Diary of a Conjurer (29 page)

There was a warm glow coming from a rock
overhang. A campfire, and someone was cooking on it. The boy crept
in the shadows until he could see a man cooking a meal. Daryl would
steal the food. What would happen if he got caught? Would that man
cut off his hands? Ha! No. That man had no guts. He wasn’t a
warrior, not like the Kaemperns. Daryl had little to be afraid of.
He would wait until the man fell asleep and then he would eat his
food.

He would steal. He would be a thief.

Ivar remembered the struggle in the rain,
being tied up, mounted on a horse and riding up the mountain. He
remembered the terror of the black storm that brewed over Deception
Peak. His heart raced with the footsteps of fear. There was
something in that storm alive and dangerous. He remembered running
from arrows flying at him, and hiding in a crevice with the man
from the other world, and then the man set him free but without his
dagger, and Ivar’s heart sank from despondency and fear both at the
same time. The dagger had kept him safe, secure. With it he could
hunt, forage, and cut kindling. Not only did he remember the deep
sense of loss when it was gone, but also he felt a pressing urge to
get it back.

The rain was gentler, and the dark of the
storm eclipsed into night. Too dark to find Silvio, Ivar could
barely find his way back up the mountain. He leaned against the
bluff, ignoring the hunger pangs, for they were not nearly as
wearisome as the heartache.

He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. He hadn’t
meant to leave Promise or the old man at the mercy of the
wilderness.

Lightning flashed again, but it was heat
lightning.

The light flashed three times against
Deception Peak. It came from the dagger. Daryl laughed, because he
was making it flash, using the smooth shiny blade to reflect the
sun. And what was more exciting was the shadow that flew overhead,
a monstrous dark shadow-like figure gliding across the sky faster
than a storm.

Fire on its breath. A dragon. A large
monstrous fire breathing dragon! It dove toward the flashes,
leaving its flames wherever the beam appeared. For once in his
miserable life, Daryl had power to change things. Power. Magic. The
sky lit up as the forest caught on fire.

The screech made Daryl laugh.

Ivar held his hands over his ears to block
the unbearable screams of women and children. Sounds from the
past.

He couldn’t see a trail leading back up the
bluff into the woods. He wasn’t being called to travel in that
direction. No. It was westward, where the moon peered from behind
the storm front and glimmered on the beach that his beckoning came.
The western route was well lit. He would continue his Crossing back
to Alcove Forest and on to Deception Peak. Memories beckoned. He
would find the dagger. Not for Hacatine, but for himself. He’d use
its magic to rescue his friends and fight the evil queen.

Save Taikus

A sudden crash of thunder just before sunset
woke the wizard. Just one rumble, that was all, and it was so
sudden he could have been dreaming. After that a whisk of wind
jostled the trees on top of the cliff, a mist fell from the sky,
and heat lightning danced above the storm. Little streams formed
around him, but he was in a lean-to made of hemlock boughs and
moss. The handiwork of Xylepher, no doubt. His bed was dry and he
was quite comfortable watching the rain.

He blinked several times to focus in on the
terrain where he and the Xylonites had traveled that day. The beach
stretched far away from the surf into sandy grassland that merged
with the forest. It was through those woods they had come.

It was there that he saw the caravan appear.
If he weren’t a conjurer, or the king of the Xylonites, he probably
wouldn’t have noticed the little people. Still, his eyes had grown
accustomed to spotting his charges in amongst ferns and brush. The
Xylonites looked odd tonight, though, beautiful but odd. He
recognized Xylepher pointing the way with his little saber, riding
his weasel back and forth along the parade. Silvio knew most of the
families. They were craftsman and some of Xylepher’s close friends.
Tonight they rode weasels, and were almost completely camouflaged
by the woods. The blue glow of the sand cast its light on them, and
their shadows danced like tiny ashes flickering in the wind.

The figures that moved behind the Xylonites
were not familiar, though. He hadn’t seen a wolf since his young
days when he was able to observe the Kaemperns from the cedar tree
in Alcove Forest. Two teams of the furry creatures, led by little
people on foot, traveled some distance behind the weasels and their
soldiers. The canine pace was slower, more deliberate and as they
neared, Silvio saw why. They dragged two travois, one that bounced
across the ground, the other weighed down by a woman. She sat
upright, wrapped in furs. Only when she passed through the
clearings in the woods could he make out her form. Silvio sighed a
breath of relief; glad the Xylonites had persuaded Promise to join
them.

The first band of mounted Xylonites had
already arrived at his resting place. The little people were
cautious, whispering only when they had to, but they kept busy,
scurrying here and there to make a camp. Some of them dismounted
and rushed to his side, fussing over his condition. Several of the
women began to comb his beard but Silvio brushed them away.

“No, there’s no time for that,” he said again
and again until finally Xylepher came by and dispersed the
crowd.

“No camp. Get ready to leave,” the soldier
ordered. “We’re only here until the King is in his coach.” With
that, he prodded them away in order to make room for the wolf
teams.

Silvio grunted.
Coach, is it?

Well at least they were letting him keep his
dignity. He waited until the travois was in front of him before he
stood, and what a feat that was! His bones seemed to have molded
together while sleeping, and now trying to unfold them sent
excruciating pain throughout his body. His joints creaked and he
groaned, but with the help of the little people he stood.

Were he able to stand tall, as he had when he
was young, the wolves’ ears would have touched his waist. But bent
over, which was all he could manage, his head just touched the tops
of their brows. They smelled very wooly and wet, for of course they
traveled through the rain, with thick fur that fluffed about their
necks. Their eyes were black marbles, attentive, always moving,
searching. Their mouths hung open as they breathed. Silvio rubbed
the lead wolf’s head and the creature licked him.

“Sir, please hurry.” Xylepher was one to keep
on schedule. Wasting no time, he directed Silvio to his coach.

The travois was made of sticks and rattan and
ingeniously woven reeds attached to two long poles. Twisted
branches tied at the sides were a special addition, which Silvio
could use as a brace, and hang onto if the ride became rough. Soft
moss had been placed on its platform, providing a somewhat
comfortable place for him to sit.

The conjurer smiled to himself, amazed at the
craftsmanship of the little people. Where they didn’t show much
intelligence in worldly matters, they made up for artistically.

The travois carrying Promise pulled up
alongside as the conjurer crept onto his mossy mat, not without a
good deal of groaning. He looked at the blind girl, not sure what
to say to her, although he thought it only polite to announce his
presence. Her appearance was pathetic. The once proud warrior was
now bound in fleece, her head hung in discouragement, hair
disheveled from the ride. Looking at her too long might make him
tear up, so he shuffled as smoothly as he could into his bed and
grunted.

“Wet and rainy night,” he said.

She didn’t answer. Very well, then, but at
least she knew he was here.

“Are you ready, sir?” Xylepher asked. The
weasel that Xylepher rode nudged his head under Silvio’s hand and
the conjurer scratched behind its ears.

“As ever I’ll be,” the old man sighed, not
too happy about having to ride on a travois, although the journey
the day before had proven he was not as strong as the others. If
they were going to find Ivar before Hacatine did, and retrieve the
magic, they had to move steadily.

“We’re going by way of the beach, sir. It
should be a smooth ride on the sand. I suspect we’ll reach the
wetlands by morning. The scouts have sighted Hacatine’s ship far
west from here so we’re downwind of her army. Are we headed for
Kaempern directly?”

“The Fields.”

“Sir?”

“We’ll stop at Elysian Fields and get horses,
and look around for Ivar at Alcove Forest.”

The little man coughed into his hand once,
and then eyed Promise.

“Sir, horses?” Xylepher asked again,
scratching his beard.

“What?” Silvio’s one eye grew wide as he
stared the man down.

“Your condition, sir. Horses?”

The conjurer didn’t blink, but only stared
harder.

“Yes, sir,” Xylepher said and rode off,
prodding the wolves forward. Silvio grabbed his hand bar as his
travois bounced along the ground.

“Blasted,” he said under his breath and then
wished he hadn’t. The two platforms were dragged side by side and
he was certain Promise heard him. “Never you mind.” Silvio shifted
his weight. “I’ve no right to complain, not compared to you–being
blind and all. A few bruises on the rear, that’s it for me.”

“It must be truly uncomfortable for you,” she
said, startling him, for he hadn’t expected sympathy from her.

“Bah,” he answered, and then whispered an
“ouch.” He cleared his throat. “Why would that be?”

“You’re used to leading your subjects, not
following behind them,” she answered.

Silvio could admit to that, but her saying it
humbled him. “Darn right I’m used to leading them, little
Spindiddies that they are. Good folk, all of them.”

“They do a fine job. You’ve taught them
well.”

Silvio hadn’t expected flattery from her,
either. He grunted. “I’m not sure if I taught them anything.”

“You have. They’ve been your children. If you
could hear the way they speak of you, it would warm your
heart.”

She leaned back, unaffected by the jumping
and bolting of the travois. Silvio tried doing the same but he felt
every bump, especially in his back and rear. Squinting, he tried
not to breathe out any more discomfort. It was a pride thing,
maybe. He wasn’t used to being around a lady, either, and she
certainly was brave. He’d gotten soft and too old.

“It must be a good feeling,” she said.

“What?” Silvio scowled. She couldn’t see the
way his nose turned up and his eyes squinted closed as the pain
rushed up his spine. For that he was glad. “What good feeling are
you referring to?”

“I mean, having so many people love you and
admire you.”

“Oh. That.”

“Taikus has lost love, you know?”

“I assumed.”

“There’s no one to love and admire on the
Island anymore. Everyone is so afraid. Survival is the only
concern. It is a dying island, Silvio.”

If he turned a little to his side he didn’t
seem to hurt so much, though a cramp was inching its way up his
right leg. “Blasted wasteland that Taikus. What good is it? Let it
fall to ruin!”

“No.” Her reply was quick and stopped him
cold; it even stopped the pain in his muscle. “It can’t ever become
a ruin. There are too many innocent people oppressed by Hacatine’s
tyranny, too many good citizens who don’t deserve the cruelty she
dispenses. They need saving.”

“Evil,” he muttered. There was nothing on the
island worth saving as far as he was concerned.

“That’s not fair, Silvio.” Her chin lifted,
resentment resonating in her voice. “They aren’t all evil. And
there is hope. There can still be a bond between the Sorceress and
the Wizard. The magic still holds its power. I saw it, when I had
my sight, that is. The potential for love is still alive. I can’t
see it anymore, but I know it’s there. It’s just that . . .” she
sighed heavily. Silvio looked her way, curious. “I’m sorry. I’m
just touched by all this caring. The Xylonites for you, and you for
them, and then you wanting to help me. I’m not used to
kindness.”

Silvio shuddered. He was familiar with the
same grief years ago. Like her, he had been strong once, and proud.
Then overnight, as if he were an autumn leaf broken away from its
branch, fallen to the ground, and crumbled underfoot, he was
defeated and humbled. Those days had been painful and lonely. He
worked hard to forget them.

Silvio squirmed uncomfortable. Promise
pouring out her heart to him left him feeling naked. He couldn’t
tell in the dark if she were crying, but she could have been. The
Xylonites never cried, not unless they had their fingers pinched or
spilled something. All he had to do was give them a look, the one
with his eye wide open. Then they’d stop their pouting and
straighten up.

This was different.

“The wizards on the island despise us. Why
shouldn’t they? They’ve been mistreated for too long. They have
reason to hate us,” she said.

Well, Silvio had to admit, he had been privy
to despising the sorceresses himself. Hadn’t any respect for them.
They were the cause of his exile, his father’s death, and his
family’s demise.

“They destroyed my family.” Silvio looked out
at the breakers shimmering against the dark as they trudged along
the shore. Somewhere across the sea, as far away as never, lay his
homeland, his strength, and his youth.

“Silvio, most of the warriors that make up
Hacatine’s army are just young girls who had nothing to do with the
rebellion. We were trained for Hacatine’s warfare, but we aren’t
inhumane. We want families. We talk about it all the time behind
her back. But the queen has been cunning in her guard against
mutiny. We worry for each other.”