Highmage's Plight (Highmage’s Plight Series Book 1) (20 page)

Raslinn cast the bones, which rattled as they fell, rolling to a stop. He glanced at them then out the tower window and looked out over the Empire’s edge, roiling with building gray clouds.

His thin fingered hands curled with anticipation and he slowly smiled. He read the augury and laughed, “Destiny conspires to bring you within my grasp, mageling. Your death is assured…and by such delicious means!”

His laughter echoed on the winds swirling past the ancient fastness’s walls, which should have represented a defense of the Imperial plateau from attack from the lands far below.
 

The falc soared. Its keen sight noted every crag of the escarpment, rising high above the low lands, which stretched across the west like a wall.  A narrow ledge snaked up its length, which was more path than road after long centuries of use. It led up the cliff face to an ancient Imperial fastness.

A moment later the bird’s gaze turned directly below, encompassing six weary mounted travellers. They rode through the hills past still smoldering farms. Carrion birds fanned their wings, disturbed out of their inglorious repast by the intruders.

Fri’il, the youngest of the black liveried escort, hurriedly looked away and swallowed bile. After a moment, she bitterly asked, “How could an army march upon their own people like this?”

Balfour shook his head, his healing sense numbed by all the death permeating the air.

Cle’or rode protectively closer to him and frowned, quietly fuming at the young woman’s show of weakness and signed, ‘No questions.’

Me’oh, Balfour’s other protector, glanced back at her reassuringly. Fri’il nodded and understood, then glanced up at the falc flying overhead. She saw the bird circle and gazed at George, who had not said a word since they had entered this region.

George sighed and held out his staff; the falc dived then hastily back-winged before settling upon the proffered perch. The impact was jarring.

The bird squawked indignantly, continuing to flap her wings, as the nearest horse grew uneasy.

“Raven, hop down,” he urged, knowing she was too heavy for such antics.

Balfour shook his head at the falc’s antics, his spirits momentarily lifted as he saw the staff glowing with a flickering light and heard it mentally whisper to her, ‘I am not altogether comfortable serving as a perch. So if you would be so kind?’

Squawking for a second time, the falc edged closer to George and to shimmer as it hopped into his lap. Se’and reached back into her saddlebags and prepared herself for her lord’s certain to follow shout.

“Se’and!” It came as the falc’s shape shift was completed, leaving a naked black-haired little girl sitting before him.

His foster daughter seemed oblivious to his chagrin as Se’and rode forward and handed over the girl’s clothing. 

“Raven, please put this on.”

“No!” she rasped angrily. “No want!”

The set of black livery was a hand-me-down from Fri’il and the only garment that Raven had been coaxed into wearing since being freed of the enchantment, which had permanently locked her into animal and bird forms. 

“Put it on,” George said.

“Don’t want to,” she replied imploringly, looking over her shoulder at him.

He gave her a one armed hug. 

“Just as Staff does not appreciate being used as a perch, you know I do not appreciate your going without clothes when in human form.”

“I still ride with you?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course, little one.”

She sighed and pulled the livery over her head, ignoring Se’and’s grin. Yet it was hard for George not to hear the woman’s errant thought,
Ah, my lord so enjoys family life.

Coughing hastily, he then inquired, “Raven, did you see any place you thought safe enough to lodge tonight?”

She nodded then pointed. “Barn safest. Storm coming.”

Balfour looked at the clear sky. “What storm? The weather’s perfect.”

Doubtful, George raised his staff and closed his eyes. He opened himself to rapport and the computer staff glowed. He muttered, “Scan.”

‘Acknowledged. Scanning. Air pressure dropping.’

Data flooded George’s mind. A front was moving in quickly although its presence was not yet visible.

Raven smugly smiled. “Storm! Staff agrees!”

Yet the computer staff’s data did not fit normal weather patterns. When George opened his eyes, he was anxious and worried.  “Something’s wrong about that storm. We had best find that shelter quickly!”

They spurred their mounts and took off at a gallop.

Long before they reached the barn, the sky filled with dark clouds. Thunder cracked and a heavy wind stirred. The rain struck just as they reached the abandoned barn’s sanctuary and drenched them instantly.

Cle’or and Fri’il fought to close the doors as the rest of the group hastily entered the structure. The wind nearly pulled the doors out of their hands. Me’oh quickly brought over the thick wooden bar and wrested it into place. The entire structure shook with the force of the rain and wind as George hurriedly dismounted and raised the staff high above his head. Blue warding light flared. Instantly the howl of the storm outside diminished.

Se’and hurried to his side as he swayed.  “Are you all right, Je’orj?”

“Fine,” he gasped, feeling the winds pound on the barrier he had raised. Balfour hurried to his other side as he abruptly slumped.

“Sure you’re fine, my friend,” Balfour murmured as they helped him to sit down. “Staff, I would like a status report, please.”

The glowing staff linked to him and acknowledged. ‘The storm matches no natural patterns. It is focusing its effects here.’

Lightning flared and struck the warding, once, then twice. George groaned and lost consciousness.

“Balfour!” Se’and exclaimed.

“I know!” he responded as the computer staff flared to blinding intensity.

‘Rapport level increased as directed. George cannot long maintain this level without damage.’

Distantly, Balfour heard George’s response, ‘Maintain.”

Balfour sighed and opened his eyes and saw the tense faces all around him. Muted thunder echoed around them. “Gee-orj is going to be stubborn about this.”

Se’and glared at her sisters, “Of course, he is…  So how can we help?”

The storm raged and at some point seemed to call his name. It knew him and dimly he recognized it as well. The Summoning had brought him to this world of elvin magery where technology had been lost and the laws of science were blunted. The Summoning, which drew him toward the Empire, now seemed desperate to turn him aside.

Yet there was another force equally insistent, demanding he enter the Empire most expediently. It called to him in a way the Summoning never had and told him the way home lay closer than he had ever imagined.
 

Fri’il hugged George close as he slept. He was growing cold and she was doing her best to warm him as Se’and and Me’oh hunted up all the blankets they could find.

Balfour looked about them uncertainly as the storm continued to rage. He could almost sense the true nature of the magery that brought it down upon them. 

Raven sniffed the air and growled.

Balfour glanced at the girl as she took off her garment and set it down upon the other blankets. She then looked about her and growled again. 

“Raven, what’s wrong?”

“Fighting!” She exclaimed.

“Where? Is Gee-orj fighting someone?”

She shook her head. “Not him!  Fighting…,” she struggled to find the words, “…over him!” she exclaimed, pointing at her foster father.

Se’and lay down the last of the blankets as Balfour stared as Raven shimmered and became a tawny furred beast. 

“Fighting,” he muttered as Se’and disrobed and burrowed under the blankets to her lord’s side. The staff was blazing bright.

Fri’il barely heard as she nestled as close as she could, then quickly kissed George on the neck. She knew he thought her little more than a child, but she was a full grown woman and just as Se’and was, his wife by bond, sworn to protect him with her very life if necessary.

The storm raged through the night. The staff’s glow grew fainter as time passed. George weakly groaned every time lightning struck the protective field about the barn.

When the storm finally passed the next morning, George could barely be roused.  Balfour had hardly slept at all during Cle’or’s watch. When it was Me’oh’s turn, Cle’or crawled into her bedroll and quickly fell asleep.

She had the strangest dream. An old elf was in the barn with them. He knelt worriedly by George’s side while haunting laughter echoed in the buffeting wind outside and through the thunder. The elf looked desperately about, then saw her looking at him and stared at her in surprise. 

“You can see me?”

“Who are you?” she heard herself say in her dream.

He hesitated, “You can hear me as well?”

Her dream self nodded. 

He sighed, “Thank the Gate, not all is lost! I mean you no harm yet I am inadvertently causing him great pain! This storm is partly my fault but I have only been trying to protect him, I assure you!”

“That is our job, no one else’s,” she replied warningly.

The old elf blinked thoughtfully. “I know that. At least I think I did, once. It’s so hard to keep things straight sometimes. Things are so different now. His mere presence has changed more than I dared hope. Perhaps, it is best that he walks into the trap so long as I can safeguard him through you.”

Cle’or fingered her dagger. “Trap?”

The old elf walked toward her and reached out his hand. “Will you trust me?”

“Who are you?” she asked again.

He nodded, “I am an echo of the person I was, a shadow of myself. I am the Summoning. I must bring Gee-orj Bradlei to me and set all things right.”

She let loose her dagger. His gaze seemed so old and tired yet kindly. 

“You must take this,” he gestured to George’s discoloured dagger, unable to touch it himself. She knelt and took it warily, uncertain whether a dream could be trusted. The old elf nodded and instantly faded away.

Waking with a start, she felt momentarily dizzy. Me’oh opened the barn doors on the misty morning then turned her head and heard Se’and and Balfour decide that they would hasten up the old escarpment path to Niota. She trembled in foreboding, and instinctively reached for her dagger. With an indrawn breath, she stared. George’s dagger was in her hand. She quickly hid it, knowing that she was going to need it.
 

“As I’ve said before, I’ve been to Niota,” Balfour stated. “We need to warn the Imperial forces there about Fenn du Blain’s takeover of Trelor. Niota’s our best chance, if we can keep away from du Blain’s marauding army.”

All agreed but there was still the matter of George. He was in no condition to leave yet. Se’and turned and knelt beside her sleeping lord. Much of his color was back. With the passing of the storm his staff had gone quiescent. Fri’il blinked her eyes and awoke. Se’and looked at her as she gently shook George.

He softly groaned and slowly opened his eyes, looking dazed.  “M’lord, we have no choice but to make the ascent.”

Blearily, he muttered, “What?”

“If we are to shake any pursuit, we must take the chance on entering the Empire from here.”

The imperative struck him. He grunted with the pain. 

Must ascend
, a voice whispered in his mind. 

“Must ascend,” he heard himself weakly echo, not considering the fact that the Summoning had never before commanded him like this before.

Fri’il momentarily clung tighter to him as Se’and nodded, “We need to move on as soon as possible.”

George weakly nodded and pulled away from the young woman at his side. She helped him sit up. He brusquely shook himself free of her help. 

“I can do it,” he muttered. He looked to his staff, which stood unaided several feet away.

Raven had rested in beast form throughout the night and woke to see Fri’il quickly turn away, trying to hide her tears. She saw Staff flicker with light and heard it communicate warnings. ‘Interference detected.‘

George reached for the staff and Raven noted an odd shimmer.  She heard Staff report, ‘Likely caused by residual effects from the storm. Rapport to minimum levels.’

As Fri’il helped Me’oh and the others pack their things, Raven padded outside the barn. The ground all about them looked devastated by the storm’s fury. She sniffed the air, wary, then bounded around the barn in search of any sign of what she was sensing. She found nothing.

Se’and pulled on her mount’s reins and looked up at the cliff-face. It was said that the Imperial mages long ago raised the very earth of the Empire as the ultimate defense against the Demonlord.  Months before she had accompanied her sire and brother up the Imperial Road into the Empire, but that entrance led up into the Province of Rian, which lay far to the south and was a less daunting ascent than this ancient and narrow route into the Empire.