The God-Stone War

Chapter 34

“You haven’t actually said how we are going to travel… have you?” asked Roland uncertainly.

I glanced back at him; we were ascending the stairs that led to the top of Traveler’s Pinnacle. “No, I don’t believe I did,” I agreed.

“The reason I mention it, is because we’re taking the stairs ‘up’, and if you intend to travel by horse, then we should probably be going down,” he said nervously.

I smiled at him, which did nothing to put him at ease. Of course I knew I was driving him mad with my reticence, but as it often did, dark circumstances brought out an equally dark sense of humor in me. Marc dying was certainly one of the darkest things I could imagine, though I was doing my best not to think about it. Instead I gave myself over to enjoying Roland’s unease.

“Unless we’re just going up to pick something up… before we leave,” he added anxiously. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“No,” I said.

“No, what?”

“We aren’t traveling by horse. It would take a week, assuming we didn’t get lost,” I replied.

He slipped for a moment on the stairs before catching his balance. “I didn’t realize you had already put a circle in Agraden,” he commented, clearly hoping that was the case. “Seems like the top of such a tall tower is an odd place to put a circle,” he observed.

I laughed, “It certainly would be.”

Emerging from the doorway, we found ourselves at the top of Traveler’s Pinnacle. As it often did, the view took my breath away for a moment. The wind at this height was fierce and it threatened to make us stumble as we moved into the open. There was no real danger, for we were still ten feet or more from the edge, and there were six foot stone battlements around the edges. Well, the merlons rose to six foot, with crenels four foot in height between them.

Roland looked distinctly pale.

“You don’t like heights very much do you?” I noted.

“Not at all,” he answered honestly.

He won’t like this then, I thought, and reaching into one of my enchanted pouches, I brought out a stone disc heavily marked with arcane symbols. Holding it in front of me I let go, using my power to keep it motionless in the air before me. “We need to step back a few feet,” I suggested, using my hand to indicate the direction we should move.

“Why did you ask about my fear of heights?” asked Roland.

I put a finger to my lips, “One moment, I need to concentrate.” Extending my staff, I used it to tap the stone disc where it hung six feet in front of us. It broke into twenty-eight separate pieces, which began to move steadily apart, maintaining a pattern relative to each other. They continued expanding even as we stepped further back, until they had formed a circular shape roughly twelve feet across. The edge of the circle was bounded by twelve pieces, while six pieces formed a hexagon three feet above the circle, and another six formed a similar shape below it. Fields of magical force filled the wide spaces between the stones, although they were entirely invisible to normal sight… such as Roland’s.

“What is that?” he asked wondrously, forgetting his fear for a moment. He saw only a collection of stones hovering in a strangely rigid formation. My senses showed me something a bit different; a disc-like polyhedron formed of magical planes of force, twelve foot across and four foot thick in the middle.

I hesitated to answer his question, for I knew the truth might cause him to panic. “Are you wearing your necklace?” I asked suddenly.

“Yes.”

“Would you let me see it for a moment?” I told him.

Uncertain, he reached into his shirt and pulled it out. I motioned for him to hand it over and waited as he struggled to unclasp it. Once he had placed it in my palm, I took him by the shoulders and said, “It’s a flying machine.”

“What!?” Roland’s expression was priceless.

“Well, it isn’t actually a ‘flying’ machine; it’s more of a force structure to protect us from the wind, while I move us through the air. Obviously if we just got inside and pushed it off, it would drop like a stone,” I said whimsically.

“Why are you telling me this? I’m not getting in that! I don’t need to know,” he shouted. His eyes were showing entirely too much white now.

I nodded understandingly. “I had to tell you. It would be unethical for me to take you on a trip like this without telling you how we would be traveling beforehand.”

“No need, I’ve decided to…,” he began.

“Shibal,” I muttered softly, leaning forward to catch Roland as he slumped toward the stone floor. “What were you saying?” I asked aloud. When he didn’t reply, I answered myself, “He seems to have fallen asleep.”

Uttering a command word, I caused one of the disc’s invisible panels to disappear for a moment, allowing me to drag Roland forward and place him carefully inside. He had quite a bit of muscle on him, so I was forced to use more magic to lift and guide him inside, otherwise it would have been a very awkward struggle. Sitting next to him inside, I closed the panel, sealing us within the strange device.

I hadn’t counted on Roland’s fear of heights. My bravado had more trouble overwhelming my own good sense when I didn’t have an audience. What I hadn’t told him, was the fact that I had never actually flown this creation of mine. There had been some discussion with Penny, who had strongly discouraged my flying ambitions. She seemed to feel that flying was firmly the province of birds, and not something to be trifled with by the likes of man. She counseled me that my children needed their father and that if I were to survive a crash of any sort, she would make sure that whatever remained inside my injured body, got its own chance to see the outside world.

She could be very poetic.

In truth however, I probably would have gone ahead with my ideas, if it weren’t for the fact that the notion made me nervous as well. My wife’s objections merely put the final nail in the coffin. I didn’t consider myself afraid of heights per se, but I had a healthy respect for them, and from what I had read in the Illeniel library, many wizards had suffered unexpectedly quick ends to their careers while experimenting with flying.

Perhaps I should run through the basics. Historically, wizards had found a number of different methods to achieve flight, the most basic involved simply using magic to control the air around them, using it to lift and move them. A common variation of this included altering the wizard’s mass; making it easier to fly… this involved its own extra problems though.

A few individuals had accomplished the task in a far different manner, primarily by transforming themselves, either wholly, or in part, into various naturally flying creatures. Most of those individuals had been members of the Gaelyn family, whose natural affinity for transformation magics was well known. Gareth Gaelyn for example, was still living, so to speak, albeit as a dragon. His refusal to return to being human was one excellent reason I wasn’t particularly interested in that method.

The only other methods all involved a variety of devices, either temporarily enspelled or permanently enchanted to solve some of the problems that went along with flight. Some of the most spectacular deaths had resulted from a few of those ideas, and a number of amazing triumphs as well. Geoffrey Mordan had purportedly created a sort of giant kite that allowed him to glide through the air at great speed, while conserving his magical strength for use in propelling him through the air and controlling the direction of his flight.

In fact, many of the most successful devices were flown by members of the Mordan family, not necessarily because of any particular skill in enchanting, but because of their family gift, which happened to be a sort of intuitive teleportation. Most members of the Mordan line could teleport virtually at will to any location they were able to see. Those with the greatest gifts could also transport themselves to any place they had been before. While teleportation was technically possible for any wizard, only the Mordan family seemed able to manage it without working through a whole slew of mathematical calculations. They seemed to be born with an intuitive ability to handle the calculations subconsciously, while the rest of us were forced to do by hand.

Because of that ability, they were able to survive many of the mistakes that violently ended other wizards’ aspirations for flight.

Another amazing success had been one of my ancestors, Demandred Illeniel, who had built an entire sailing ship that could fly. He had been a skilled enchanter and had invested almost five years of his life into designing and constructing the massive vessel. It had been modeled after a carrack and had supposedly been over a hundred feet in length with three masts for sails. Demandred had suffered a number of setbacks before finally getting his ship ‘sailing’ per se, largely because flying and sailing were very different endeavors, but he had eventually managed to adapt his design until it was workable. The end result made him famous for a number of years, until he finally set off on an expedition to explore the unknown wilds of the world. He had never returned.

I hadn’t been particularly enamored with any of their designs. Geoffrey Mordan’s style seemed likely to get me killed, and I had no intention of spending five years building a massive floating ship as Demandred had. There was also the fact that his ship was limited to the speed provided by the wind alone.

My idea had been to create something simple that would enable me to fly in the manner of a wizard who wasn’t using any outside devices. What I had created was essentially an aerodynamic shell that would protect me from wind and give me a much larger surface to push against with the wind. I could have done something similar with a temporary spell to create a shield around myself, but this allowed me to keep my attention firmly on controlling our flight and propelling us through the air. It also circumvented the biggest problem Geoffrey Mordan had complained of, which was that at a certain speed the wind buffeting him made it difficult to breathe.

“I hope you’re ready,” I said to my unconscious passenger, and then I began a spell that would allow me to control the wind around us. I could have done it more easily by speaking with the wind directly, but I didn’t intend to use my abilities as an archmage unless my own strength proved to be insufficient.

Quelling the fear that suddenly sent my heart surging into my throat, I used the wind to send my invisible craft rushing up and out over the wide world. My own fears had kept me from doing it before, but desperation had finally provided the impetus I needed.

Holy shit! What have I done!? screamed my inner voice. I might have shouted the words aloud, but my jaw was clenched so tightly I could do nothing to open it. The world beneath us was vivid and bright, as though it had been painted by a giant with a mad passion for color. Blue sky, white clouds, verdant fields, and everywhere the sun reflecting from surfaces that refused to be bound by simple colors. Adrenaline had sent my mind into overdrive, and the world was infused with a clarity that we often talk about but seldom experience.

The sensation of movement, of acceleration, was incredible, and I knew in that moment that I had discovered a new passion. The first minute passed, and my heart rate began to return to something a bit closer to normal as we raced along, driven by a wind that my mind pushed ever harder, giving us a speed unimaginable.

A viewer from the ground would have seen two men, one sitting and the other lying flat, moving rapidly across the sky, if they had noticed us at all. I gained altitude and speed rapidly, putting ever more force into the wind so as not to lose the feeling of acceleration. My face brightened, as I experienced a feeling of pure exhilaration such as I had never known.

The earth below us was moving by lazily, despite our prodigious speed, and I found myself fascinated by the vast distance between us and the ground. I should get closer and see how fast it appears to move then, I thought. Adjusting the wind, I applied a small downward pressure on the front of our ‘craft’ and discovered one of the reasons why so many wizards died trying to fly. Our speed at that point was impossible for me to calculate, but I’m sure it was many times faster than any bird I had ever seen flying, and when I applied my downward pressure at the front it caused my craft to dip suddenly.

The air that had been flowing smoothly over the top now hammered the oblique surface, and some of our forward motion was converted into a chaotic spin. Being only human, I tried to stop it, and my reactions made things worse. In less than a second, we went from flying smoothly at immense speed to dropping like a stone, spiraling and spinning out of control, and the violence of our uncontrolled flight rendered me incapable of knowing which way was ‘up’.

I had no way of knowing how much time was left before we struck the ground, but I was certain it would be sooner than I expected and probably with enough force to destroy any protections I might try to use. Even if I managed a shield that was strong enough to protect us, the violence of our stop would probably kill us anyway. I had learned that lesson first hand in treating the wounds of my knights who wore armor that was nigh invulnerable. The human body required gentle treatment.

Giving up my attempts to control our flight or stop the spin, I instead activated the second enchantment built into the stones that made up my nearly invisible craft. I had read the stories and concluded that there was a chance I might wind up in a situation such as this; though once we had started flying I hadn’t really believed it was possible. It had seemed so simple, and completely under my control. Thankfully my cautious nature had provided a possible means of survival.

The rapid spinning had thoroughly disoriented me, and I doubted I could have managed even a simple bit of magic at that point, but my enchantment only required the utterance of a single command word, ‘lyrtis’, which was Lycian for ‘feather’. The magic reduced our mass to a tenth of what it had previously been, and that meant the overall density of my twelve foot in diameter disc was now very low. We were still falling, but now air resistance was a much larger factor than gravity and inertia. The result was a rapid decline in our downward velocity and slowing of our spin. In no more than a few tens of seconds our spin stopped entirely, and our precipitous fall had become nothing more hazardous than the gentle decline of a leaf drifting in the wind.

As the stark terror receded from my mind, I became aware of a loud shrieking sound; though perhaps screaming would have been a better description. The turbulent brutality of our recent fall had awoken my passenger, who seemed none too happy about our current situation. His voice had already faded, largely owing to the fact that Roland’s lungs were empty, and he had thus far been unable to stop yelling long enough to draw a fresh lungful of air.

The younger son of the Lancasters looked to be in terrible condition. His face was marked with blood (probably from striking the walls of our craft while unconscious), and his eyes seemed on the verge of rolling up into his head. He is never going to forgive me for this, I told myself, but in reality I was more worried he might relay the tale of our near death to Penny.

“Calm down, everything is alright!” I shouted at him, in a voice that was guaranteed to do nothing more than increase his panic.

The words seemed to help. He stopped screaming long enough to take a long shuddering breath before yelling back at me, “What the fuck is going on?!”

“Don’t worry,” I told him, more calmly now, “We had a bad turn, but everything is better now.”

“How the hell did I get up here?” he shouted, “And what part of this is better? Are you mad?!” And then he threw up.

I’ll rephrase that, he didn’t just throw up. He projectile vomited. I’d almost swear he was aiming for me deliberately (which perhaps was justified). A warm deluge struck me full in the chest, and I fought my own recently abused stomach for control of its contents as well. I had always had a strong stomach though, and it didn’t fail me then.

“Dammit!” I cried out. The smell was terrible, and I knew I couldn’t fly the rest of the way to Agraden without cleaning myself off. “Now, I’m going to have to land!” I declared.

“Thank the gods!” said Roland, which irritated me even more.

“Go back to sleep,” I told him, and then I made certain of it. I knew if I landed, I’d never get him back aboard, so I figured I’d pre-empt his refusal.

Letting the magical craft continue its descent, we landed gently in a small field near a farmer’s croft. Roland was dozing comfortably, and thanks to his strong stomach muscles, most of the contents of his belly had landed on me. The rest wound up on the ground when I dismissed the enchantment that created the fields between the stones of my airship. I lowered Roland gently to a nice grassy spot, while the stones moved slowly back together; reforming the small stone disc they had originally been a part of. Once it was complete, I slipped it back into my pouch.

Using magic I cleaned my clothing as well as I could, but somehow the smell lingered. I needed water. I probably could have brought some up from beneath the ground, or created a small downpour, but sometimes simple was the best solution. I left Roland snoozing and walked to the farmer’s house.

As I approached I saw an old man in the yard, carrying a heavy bucket toward a pen. At a guess he was taking slop to the pigs. He stopped when he saw me walking up and waved at me. “Hallo, young man!” he said cheerfully, as if I were an old acquaintance rather than a complete stranger.

I smiled back, “Hello, old man!”

“Oh! You’re not Sammy,” he said abruptly.

“I’m afraid not,” I admitted, “I’m just a traveler looking for a bit of water.”

“There’s a pump over there. You’re welcome to help yourself,” he replied genially, before lifting his bucket again. The weight of it was a problem, and I could see he had struggled to get it this far.

“Let me get that,” I offered, and after a moment’s resistance he let me have it.

“I guess it’s alright to let you young ones help out now and then,” he said, as I carried it over to the pen and emptied the contents into a slop trough for the pigs.

I came back and put the empty bucket near his front door. “It’s the least I could do since you’re sharing your water with me.”

“That’s nothing I wouldn’t do for anybody, and you smell like you could use some,” he answered, wrinkling his nose.

I took a moment to look him over. His hair was mostly gone, leaving his pate bare, and what was left sprouted in gray tufts around the sides of his head. His eyes were a soft brown, but they wandered as he spoke, as though he were having trouble deciding where they should rest. I had no idea of his age, but he appeared to be quite old, possibly into his eighties, which was a very respectable age for someone living such a hard life.

I washed my face and considered removing my shirt so that it could be rinsed, but the prospect of wearing wet clothes wasn’t particularly appealing. Perhaps I could dry it afterward using magic.

While I considered my options the old man came closer, “You smell like dog vomit,” he said helpfully. “Let me get you another shirt.”

His offer was generous. Clothing wasn’t cheap, especially for a poor farmer. His age made me suspect his wife was probably already gone, and my senses had already confirmed that we were the only people within a mile or two of his home, aside from Roland. “You don’t have to do that,” I replied hastily.

“Nonsense, you don’t want to keep wearing those things. Do you need some pants as well? I think you might be close to my son’s size,” he said.

The mention of children made me feel a bit better. “Is he the one you mistook me for?” I asked.

“Yeh, it is. He comes to visit me now and again, just to check on his old dad. He and his wife live about ten miles off… down that way,” he said, pointing in a generally westerly direction.

We talked for a few minutes and I eventually accepted his offer, on the condition that he keep my own shirt and trousers in return for his extras. They were of a much higher quality material than his own, so I hoped he would benefit from the trade. The clothes he gave me were rough but clean and they fit well enough, although the pants were a bit short for my long legs.

During the course of our conversation, I determined that his eyesight was severely limited, though his ears and nose were sharp enough. He hadn’t noticed the crest sewn into my shirt or the quality of my other belongings. That alone would have tipped off most people regarding my social stature, but I appreciated being treated as a normal person for a change. I couldn’t help but wonder if my own father might have been similar in demeanor if he had reached such an age.

After I had changed, I spent a few minutes talking to the old man while I tried to think of some way of repaying his kindness. I could have left a few pieces of gold but he’d probably have had some difficulty spending them without being robbed.

“You’re not from around here are you?” he asked, breaking my train of thought.

“No sir, I live in Washbrook, in the county of Cameron. It’s way to the north of here, near the border with Gododdin,” I answered honestly.

The old man’s eyebrows went up, “You really are a far ways from home. Did you travel by that new road the Count is building?”

“The World Road?” I said, surprised.

He nodded, “I think that’s what they’re calling it. It’s supposed to open up the whole world. That wizard, the Count di’Cameron, is building it. Leastwise that’s what my Sammy told me last year.”

“It isn’t open yet,” I told him, “but I have heard that it should be soon. What do you think of it?” I was curious now. It was rare that I got the opinions of someone who didn’t have good cause to want to please me. As we talked, I quietly focused my attention on his eyes, seeking the cause for his poor vision.

“Thought it was mad at first and my son did as well, but then he don’t like the Count much neither,” he said.

“Why’s that?”

“He’s a god fearin’ man, was devoted to Celior before the church started having such troubles. He blames the Count; says the wizard killed his god, and that it’ll bring doom on all our heads,” explained the farmer.

I nodded, “I’ve heard that. What do you think?”

“Heh! I love me son, but he never was too bright. No way could any man kill a god. I’ve been around long enough to know how stories is… they get bigger with each tellin’. Whatever’s wrong with the church is probably its own fault or mebbe’ the fault of our heretic king.”

That got my attention, “Heretic king? Are people saying that?”

The old man laughed, “People say all sorts o’ stupid things. They say his son was favored by the Lady o’ the Evenin’ Star and that he turned his back on her. I dunno if that’s true, but his father, our king, did toss the churches out o’ Albamarl,” said the old man, before adding, “That’s enough to make him a heretic, if’n you care what the churches think anyhow.”

“You don’t sound as if you think much of the churches,” I observed.

The farmer spit on the ground, “They never put no food on my table, and they wouldn’t come when Mary was sick. That’s my wife mind you… lost her almost twenty years ago now. She was always a pious woman, but they din’t show their heads around here when she was ill. That wizard my son’s always goin’ on about, least he did something useful.”

“What did you say your name was?” I asked.

“I din’t, but my friends call me Buck, Buck Shadley,” he said amiably. “Anyways, that wizard, he fought off the armies o’ Gododdin’, an that was accordin’ to the old king, who didn’t seem to care much for him, so you can bet it was the truth. I dunno if I believe the stories about this road they’re buildin’, but if it’s true, it can’t help but be good.”

“How’s that?”

“If you’ve ever hauled your harvest to market, you’d understand. A road like that makes it better for everyone and easier to sell food where it’s needed, though ‘m sure the ones makin’ the biggest profits will be the merchants.”

“You think it will help you out?”

Buck laughed, “I’m too old to do much or gain much, but it’d be a blessin’ for my children who still have a lot of livin’ left to do.”

I coughed before standing up. “That might be true. It’s been a pleasure talking to you, Buck. I don’t suppose you’d let me pay you for the clothes? I have to be on my way.”

“Nah, I wasn’t usin’ ‘em, and Sam’s got his own wife to sew and darn for him. My other kids are too far away to visit. You keep ‘em and I’ll be happy knowin’ they’re getting some use,” said old Buck. “Sides, I’m too old to spend it.”

I handed him a small pouch of coins. “Take this then,” I told him.

“I told you I din’t need any payment,” he protested.

“It’s a gift… for Sam,” I explained. “Thank you for talking to me.” Somehow the old man’s words had made me feel much better about things. I might not have a solution for all the world’s ills, but at least a few people thought I might be doing something good.

“Hmmph, alright then, though it don’t seem right to take a payment for simple hospitality.”

I smiled at him, “It was getting too heavy to carry anyway. Take care of yourself, Buck.” I picked up my staff and started walking back toward where I had left Roland. I didn’t turn back, but my magesight showed me that the old man was watching me until the trees obscured his vision.

I wondered how long it would be before he noticed that his eyesight had improved.