The Wheelwright's Apprentice (18 page)

27

Art had permission from his father, the Count, to try out his idea. The next hurdle was whether or not he could flit to a spot in his old ruined village of Dane’s Hamlet. One that he had not specifically remembered as an arrival point. The question was where in the village should he choose? It would have to be a place he knew very well, but also one which would not have changed much since he last saw it.

The last place in his village where he had spent sufficient time for him to have a chance of recalling it clearly enough, was in a ruined house. He had never known whose house it was. He had gone there because part of it was still smoldering enough to keep him warm after the village had been raided and most of the structures burned. He had huddled there for four hours waiting for daylight. He recalled the pattern of the stones on the floor, as the sun slowly brought them into focus. In his then numb state, he had gazed at them for a long time. That would be his best bet.

He decided that, anxious as he was to get going at once, it would be much more sensible to wait until it was dark. It was highly likely that some units of Aravia’s army would be stationed in the village and it would be disastrous to be seen as he appeared if, as he hoped, he arrived successfully. He was in any case exhausted, and what he needed to do was to get a serious energy boost. His feet took him towards the cake shop where Amia’s friend, Deria, worked as a waitress. Chocolate cake sounded ideal, and theirs was excellent. During this walk he understood that there was another reason why his feet were taking him where they were leading him.

While Art was on his way, his father was relaxing with his two confidants and bodyguards, Arch and Beech. “...and that was exactly what he told me,” the Count finished. He could barely stop himself laughing.

“It’s almost exactly the same idea that you came up with yesterday,” Arch noted. “He seems to have solved the two problems you were worried about.”

“He may solve them but he still has to make it to Dane’s Hamlet and back with a properly recalled arrival point.” Beech was simply being realistic. “Do you think he cthaad“Han?”

“I know he can. He is really motivated by revenge for his girl being killed, and I believe he has other issues that will only make his Will even stronger.”

“It’s really convenient too.” Beech was shaking his head and chuckling. “Art will think it’s totally his idea, and when he is successful, will have the burden of knowing he was personally responsible for killing fifty thousand people.”

“That will help temper his character, and get him to mature a lot faster.” The Count was happy with the turn of events.

Arch put out a small damper. “Assuming all goes well.”

The Count turned to him. “It’s your job to make it go well. He has to get you to Dane’s Hamlet for this plan to have a chance of working. Assuming he does that, I’ll need you to help him as much as you can.”

Art had by now arrived at the cake shop. It was open, something that had never been a certainty given all the deaths. He let out a breath of thanks and went to the table he had shared with Amia just a few months ago. He closed his eyes and leaned back. This was a place of good memories, the first time he had been “shown off” to one of Amia’s friends.

He was replaying the scene in his mind when a small voice intruded. “It’s Art isn’t it?”

His eyelids opened slowly as his memory also ground slowly. “And you’re Deria, aren’t you?”

“I guess you have heard about Amia.” Deria sounded resigned.

“Yes, but I only heard today, I have been extremely busy.” Art didn’t sound any better.

“Didn’t someone try to let you know?” She was surprised. What could have stopped Art from finding out?

“Her parents tried to reach me but they were told that I wasn’t to be disturbed under any circumstances.” Art now sounded even worse than before.

Deria gasped. “Even in a time like this there can’t be more than a dozen people in the whole city who are so busy that ...” she trailed off.

“May I have a large slice of chocolate cake please? I really need it.” Art was now sounding almost plaintive.

Deria returned with the cake and a fork in record time and placed it down carefully in front of Art. She waited. Art thanked her and then said, “I let her tell her parents, but I asked her not to tell anyone else. It can be very annoying if everyone knows you can do something like this.” A line appeared cutting off a piece of cake; he speared it with the fork and ate it. “Over the last few days, Willed healers have been unapproachable.”

Another line appeared in the cake. “I never tried this before,” The new bite sized piece wobbled slightly and rose from the table, then shot towards his face, hitting him on the nose. He caught the piece and ate it, wiping his nose with a napkin. “I guess that wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Why did you come here?” Deria’s voice was broken and barely audible.

Art grabbed the fork and started on the cake conventionally. “Besides the cake? I wanted to tell you something important.” Deria sat and waited. “We were going to have a baby. That baby is going to be born in five months or so to a lady in the capital called Seringa, who had problems and would otherwise have been unable to have one of her own. I transplantedI tgoing to her myself. It was Amia’s wish.”

For the first time, he attempted a smile. “When Amia got pregnant she laid the most unimaginable conundrum on me. She had endless confidence in me and told me that she not only didn’t want to stay pregnant - understandable at her age - but neither did she want to lose the baby.” He took another bite. “I was out of sorts for weeks trying to come up with a solution before her pregnancy showed too much.”

“In the end, you did.”

“Yes, I was lucky to stumble over Seringa. I tried something completely new, which could still go horribly wrong. I don’t want her parents to know until the baby is born and is growing healthily. I just needed someone close to her to know that some part of Amia still exists. Anyone at the main Temple in the Capital will be able to tell you how to find Seringa.” He continued bluntly, “I may not survive the next week or two, and I felt I shouldn’t keep it to myself.”

Deria took his hand and assured him, “If anything happens to you I will make sure her parents see their grandchild at least once.” He nodded in thanks, a hard duty done.

He didn’t feel like talking about Amia any more, so he finished what was left of the cake swiftly and paid. Looking at Deria, he told her, “I’ve work to do now, but I’ll tell you more when this is all over.” He gave her a hopeful smile. “Now wish me luck.” He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds and then he was gone.

It was dark, and Art stood silently for a bit while his eyes adjusted. As his vision adjusted to the dark, he began to take in his surroundings. It was the burned out house in Dane’s Hamlet that he had been aiming for. Success so far! Two and a bit walls were still standing along with enough of the roof to keep the rain off a decent area. Fortunately tonight that wasn’t necessary. There was a man sitting against a wall not five feet away from where he was standing. He was wearing a uniform which was definitely not friendly, and he was snoring softly.

Art tried to move away slowly, but his feet seemed to be rooted to the floor. He fell down to the accompaniment of a gruesome sucking noise that was happily not loud enough to wake the snoring soldier. He made quite a bit of noise himself when he landed awkwardly, so he held his breath until the regular snores had repeated a few times. Now at last he could look at his feet. They were embedded in a body. Judging by the blood that had been, and still was oozing out of the dead man, Art knew that even if he could heal him, the man he had already lost too much blood to live.

It came to him that he had now killed three people, all of them unintentionally. It was also now jarringly obvious why all the arrival points in the Temples and castles were in rooms whose doors only opened from the inside, and why he was always hustled out whenever someone else brought him there. “What should I do?” he asked himself. He really didn’t need to leave any evidence of someone with the Will having been here.

It took Art a minute or so to carve himself out of the corpse, mainly to make sure there were no more of those weird and ghastly sucking noises. Once he could safely stand, he checked the rest of the house, and since there was no one else in view, he repaired the corpse along with its clothing. He then made what for him was a difficult but necessary choice. He leant down and pulled a dagger from the corpse’s belt, and thrust it into the snoring soldier with clinical efficiency. He then took a dagger from the second soldier and stuck it into the first one. He arranged them so that it would look as if they had been the sofighting over something and killed each other. He Willed some artistic cuts in both of them to lend an air of authenticity, and posed them on the ground as best he could. He then riffled through their pockets and spread the few coins he could find on the ground. That would have to do for the moment.

His real reason for being there was to find and fix a suitable arrival point so he could bring Arch. The place he really wanted to use was a clearing with a big oak tree, and a rock that ten men couldn’t move, which was, if he remembered correctly, about half a mile away. He carefully made his way across the village.

Now that he was away from the house, he could get his bearings better and see exactly where he was. It was depressing to think that less than a year ago this had been a happy thriving village, filled with people he had known all his life. Now they were all dead. This hardened his resolve, not that he needed any boost to his Will at the moment. He walked carefully, looking around all the time in the gloom. There were likely to be several other soldiers nearby, and there had to be at least a couple awake on sentry duty.

Although he could put them to sleep instantly, he didn’t want to leave any clues to his passing. He did see a lone sentry leaning against one of the few remaining walls, but he never turned his head. Duty here must be close to punishment. They expected to be thoroughly bored and never see anything. Art easily made his way past a tent that he assumed was the officer’s, and out through what had been the fields to the clearing in the woods that he wanted.

Fixing it in his mind was not easy in the half-moonlight. He took his time and memorized the shape of the stone and the other features around. Once he was happy that he had got it imprinted, he flitted back to Red City and ran down Arch in his rooms. Arch was not happy to see him as he had been about to turn in.

“What do you want at this time of night?” Arch snarled. Since he was well over six feet tall and had chosen to look solid and scary, Art should have been seriously intimidated. Right then he was too focused on his own priorities to notice Arch’s steely glare, and blithely told him, “I have to take you to Dane’s Hamlet, and I need some advice.” Art enthusiastically related what had happened so far that evening while Arch slowly mellowed out.

When Art had finished, Arch told him gruffly, “I’ll get you some props. You’re too innocent to set things up properly.” He went to a drawer and got three dice, Willed one in half and rustled around in another drawer, coming up with a small piece of metal that he Willed into one side of the die before Willing it back together again. “Art, it would look a lot better if it was thought that one had been cheating. That’ll get a fight going even between people who thought they were friends.” He let his words sink in for a moment. He scooped a few coins from another drawer. “We have to make it seem worth fighting for.” Art was coming to realize that he had led a very sheltered existence in Dane’s Hamlet, and had a lot of catching up to do.

Art brought Arch to the clearing with the rock and the oak tree without incident. “I have to prove to you that this is Dane’s Hamlet now, don’t I?” He gestured for Arch to come with him. Minutes later they were doctoring the scene
of Art’s original arrival. The bodies were rearranged into postures more appropriate to the story they were trying to portray.

Arch scooped up a few coins from the floor, and made the ones he had brought with him resemble them. He then put the loaded die into one of the supposed combatant’s hands and dropped the others around. He turnrouand ed to Art and whispered, “I think that’s a lot better than your effort, because you are rather naive. Events like this are always extremely carefully scrutinized, so we have to make it as seem plausible as we can.” He waved his hand in the direction of the officer’s tent. “I am convinced this is Dane’s Hamlet, I suppose you want to disturb your father now.”

“That’s right.” With a brusque nod to each other, they flitted away.

28

Arch and Art sat atop a large rock which afforded them a view not only of the enemy camp but also of the swamp. It was admittedly an exposed position, but when the sun came up all they had to do was to make themselves invisible. There were several canisters on the ground beside them, two large ones which Arch had carried and two smaller ones which Art had brought. The disparity in the size of the canisters reflected the difference in size of those who had brought them.

It had been a struggle to heft them nearly two miles in the dark from their arrival point. But even burdened as they were, it had been child’s play to avoid the enemy sentries and patrols, as their hearts were not in it.

Art had done some scouting three days earlier. He had been the obvious choice as he had local knowledge. It had been an easy job. The thing that had stood out was that the soldiers really didn’t have any interest or commitment. They were bored, tired and lazy. Most of them hardly made the pretence of going through the motions. Their actions had screamed, “I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.”

There was of course one exception. In the centre of the camp, there was a huge Temple, nearly completed, surrounded by a wide open space, presumably to allow worshippers to participate and to emphasize its importance. This was surrounded by the grandest tents and a few more permanent buildings. There was a very big one, at least compared to the others, which must be Aravia’s. Art could make out a structure with chimneys that appeared to be a kitchen, another which resembled a well house, and several utilitarian ones which presumably were storehouses. He had not examined this part of the camp too closely, as it had a perimeter which was guarded by alert and awake sentries. Art hadn’t been worried about them, but knew that other less mundane protections were probably also guarding the area, ones which could only be found by triggering them. This was something he didn’t need to chance.

The other thing he had done on that foray was to observe the mist that came off the swamp in the morning. He was all too familiar with this mist. Whenever weather conditions had favoured it blanketing Dane’s Hamlet, it had brought insects. In summer, these had been nasty sucking and biting insects. This was a clear memory that had found redemption in his idea. The plan was simple. If the mist, as expected, wafted towards the camp, then Arch would add the disease-bearing liquid in the canisters to the mist. The enemy would never know that such a crushing blow had been struck. In two days the camp would have an epidemic they could not control. War was war, and this was the best way to end it with the fewest casualties on his side. His conscience was clear.

As they waited patiently on the rock, Art had his first opportunity to think for a while. Turning to Arch he asked, “The attack they made was very successful and left the country in turmoil. Why haven’t they attacked again?”

Arch seemed amused. “You don’t understand this sort orouann tuf conflict too well, do you? You are still thinking like a normal person.” Art returned his gaze blankly. “The only people who matter in this war are the Will adepts. Aravia started with fewer than us, as some had to stay and run her country. She has lost four, two to your unconventional approach of rendering them unconscious. That was a body blow. She has been keeping her remaining adepts for another, later assault. Your father thinks that will come when the Temple she is building has been completed. We need to finish this before that happens.”

The sun rose majestically, and as it warmed the land, the mist slowly rose from the swamp. It was easy to add tainted pockets to the mist as it passed on its way. This continued for some time until almost all of Arch’s supply had been sent on its way. Then disaster struck. The wind came up and started swirling the mist around, breaking it up and moving it away from the camp. It wasn’t a total disaster as much of the mist had already reached the camp, but it had only covered about a third of it. At this rate enough of the camp would miss the disease for it to be containable. It would be a blow, but not the body blow that they needed. There was even a chance that they could find a way to cure it, something that would be impossible if nearly everybody fell sick.

Something else had to be done. Art told Arch, indicating one of his canisters, “I need to dump this in the middle of their camp, ideally in the water supply. As I have already seen the camp’s layout, this is my job.” He picked up a canister, and before Arch had a chance to change his mind, Art was on his way. When he gone far enough to be sure Arch wasn’t going to try to dissuade him he shouted back, “Meet me in the clearing.”

Making his way to the center of the camp was only hard because the canister started to weigh on him. The sentries were still apathetic and uninterested. It was only because he saw alert sentries that he realized that he had arrived at the part of the camp that mattered. It was time to become cautious. It was also time to get the canister dumped out as fast as possible as he wanted to be quickly away.

Keeping shrouded in his cloak of invisibility, he carefully eased his way past the guards and made his way quietly but hurriedly towards the odd building he had thought was a well house. As he reached the entrance, he heard footsteps running, so he stood aside to let them pass.

It was an attractive woman who, slightly breathlessly, wheezed out, “There is an enemy adept inside the compound!” Art followed her inside and saw three other girls or women and two burly guards. It didn’t matter what they looked like, as the enemy adepts could design their own appearance and choose the age they wanted to appear. With Aravia’s influence a lot of them made themselves into beautiful young girls.

One of them, the oldest one, or at least the one who appeared to be the oldest, spoke harshly, “Oh, do control yourself, Seri. For all you know he is standing beside us invisible.” Seri dipped her head in contrition. “Now go and tell High Priestess Aravia.”

“B..b..but she’s with someone.” Seri stuttered.

“Do you think that matters when we could all be dead in two minutes?” the lady thundered. “We all know she wants to die in bed, just not now and not by the hand of an enemy adept.” Seri quailed and sped off.

Since they knew he was here, Art wanted to finish up fast. He inched towards the well head as the older lady joked to the girls, “Now let’s see if there is an invisible man here.”

Art had no idea whether id the wthey could make him visible or find him some other way, and he didn’t want to find out. He cracked the canister and threw it towards the well, Willing his aim to be true. As soon as it was falling noisily down into the well, he nipped back outside, and tried to flit away. He couldn’t, and it wasn’t from any lack of motivation. He wanted to be away very strongly. There had to be some sort of block being operated by Aravia’s adepts. This was unexpected, but he realized that he’d been naive. This was exactly the sort of trap he should have expected. He had to buy some time to work out what to do.

The only men not wearing uniforms were some of the workers at the Temple. Skilled painters and carpenters were wearing normal clothes like he was. That would be the only place he wouldn’t stand out if he became visible. He walked in that direction.

The three women walked deliberately out of the well house. They guessed he had been close by but they also thought that the loud metallic clangs given off by the canister as it fell were a diversion not the reason he was there. Art hadn’t looked back to see this.

“There he is!” A loud shout came from behind him. He wasted no time in sprinting around one side of the temple and out of sight. Being out of sight was important as it made it a lot harder for them to attack him.

The Temple itself was in truth only part of a Temple. The place for the majority of the worshippers was not exactly missing; it was the great expanse of greensward facing it. The Temple was still meant to awe the masses, and to be a place from which Aravia could speak to her flock and hold worshipful ceremonies. This was achieved by elevating it and making what there was supremely impressive. There were places with elegant chairs for Aravia’s adepts and there was a raised dais at the front from which Art guessed Aravia would hold forth. This didn’t interest him now. He ran around the back, found a stairway and barreled up it two and three steps at a time.

Entering the Temple, he found himself in a robing room. One glance told him that none of these clothes would make him inconspicuous. They were all colourful, lavish meant for women, and he instantly ignored them. They would be of no use to him. He decided to keep moving. The next room was a storeroom of sorts. It held pots, canisters and jars in an amazing array. He had no idea what they were and didn’t have the leisure to find out or even to guess.

The next door took him to the wide open body of the Temple. There were several workmen, but they ignored him. His eyes were caught by the pattern on the dais; it was as if it invited him to memorize it and make it an arrival point. He did, thinking that he might be able to flit about inside the compound even if he couldn’t flit away. He heard a door opening behind him and decided not to wait to see who it was. He jumped down onto the soft grassy expanse and walked normally towards the building he thought was the kitchen, his mind whirling.

He needed to find a way to make the enemy adepts relax their block on him being able to flit out. Of course he could kill them. That would do the job except he was sure he would have no chance at all, there were too many of them. As he walked into the kitchen, it came to him. The only way they would relax would be if he was dead. Unfortunately being dead wouldn’t work for him. He had to make them think he was dead. To pull that off, whatever he did would have to be spectacularly convincing. He stopped by a cake that had been partially eaten and nonchalantly cut himself a slice. The act of cutting reminded him of something his father had told him when they had visited Hanpo. That might work, he mused, as long as he made sure that none of tthalf he many other things that could go wrong tripped him up.

He ducked out of a side entrance and sat down. He needed a bit of time to set a couple of spells and to choose his ground. Once he had hopefully set the spells on himself that he needed, his course became clear. He needed a big audience and he needed a soft landing zone nearby. Recalling his defensive spells, he waited until he was seen. Moments later, four women rounded the corner to his right and one pointed at him. Immediately he attempted to flit back to the dais.

This time he was successful. Quickly he looked around, and seeing no pursuers, he lay down by the edge close to the dais and waited to be found. He was now where he wanted to be. He relaxed for a moment. There was a nail right in front of him that hadn’t properly been nailed down. He stretched out his hand and almost cut himself on it. This brought hs mind back into focus. He didn’t waste the few moments he had and tried to strengthen the spells he had just set.

It seemed forever but in reality it was only a minute or two before he saw a gaggle of women, two of whom he recognized, appear on the greensward below the dais gesturing in his direction. Moments later, two more joined them. It was showtime. He carefully selected one of the girls he believed was subordinate and hence more likely to have less experience and simpler defenses.

Slowly he stood up and as soon as he had their attention, he aimed carefully for the spot on the enemy adept he had selected and wished silently for his gamble to succeed.

He struck and Art’s head separated from his body, toppling forward with an air of inevitability. The ladies on the greensward were mesmerized, alternating their gaze between the torso, now collapsing, and the head as it bounced once on the soft grass and vanished.

Art caught a passing glimpse of his torso and Arch with a surprised expression before he knew no more.

He woke up looking at Anaxis’ face. and knew he was in the Temple in Red City. He raised a hand.

“Yes, your head and body are back together. Arch here,” Anaxis jerked his head to his right. Art turned and Arch came into view, “reconnected you head.”

“Not very well I’m afraid,” Arch added. “I did enough to keep you alive, but your brother here had to do the fine work so that everything would work properly again.” He leaned forward and put his face close to Art’s. “Now tell us exactly what happened!”

Art launched into his story, finishing with,”...I had to make sure I stayed conscious after my head came off and I didn’t want to
bleed to death, so I worked up those spells first. I gambled that if they saw my head tumble off, they would all relax. It was another gamble that Arch would be able to put my head back on, as I knew I would have time for only one spell before my brain stopped functioning. Come to think of it, I gambled that when I tried to decapitate the adept I chose, she would have a simple ‘send it back to me’ spell working!”

“You are lucky. You are a kid still. None of us oldsters would ever consider taking a risk like that, so none of Aravia’s adepts would have imagined you acting the way you did either.” Anaxis was stern but happy.

“You haven’t asked whether I managed to get the stuff in their water supply.”

Arch grinned hugely. “That was never a worry.”