule? Is there sentiment for a capitulation to Auro so he'll
stop hurling his magic against the capital?" Capitulation??

"I do not think so, sir," said Nator. "No
talk of surrender that I have heard." When saying that, the Head
did not sound like he believed his words. At least, that was what
Platinia thought.

From the pause that followed, Platinia could
tell that the Mage was also uncertain about the Army Head's
answer.

"On the other hand," the Mage continued,
after a space of time to lean his elbows on the table; to rest his
head in both his hands, "what you're inferring is that the folks in
these parts wouldn't mind seeing a bit more magic from me, is that
it?"

There were slight smiles around the table and
the shuffling of many feet.

"As some of you know," John-Lyon-Pfnaravin
nodded his head at Golden, "I've set up a lab in the palace."

"Lab?" It was Gagar, who rarely spoke.

"Workroom for magic," Explained
John-Lyon-Pfnaravin. "For now, though, I've got to ask a question.
It's always been my understanding that magic can only be worked in
the daytime; only when it's light. That magic is a function of the
light."

"That is true," said Coluth, looking
embarrassed at being asked such a simple thing. Though the Navy
Head did not show his feelings, he and many others often wondered
at the childish questions of the Mage.

"Which leads me to ask how the dark Mage can
blast us after down-light. I can see how -- if he's breaking loose
from the magical restraints put on him after the Mage War -- he
might be getting enough light-magic to hit us in the daytime. I
think it's common knowledge that, for some time now, he's been able
to reduce the magic of other bands by darkening their skies. So its
reasonable to believe that he's been able to make his own sky less
dark, getting his magic from a lighter sky overhead. But how he can
hit us at night, I don't know."

Shrugs around the table. First a simple
question from the Mage, then a question that no one but the Mage
himself could answer.

Still, the Mage was right. What was most
fearful was that the evil one could work his magic, even in the
dark. No one could do that. Except the evil one!

"As for how he's hitting us, I think I know.
I think he's bouncing the magic off the sky dome."

At this talk of magic, Platinia found herself
shuddering. She was cold inside and out. She wished she had a warm,
warm cat to hug and hug.

"And what do the people think about these
nighttime bombardments?" That word again.

"There is no need to worry about the people,
great Mage." Nator.

"They love you as do we." Coluth.

From the way John-Lyon-Pfnaravin sat up
straight, from the way he held his head, Platinia knew the Mage was
angry. As only the Mage could get angry. Quickly. Quietly. "The
most dangerous kind of advice I could receive," the Mage began, his
voice low but threatening, every word pointed to draw blood, "is
not to be told the truth. I asked if there was popular discontent
with my leadership and you tried to soft-peddle your answers. Even
you, Coluth, my oldest friend among this group." Platinia could
tell that the others were also shocked by this sudden change in the
Mage's mood. "Sure, the people of Xanthin were grateful to me at
first for devoting every craftsman and military man on the island
to the making and putting up of lightning rods so that people's
houses would be safe from this magical attack." Again, the solemn
nods, everyone afraid to disagree with the Mage. "In the 'What have
you done for me lately department,' I know that people are asking
why I'm not retaliating in kind. I know that people are doubting my
magic." John-Lyon-Pfnaravin settled back in his kingly chair. Still
upset, he began to drum his fingers on the chair arms. "In addition
to the dimming of the sky, I'm also aware that the wind has begun
to blow. Just a breeze now, but growing perceptibly stronger day by
day. A steady wind from the direction of the black band." The other
men looked ... sick. Though no one wished to speak of it, they were
afraid of the evil wind.

The Mage stopped tapping to stare around the
table. Even from behind him, Platinia felt the cold of his green
eyes. "And you have the nerve to sit there and tell me that the
people are all for me? That no one is thinking of surrender in the
face of this magical pressure?"

"There may be some who would trade freedom
for peace, but not the army ..."

"Today. But what about tomorrow?"

Platinia could see nothing but long faces
around the table. The Mage was saying out loud the worries of the
others. "What we need," John-Lyon-Pfnaravin said, after a heavy
pause, "is a spectacle to take the people's mind off their
troubles." Spectacle?? "Something to give them confidence in their
own Mage. And I plan to give it to them." When John-Lyon-Pfnaravin
turned to the side to look at the men nearest to him, Platinia
could see a smile grow on his lips. He was less angry now. "Once we
got control of the island, I was able to contact the local
alchemist that Golden told me about. It took awhile to explain to
him just what chemicals I needed, but I think I've got the right
ingredients at last. So, you can spread the word that, soon, I'll
work some magic like nobody's seen."

"In the day or ..." Nator started
cautiously.

"No. I mean after down-light."

At that, the men mumbled to one another,
approvingly.

What would the Mage do? What could he do at
night?

"And another thing. You can alert the people
that they can expect an important announcement on the morning
following the spectacle. That the days of Stil-de-grain as punching
bag are over!" Punching bag?

Whatever "punching bag" might mean -- and in
the Mage's fierce mood no one had the courage to ask -- Platinia
knew that John-Lyon-Pfnaravin was about to display his power.
Seeing his magic at the battle of the White People -- helping him
strengthen it and use it -- Platinia could only be afraid of what
the Mage might do!

* * * * *

For many up-lights following the meeting, the
Mage had Platinia sit in the hall outside the Mage's magic room,
Platinia sitting on a chair, the Mage's guards standing nearby.
Inside, the Mage waited, people coming to bring him ... things.

Coluth, the Navy Head came. Then went
away.

Tschu, the alchemist, brought large boxes of
secret ... things.

After that, terrifying pops and bangs came
from the room! Strange smells too, making even the guards
afraid.

Now, toward down-light, the Mage led Platinia
and the guards down the hall and stairs and outside the palace.
There in the courtyard, they found Coluth and a man driving a pony
cart. After that, the Mage's party went through the palace's three
walls and down the empty streets of Xanthin, toward the harbor.

Behind the guards came the rattling cart, the
Mage turning to shout instructions at every crossroad -- always
that the pony driver must be careful.

Though Platinia had not seen what was put in
the cart, in was a big thing. Hidden under a large, heavy cloth.
From the lumps under the canvas that the thing pushed up, it seemed
to be ... a box of jars??

As they walked along, it was strange to see,
here and there, big holes where houses used to be. (There were also
piles of sticks and plaster of what were once houses. The ... bones
... of houses that had not yet been carried off.)

In the empty city, the guards tramped loudly.
The pony cart behind them squeaked, the ponies clopping. Even
Platinia's footsteps clicked on the roadway stones.

As fog wisps gathered in the down-light air,
the people they did meet were scurrying home. Those who still had
homes.

Recognizing the Mage guarded by his soldiers,
the people -- dressed in the leather tunics of workers -- hurried
to one side or to the other of the street, bowing and bowing
respectfully to that man of terrible power. When Platinia turned to
see where these people went after the Mage had passed, however,
Platinia saw black looks directed at the Mage's back. Black looks
from frightened faces.

As usual, the Mage walked on with quick, long
steps, looking neither at the people nor at the buildings. Past the
chained up shops that, in the daytime, sold food. And drink. And
clothing. And pans. And jewelry. And ... all other things.

Here and there, they passed ruined shops that
the evil Mage had struck down with his lightning, the boards and
brick and stone of them still in great heaps.

"You're sure that everyone's been informed?"
the Mage asked suddenly, Platinia turning to the front again to
listen.

"Criers have been at work all day," the Navy
Head said. "Everyone must know."

"Good. And they'll all be watching the
harbor?"

"It is a certainty."

Watching the harbor? Of course. To see the
magic the Mage was going to make that down-light.

Even with no one in the streets after dark,
watching was possible, Platinia knew. With the city's buildings
climbing the harbor hill, everyone in a higher house could see over
the lower rows of houses. Knowing that no one would come out after
down-light, the Mage had planned well, making it possible for
everyone to see his night magic from their locked up homes.

"They will be told tomorrow that I will go in
person to Azare to fight the dark Mage?"

"They will be told. By the criers."

The Mage's party now entered the street that
went along the water, the tie-up docks of the harbor just ahead. At
the tie-up docks were boats.

Out beyond the boats, already hard to see in
the distance, great arms of land hugged a harbor in the sea.

The Mage stopped. At the beginning of a dock.
"You will wait here," John-Lyon-Pfnaravin said to the guards. Whar
saluted, as did the guards, all together.

"That's the ship, that's destined to be
scrapped -- at the end of the quay?" the Mage asked, pointing at a
small boat tied at the far end of the wooden dock, just barely to
be seen through the thickening fog.

"Yes."

"All right," the Mage said.

Turning, the Mage waved the pony driver
forward, the four-wheeled cart squeaking past the guards, stopping.
"Drive the cart out to the end of the mole. Carefully!"

"Yes, sir," the man said, respectful but sad
because the Mage had so little faith in him. Platinia could see
this in the pony driver's mind.

Suddenly, overhead, there was a light, a
flashing, jagged line of evil magic, streaking down!

Without thought, Platinia threw herself upon
the street and covered her head with her hands as there came the
crack of the jagged bolt striking somewhere in the city back of
them. "That's all we need now," Platinia heard John-Lyon-Pfnaravin
mutter as she sat up, then bent down to rub a raw spot on her knee
that she got from falling down. "A lightning strike on the cart."
As was common with the Mage, he was speaking only to himself.