Mage's Secret: Chronicles of the Fifth Kingdom, #2

CHAPTER ONE

A frown was fixed on Marl’s face.

Time to go! he yelled, getting the attention of everyone else in the room.

For the last two days, he and his six companions had been waiting in a monastery for a monk they barely knew to help them.

They had had enough.

Their friend, Matilda, had been taken by Aldrei the northern red dragon. It was time to rescue her.

Just one second, Kal replied, pulling out a knife and heading to the courtyard. If we’re going, I’m taking a cutting now. Should have known they’d not give me any seeds.

Trilina bit her bottom lip and looked to Marl. The first time Kal had threatened to do this to the monk’s tea plants she’d objected, but two days of waiting for nothing had silenced even her.

Rhysdan was the next to get organized. After pulling on his boots and strapping his sword to his waist, he came and stood beside Marl.

Never been more ready, he said. Not one for sitting around doing nothing at the best of times. Did enough of that in Aldrei’s camp before Matilda and Elora came along.

Oritas came next, wrapping one of the spiced muffins they’d been served into a handkerchief and then stuffing it into a pocket. He gave Marl a grin and took a swig from one of the nearby pitchers. Ready.

Elora and Callista stood up together, the two of them having benefited most from the break. Neither would have survived if they hadn’t jumped through the strange cloud. At least Marl could be grateful for that. His sister-in-law was all the family he had, and he didn’t want to face Callista’s grandmother, Raina, if anything happened to her.

Trilina hung back but gave him a small nod. The young mage hadn’t said much the entire time they’d been there.

With all of them ready to leave, Marl turned the door handle. He’d tried it several times over the last few days, checking that it wasn’t locked. Each time, he’d come face to face with a monk tasked with keeping an eye on them. This time, however, the monk was gone.

Marl raised his eyebrows, glancing both ways down the narrow hallway. No one was there.

Looks like we’re good to go, he said, stepping out of the room.

Before anyone else could follow him, Petran appeared from the end of the hall, huffing and puffing as if he’d run there. He had a piece of parchment in his hands, and he waved it while hurrying up to Marl.

It’s done, the monk said, stopping just in front of him.

What’s done? Marl asked, his eyes following the parchment. Something had been written on it, but with Petran moving it about so much, Marl couldn’t make out what.

The graying monk took a deep breath and let it out again before speaking. A list of the artifacts you need to gather.

Marl took the list as soon as Petran held it up. After scanning it quickly, Marl was not filled with confidence by what he read:

Wooden Spoon—Makes a hearty meal out of a thin broth.

Wooden bucket—Heals horses which drink from it.

Mortar and Pestle—Multiplies as it grinds.

A silver-colored needle of unknown metal—Adds protection charm to garments sewn with it.

Three-tined candle holder—Can add fire protection when lit.

A small painting of a girl in a yellow dress—Turns back time for an onlooker. May have adverse side-effects.

Petran shuffled from one foot to the other while Marl read and studied his face.

You’re kidding me, right?

No. Not at all.

But these aren’t weapons. A few of them sound like they might be useful, but not in battle.

Well, no, they aren’t weapons, but you’ve tried fighting Aldrei head-on since the beginning. I assume you recollect how well that went last time?

Marl let out a small growl, not appreciating the reminder. Matilda had been captured, and several of the others had nearly died. If Maltese had not opened up his weird, cloud-based portal, they would probably all be dead.

Let’s see, Kal said, holding out his hand. Giving Petran a stony look, Marl passed the parchment on to Kal. Callista read it over his shoulder.

You kept us waiting just for this? Kal eventually asked. The rush of blood to Petran’s cheeks told them part of the answer.

My research hadn’t convinced the head of our order. I had to find more details before she’d approve my interference.

So, this list has been vetted by someone we’ve never met? Marl clenched his fists, fighting the urge to punch something.

I assure you; she was thinking of your safety. She didn’t want me to send you all on a… wild duck chase. I think that’s what she called it.

Wild goose chase, Oritas said, as he too read the list. A moment later he shook his head. Sounds like a bunch of junk. Might make a good meal now and then, but otherwise… And what does it mean by side effects?

Well… Petran looked from Oritas to Marl and back again.

Spit it out.

I couldn’t be sure. The texts I used were ancient and crumbling. I—

You don’t know for sure these will help, do you? Marl said, interrupting.

Petran sighed before replying. I know they’ll do something, and these make the most sense, given the witness accounts. But I can’t be completely sure.

So, you want us to go gather them, bring them back and test them to see if they do what you think?

When you put it like that… Petran trailed off.

We don’t have a better plan, Trilina said. The last party member to get ready, she still stood back in the doorway to their room. We could look for these while we practice and plan for the next encounter with Aldrei.

Marl wanted to growl. Or hurl the list at Petran. Or maybe throttle the irritatingly vague monk, but instead he nodded.

All right. We’ll see if we can find these artifacts for you, but they better do what you think they will. And it better actually help us.

Oh, I’m sure they’ll be of use—

And if anything happens to Matilda while we’re on this crazy errand of yours, I’ll personally hold you responsible. That clear?

Petran gulped as he nodded.

Oritas handed Marl back the list, and Marl scanned it one last time.

So, where’s this first one? This wooden spoon.

Ummm… Petran shifted from foot to foot again.

Marl glared at him, knowing he wouldn’t like what came next.

That’s the thing. I know what they are and that the artifacts are all on our continent, but not where exactly.

Then how are we meant to go searching for them? Oritas asked, sounding as irritated as Marl felt.

I can help there. Maltese said, coming up the stairs behind Petran. He had the same grin he’d had when they’d all first met. It was a sort of innocently smug smile that made you want to grin back and smack him, all at the same time. On top of his head he wore his bowler’s hat, just off-center and tilted. In Maltese’s hand was the compass he’d used to get them there. Before Marl could ask how it might help them locate an object rather than a direction, the strange-yet-happy guide continued. This has never been an ordinary compass. Instead, it seems to be pulled towards the magical. Here. Maltese placed it in Marl’s hand beside the list and stepped back.

At first, the needle stayed pointed in the same direction, and then it moved, spinning back and forth as it tried to home in on something.

It feels the nearby power sources and matches it with your current desires.

So why is it flicking back and forth? Marl asked, still staring at the small device.

Because you’re divided, Maltese replied. You don’t know if you want to fight for Matilda the hard way or look for these items and get a chance to rescue Matilda.

Marl tried to focus on the latter, picturing a spoon of some kind. He had no idea exactly what they would be looking for, but he decided to imagine a basic spoon and thought about the enchantment it had.

After Marl closed his eyes to aid his concentration, the compass needle went still, pointing back out of the monastery.

Looks like we have our first target, Oritas said, grinning as he took the compass from Marl and headed for the stairs. Trilina and Callista hurried after him. The pair was rarely separated now.

While Marl was ushering the rest of the group along, he noticed Maltese and Petran giving each other brief smiles.

What do they know that we don’t? Marl thought, but he didn’t get a chance to ask the question and try to find out. The rest of his party weren’t going to stand around.

I guess I’d best come with you, Maltese called from behind, before Marl could follow everyone through the monastery to the entrance. You’ll need someone to open a portal, won’t you?

Marl nodded, grateful they weren’t going to have to walk back. The chap was more than a little strange, but he’d saved their lives and healed his friends without hesitation.

Standing outside the monastery were several monks. Each carried a backpack, a bedroll, and two waterskins hanging off the straps.

Our thanks for your assistance, one of the monks said, as he handed Marl the pack. In complete silence, the rest of the monks held out theirs to the others in the group, their smiles echoing the gesture, if not the words, of the first.

Thanks. Marl gave the man a nod. Perhaps these monks weren’t quite so bad after all.

Either that or they knew something he didn’t. Again. Could their kindness be contingent on his helping to find these artifacts? Or was Marl just too slow to trust these days?

This way! Maltese said, grinning his usual merry smile and heading for the only route away from the monastery. He walked into the mouth of a narrow, ascending gully which was carved into the same rock as the building. Round and round it rose, encircling the monastery several times before bending off towards the desert.

Coming down the path several days earlier, the party had thought it relatively short and a relief from the hot sun after trekking across the dunes. Having to climb back up was another matter.

When they reached the point where a small stream ran alongside the path, carving its way along one wall of the gully, Oritas had the sense to halt.

They all drank with their hands, as Maltese chuckled at them.

What’s so funny about a bunch of people having a sip? Kal asked.

Oh, not you as such. I just never understood why the monks had gone to the effort to carve a path for the water as well as for the people. I think I understand now.

You’re not normal, are you? Callista asked, frowning. Sorry, I don’t mean that as an insult. Just that you don’t need it as we do.

No. Neither do the monks.

Do you know why? she asked, as her eyes went wide. Marl studied Maltese’s face as he thought for a moment.

Yes. But it would take a long time to explain it and even longer to teach it. If you wish, at some point, I am sure the monks would be willing to teach you.

It was vague and didn’t answer Callista’s question, but Maltese appeared truthful.

All of Marl’s life, he’d assumed he knew how the world worked. That life had been relatively simple, except when dragons came along. These last few weeks had turned his life upside down.

Not only had Aldrei aged far too quickly, but Marl had also seen more magic, been involved in more of the prophetic, and travelled more than he ever had before in his life. Somehow, Marl suspected it wouldn’t end there either. There would be more. Marl’s strange journey had only just begun.

CHAPTER TWO

Subin stood near his master. He merely watched and didn’t speak. He let everything soak in and continuously replayed in his mind every moment since he had got the job.

Dugen the Blue was known for two things in the capital city: his prowess as a high mage and his lack of tolerance for mistakes from his former assistants, may they rest in peace.

Subin thought about how he had taken over the job a fortnight before, after his predecessor had purchased three vials of Quivener black ink, which was known for having the magical property of scrambling the words written such that only the author, with a given command, could put them back in the right order. This feature was for security. The affordable price of three silver coins per bottle made it the choice of most mid-level seers.

Dugen was not a mid-level anything.

Had the former assistant purchased Quivener dark grey ink, Subin was later told, which ran seven silver per bottle, all would have been fine. It contained an added element, hence the slight color difference, which left a faint aura on the hands of anyone who touched the pages—an aura which was visible only to the writer who penned the passage.

The cleanup of the last assistant took three Slavites the better part of a week.

Subin was proud to be the first Lythen in history to ever work for Dugen the Blue. His boss hated the Lythen for their beauty and didn’t trust them. The job was Subin’s because the entire applicant pool had consisted of him and Dugen’s nephew, whom Dugen hated even more than Lythens and couldn’t kill without familial consequences.

Without looking up from his desk, Dugen bellowed, Bring me some light! Can’t you see it’s getting—

Before Dugen could finish, Subin had set the largest of the terralights on the table. Its warm glow, from the working terrians who lived in the bucket-sized bottle, spread out over the table.

Will there be anything else?

I’m still waiting for my dinner, Dugen said, annoyed.

With light steps, Subin walked around behind his boss, reached his hand down to the plate with the sandwich on it, and pushed it ever so slightly in Dugen’s direction. I’m sorry for the delay.

The high mage took a bite of the sandwich and returned to his book. Subin stepped back and waited.

From a pocket in his robe, Dugen pulled a small purple velvet bag. He dumped the rune tiles it contained onto the table and meticulously laid all twenty-five out in even rows of five. Across the top row, as he always did, he placed in order: Water, Fire, Earth, Air, and Time. The other rows were less important, as he would be changing their placement numerous times.

Subin went to the bookcase at the far end of the library, climbed the ladder, and removed a leather-bound book called Tome of the Oracles. Subin had never seen a copy before. The rumor was that only eight were known to exist. The book felt cold to the touch. How strange, he thought.

Returning to his spot behind the mage, he waited.

"Bring me the Tome of the—"

Subin delighted in handing the book to Dugen before the latter finished speaking, but never let anything but a servile expression show on his face.

The mage took the book and, for a moment, stared at his underling, before setting the book below the tiles on the table. Without looking up, he asked, Do you know what this book is?

No, sir. Well, nothing beyond that it is magical and rare, Subin said evenly. It was the first time Dugen had ever asked him a question that wasn’t rhetorical.

I’ve not used it in years. Each of the three hundred pages is more valuable than your weight in gold. The mages who own the other copies, being the fools that they were, filled pages whenever a notion popped into their heads. Their lust for power and wealth was too great, and now their books are full. They have no more pages. Such poor foresight. They were lazy. You of all people should know about lazy.

Yes, sir. Lythen are the least motivated of the races.

The brutal honesty caught Dugen off guard. He liked to push the buttons of his assistants, to make them squirm, see what they were made of, and put them in their place.

Are you lazy?

On my own time, sir.

When you work for me, you don’t have any of your own time.

Then I guess, for now, the answer is no, Subin said in such a calm voice as to strip any tone of insolence out of the words.

You can be lazy when you’re dead. Now, I need to get back to this research.

Yes, sir.

Subin returned to his spot just as the door flew open.

A frightened messenger girl said, Sorry, my lord, but it’s an emergency. General Darnek sent me to tell you that—

Dugan flew up from his chair, and with a booming voice, said, You dare burst into my sanctum without knocking! He raised his wand over his head.

She screamed, No, please, don’t, and fell to the ground, bowing for forgiveness.

The wand crackled.

In a smooth voice, Subin asked, Would you like me to take care of this matter, sir, so that you can get back to work? and stepped between his boss and the girl.

Yes. Now, leave me alone.

The girl said, But I must tell you what…

Subin said, lowering his voice, You can tell me, outside. I’ll relay the general’s message, and nobody needs to have their internal organs splashed all about the floor, which I just cleaned.

Without another word, the girl went back out to the hall.

Subin followed and shut the door. Now, what is the general’s message?

A patrol to the west, past the Dread Forest, near the End Gate Arch—

What were they doing on that side of the forest?

I don’t know. I’m just the messenger.

Sorry. Please continue.

All but one of them were killed. The lone survivor made it back to the capital and reported that the attack was so swift, he barely escaped with his life. He didn’t know what it was that attacked him. The general demanded that Dugen come to his quarters. He wants Dugen to find out what sort of beast it was.

Please tell the general that Dugen is already working to figure out what attacked those men. He will send a message as soon as he knows anything.

How could he already be working on it?

Tell the general that Dugen means no disrespect by not coming in person, but he feels that time is of the essence in this case.

The messenger looked relieved and ran to the tower stairs.

Subin walked back to his spot and said nothing.

CHAPTER THREE

Subin had watched quietly for some time. His master had said nothing. There had only been mumbles and the shuffling of rune tiles. He was supposed to be learning the art of magic, but in the time he had been an apprentice, he had done little more than run errands and take abuse.

Dugen hovered over the blank page of the Tome of the Oracles, his quill in hand, and the runes scattered around the edges of the book. He had placed each one exactly where it needed to be, and yet his hand didn’t move.

Bring me some cucumber essence tea.

Subin said, I don’t believe that is one of the teas we have.

Get it from Gwendolyn at her herb shop, the Dancing Daisy, Dugen snarled and waved his hand to dismiss his apprentice.

It’s closed, but I’m sure I’ll be able to find her and get the tea. It may take a while, though, as she’s known to drink a bit after the sun goes down.

Leave, and don’t come back without the tea. I need it to clear my head.

Yes, I’ll try to hurry, Subin said, as he swung around and trotted through the door.

Once outside of the tower, he let his pace slacken a bit. There weren’t many times he was away from his boss, and he might have enough time to grab a drink; the Third Eye was just down the street from the Dancing Daisy. He walked through the tower plaza, where the five city mages had their spires, the grandest being Dugen’s. Next to the entrance to the castle keep, the tower plaza was a popular tourist destination.

To the east were the homes of dukes and bankers. South were the reputable business and theater sections. Subin was headed west to the enclave known as Dark Alleys, which wasn’t as much city as it was organic growth. Here the worker classes lived, including the stone masons, who spent what little free time they had building new houses on top of existing ones in a patchwork of craftsmanship that was both unsightly and beautiful.

It was a close-knit community, and the residents looked out for one another. In a den of scoundrels and thieves, an honest man was not to be trusted. Subin was not an honest man.

A pickpocket brushed past a gentleman coming from the brothel, tipping his hat to Subin and deftly slicing away the man’s coin purse. It’s a more natural motion with two hands, but the kid had a little bit of flair. The apprentice tipped his hat back with a smile.

Subin loved Dark Alleys. It had been his home, and more importantly, the streets had been his tutor. He learned to read from the madam at the brothel. The hide shop owner and head of the thieves’ guild had taught him to use a knife. And Frilina at the Third Eye had shown him kissing was an art.

She had also taught him that love was no small thing and her affection wasn’t to be had by just any old bloke. That was four years ago, and he still carried the smallest of torches for her.

All along the street, folks smiled and nodded. They were proud of Subin for making it out of the Alleys.

The door to the Dancing Daisy was