Aquamancer (mancer series Book 2) Read online

  “Have a safe and fruitful voyage,” called the Savannah Horses. “Come to visit us again!”

  “I wouldn’t want to go against them in a fight,” said the Otter, settling down on the middle thwart while the Wizard plied the long sweep. “Such great, frightening beasts! Only the Walruses of the Briney are more imposing and fierce looking.”

  “But the Horses were most kind and hospitable,” objected Douglas, setting the gondola into midstream. Their speed left a foaming wake behind them.

  “So are the Walruses, generally,” said the other, sleepily. “It’s just that they look rather intimidating.”

  Douglas scanned the river as far ahead as he could see. It remained very wide, still rather slow and deep, but straight running across the grassy plain. Far ahead these grasslands ended at a line of dark forest which came down to the water’s edge on both banks. Its dark band marched to the horizons both to the north and south.

  “We’ll spend tonight in the forest, I think,” he told the dozing Otter. “Looks like an oak wood, mostly.”

  “I wouldn’t know an oak from an acorn,” murmured Marbleheart.

  “You’ll learn soon enough,” said Douglas. “I wonder what Myrn is doing this beautiful morning.”

  ****

  In the sunny stone-flagged courtyard of Augurian’s Waterand Palace that afternoontide, Myrn struggled with a very difficult spell. If performed properly, it allowed her to lift, move about, and balance in midair a great, crystalline globe of water. Augurian had set her the task and left her to practice the required skills by herself.

  “Concentration is most important,” he had reminded her before he hastily left for other, drier parts.

  She began the spell carefully enough but, as she was thinking of Douglas and of being at Wizards’ High, her concentration was not as deep as it should have been. The globe of water wobbled and distorted erratically, bulging from side to side, then flew apart into sparkling droplets and doused her with sun-warmed water.

  “Bother!” sputtered the drenched Apprentice. “Drat and sturm!”

  “Ah, ah, ah!” cautioned a laughter-filled voice behind her. Spinning about angrily, she beheld Flarman Flowerstalk in brown traveling robes brushing water drops from his beard.

  “Magister!” cried the Flowring lass, delightedly. “You’re here at last! I’m so sorry about the wetting!”

  “It’s just harmless water. Now, if it had been fire...Well, I’m glad to find you immersed in your studies,” said Flarman, trying to look very serious about it all and failing completely. “Mooning over a certain runaway Journeyman, too, I surmise.”

  “Douglas is not a runaway!” Myrn insisted, snatching up a towel from a nearby bench and rubbing her long, black hair vigorously.

  “Joshing only, my wet, pet Apprentice!” Flarman said with a deep roar of a laugh. “No, perhaps not, but I haven’t heard a word from him since he left Westongue myself, and I wonder if you’ve done better.”

  “The last letter he wrote from Thornwood’s Sea House in Westongue,” said Myrn, giving the Fire Wizard a loving hug and a kiss and a dry corner of her towel. “Shouldn’t we ask Deka the Wraith to check up on him? He may need help, even now!”

  Augurian, hearing their voices in the fountain court, hurried down from his Water Tower workroom, smiling broadly, to welcome his oldest and best friend and fellow Wizard.

  “I have to keep her under tight rein or she would go dashing off to ‘check on’ that Journeyman of yours,” he told Flarman. “And her studies...”

  “Am I that bad?” wailed Myrn, looking truly downcast. “I try so very hard!”

  “No, no, you’re really very good and a remarkably apt pupil of magic. You just let your thoughts wander once in a while, like a moment ago.”

  “Oh, dear, did you see that? I almost had it.”

  “Good! Good, better, and best! How about some lunch, friends?” said Flarman. “Magically transporting so much mass is conducive to a large appetite.”

  He plucked three handfuls of water from the fountain and sent them spinning in slow orbits about his head. Augurian applauded mockingly—the two Wizards constantly teased and tested each other about the relative merits of each one’s specialty—and Myrn giggled in spite of herself.

  “After lunch we’ll get to work on Frigeon’s foul enchantment of the Busibodies of Blowheart, or whatever they’re called,” said the Fire Wizard, making the water balls change colors rapidly in turn, azure blue and magenta and bright green, and fly about him in three different directions at once.

  “Always thinking of your stomach!” admonished Augurian. “Fortunately, Myrn had no hand in preparing lunch.”

  “I can cook rings around our Wateranders!” exclaimed Myrn. ‘They think all great cuisine consists of coconuts, sweet potatoes, fish and pork roasted whole, wrapped in savory leaves and buried under a bonfire in wet sand!”

  “Flarman may test you on that one day soon,” warned her Master. “Come now! I must admit seeing Flarman’s ample girth makes me think of food also.”

  Flarman swirled the three bright globules of water high over their heads and let them arc down into the fountain basin to the sound of a minor-key musical chord, instead of dull plops.

  They strolled arm in arm across the courtyard to enter the Grand Reception Hall. On the terrace beyond, sarong-clad servants were swiftly setting a table for three in the shade of a mauve-and-blue-striped awning.

  “I think we’ll hear report from Douglas when he reaches Pfantas and finds our friend Cribblon, no sooner,” said Flarman to soothe Myrn and reassure Augurian. “Until then, he has just to behave himself and enjoy his travels through interesting new lands.”

  “I somehow doubt it will be all that easy,” said the Apprentice Water Adept. “I looked it up and asked some questions of the few people who know about Kingdom since the end of Last Battle. Bloody Brook can be treacherous in more ways than one, they all agreed. And since Last Battle, strange things have happened to the people and their land.”

  “Then you won’t be surprised if we don’t hear from the Journeyman today?” teased Flarman.

  “No, not surprised. Furious! We’d better hear from him by month’s end,” Myrn said, seriously. “Journeyman’s journeying or not, I’m not going to let anything happen to that man!”

  “Nor are we, pretty Apprentice,” said Augurian. “Pass the salt, please.”

  Chapter Seven

  Faerie Forest and Battleground

  Night and the outliers of the great oak forest came abeam at about the same moment. The river plunged in under the ancient oak trees, which arched over it like a black roof to a lightless tunnel.

  The forest has an air of watchfulness, neither menacing nor benevolent, Douglas felt in his bones.

  “It were best,” recommended Marbleheart, who also felt the watchfulness of the forest, “if we put off going into the woods until daylight. It’ll be deep-Sea dark, even at noontide in there.”

  “You’re right, of course,” said the Journeyman Wizard, swinging the bow of their boat over to the right bank. “I could easily light our way, but why call anyone’s attention to ourselves? It’s time to get some sleep and have a bite to eat, anyway.”

  “I’ve already eaten,” Marbleheart said. “Crayfish cocktail and watercress salad! Yummm!”

  Douglas was content with Waybread and the last bit of Pitchfork’s dried Valley beef. He built a small, hidden fire, mostly for company as the night air was warm, and turned his pocket handkerchief into a soft, woolly-warm blanket with the familiar, old spell remembered from his first journeyings with Flarman.

  “No need for a tent in this weather,” he told the Otter, who was standing by, wide eyed as always at the young Wizard’s everyday magicking.

  They sat in companionable silence, listening to the night bird calls and the croaking of frogs on the river marge. After a while, the Otter turned to Douglas.

  “How does this forest feel to you, Douglas?”

  The yo
ung man sat very still and breathed deeply.

  “There is a presence here, I deem,” he said at last. “What do you feel, Marbleheart? Animals are supposed to be more sensitive to such things.”

  The Otter trotted to the edge of the circle of light about their fire and stared off into the dark toward the great, spreading trees.

  “A presence, definitely. A watcher, I’d say.”

  “Not especially hostile, but definitely watchful,” agreed the Wizard. “Maybe I should...”

  He drew a leather case from his right sleeve, opened it, and studied its contents. Looking over his shoulder, the Otter saw the case was sectioned with loops of colored silk tape. In each loop nested a glass vial the size of a man’s little finger. Some were filled with powders: white or colored, fine or coarse. Others held clear or cloudy liquids, in many muted or bright colors. Some glowed faintly in the dark and others seemed to bubble or swirl slowly around and around in their vials.

  After studying their cryptic labels, Douglas carefully selected two of them; one of coarse white crystals, the other half-filled with an oily, greenish liquid.

  “These should do it,” he decided. Placing the vials on a flat place on the ground, he carefully unstoppered each, and allowed a drop of the liquid to fall on his palm and even more carefully dusted the greenish droplet with three tiny crystals.

  “Exactly a scant smidgen,” he explained to the Otter. ‘Too much will ruin the spell.”

  “Oh?” asked Marbleheart in awe. “What next?”

  “This,” said Douglas.

  He extended his hand over the middle of the fire and allowed the green globule, which had hardened into a tiny pebble of green with white striations, to drop into the hottest part of the fire.

  The pebble grew larger at once, floating in the smoke and heat of the fire like a toy balloon, until it suddenly burst with a musical ping.

  “I understand you are looking for information?” said a tiny Firefly, its tail flashing green, settling on Douglas’s left hand, where the chemicals had been mixed.

  “Yes, please, if you will be so kind,” Douglas replied, unsurprised.

  “Hoy!” exclaimed Marbleheart. He peered curiously at Firefly, who in return blinked his light in polite interest

  “Fire creatures are always at a Fire Wizard’s beck and call,” said the Firefly. “I’m proud to be of assistance to the pupil of Flarman Firemaster.”

  “We travel up Bloody Brook,” explained Douglas. “Through the dark oak forest and far beyond. Is there something we should know about this forest before we enter it?”

  “You’re right, of course,” said Firefly, beaming brightly. “This is the Forest of Forgetfulness, or Craylor Wendys in the Faerie tongue. My family has lived here since long before there was the Kingdom War. We lighted the way for those who went out each night of Last Battle to recover dead and wounded and those driven out of sanity during the dreadful fighting.”

  “Forest of Forgetfulness? I don’t seem to have run across that in my lessons,” said Douglas.

  “It’s one of the oldest forests of Faerie that were planted in the Very Beginning,” said the tiny fly, solemnly. “You’ve never heard anything about them because no one who goes into one, uninvited, can remember being there when he comes out. If he comes out, that is.”

  “Is there a way to go through and not lose your memory?” Marbleheart asked.

  “Oh, yes, it’s very simple! Go and politely ask permission to enter, and it’s almost always given.”

  “And if we don’t?” asked Marbleheart with morbid curiosity.

  “You’ll forget you ever were here, along with most of everything else you really care to remember.”

  “The danger is very great, you see,” Douglas explained to his companion. “You might forget how to swim or that you like to eat.”

  “That’s terrible! Who do we ask permission of, friend Firefly?”

  “At the near edge of the forest, on this side of the river, stands a hollow Sentinel Oak, a dozen yards apart from all the others. It’s extremely old, and inside lives a family of Woodland Elves who serve Faerie as wardens. Knock at the opening and when the Elf warden answers, politely ask him to obtain for you permission to pass through the Forest of Forgetfulness. Faeries are real sticklers for protocol.”

  “Thank you, Firefly,” said Douglas. “Can we offer you anything to eat or drink? How can we repay your enlightenment?”

  “Nothing, thank you, I’ve dined and was on my way to a fire dance rehearsal when I heard your call. Thank you just the same. It’s been a pleasure. Glad I could shed some light.”

  “We won’t keep you, then,” said Douglas, and they watched his tiny green tail light weave off between the dark trunks of the trees.

  “Handy, traveling with a Wizard,” commented Marbleheart as he snuggled down to sleep against Douglas’s hip.

  “Handy is what Wizards are all about,” yawned the Journeyman. “G’night, Otter!”

  But the Otter was already asleep.

  Douglas found the ancient, wildly twisted Sentinel Oak a few dozen steps beyond their campsite. He knocked against the bark beside a hole at shoulder height.

  An Elf, eight inches tall, dressed in brown mouse-skin breeches, a red felt jerkin, and wearing a floppy green cloth cap that came down over his ears, appeared at once. There was a pale green poplar leaf tucked as a napkin under his chin, and he clutched a fork in one hand and a knife in the other.

  “Sorry to interrupt your fast breaking, Watch Elf,” said Douglas, bowing. “Good morning, however!”

  “As good as you care to make it,” replied the watchman, politely. “What can I do for you while my griddle cakes are cooling?”

  “Simply that my companion and I beg permission to pass through this forest by way of the river.”

  The Elf swallowed the mouthful of pancake stuck on his fork and waved his knife at them while he chewed.

  “I’ll have to check with the Guardians,” he said, swallowing at last “With all these here Witches and Warlocks coming along the river, they’re getting especially strict. ‘Twill take an hour or so.”

  “There’s no hurry. Tell the Faerie Guardians I am Douglas Brightglade, Journeyman Pyromancer, student of Flarman Flowerstalk of Wizards’ High. They will have heard of him.”

  “Even I’ve heard of the Fire Wizard,” said the Elf, visibly impressed. “And of you, too, Douglas Brightglade.”

  “Word does seem to get around,” mused Douglas. “But I suppose the doings of the Faerie Queen are as interesting to ordinary fairies as the doings of Thornwood Duke and Prince Bryarmote are to their own peoples.”

  “Precisely,” agreed the Watch Elf with a nod. “I’ll ride at once to Faerie Hill in the forest.”

  “Oh, please! Finish your breakfast first,” Douglas urged him. “I can wait an hour or two.”

  “Absolutely not!” cried the Elf, pulling his leaf napkin from around his neck. “Ertalla! Ertalla!” he called over his shoulder. “I’m off to the Hill! Be right back! Entertain Lord Douglas while I’m away!”

  “That’s me wife, Ertalla,” he explained to Douglas. “She’ll be right up,” and he leaped on the back of a Bluebird who came to his whistle, and made a beeline for the center of the Forest.

  The Watch Elf returned in less than half an hour, accompanied by five Faerie warriors in full regalia, crimson and gold coats and tall bumblebee-fur shakoes held in place with golden chains. They rode unusually large, ruby-throated hummingbirds. The soldiers saluted Douglas crisply with long, thin lances as their mounts thrummed to a hovering halt before him.

  “Lord Douglas, Brightwing’s friend, we greet you!” cried their Officer. “We fought in Battle of Sea under Prince Aedh and remember you well. It’s a pleasure and an honor to welcome you to Craylor Wendys, the Royal Forest of Remembrance”

  “Thank you!” responded Douglas with a deep bow. “I thought it was called the Forest of Forgetfulness.”

  “It is—by our enemies,” expla
ined the Faerie warrior, relaxing his stiff posture. “Friends remember. We invite you to join us at our morning parade, which is about to begin. We’re here guarding one of the four Great Gateways to Faerie. The Gate lies within this hallowed Forest. Few Mortals have ever seen it, and fewer have passed through it.”

  “I would be honored, but unfortunately I’m on urgent business for the Fellowship of Wizards,” replied Douglas, shaking his head with regret. “And I suspect it’s best if even I don’t know where your Gateway is. It would be a secret shared, and, as Queen Marget once told me, a secret shared is no longer secret.”

  “Her wisdom is only surpassed by her graciousness,” said the guardian. “We truly regret that you are not able to stay awhile with us. As it is your wish, you have our full permission to pass through the Forest upon Bloody Brook. Nothing will stay your course. However, it were best if you and your companion did not set foot on dry ground beyond here until you emerge on the lea on the far side. There are certain pitfalls and snares set for the unwary intruder, you see. Perhaps we should send an escort with you...”

  “How far is it to the other edge of the forest?”

  “In Man-miles, exactly twenty-eight, by the river,” said the Faerie Guardian.

  “Then we should be beyond the upper edge before noontime,” decided Douglas, “and will have no need for escort nor reason to stop on our way, if the Brook is clear of obstructions.”

  “Bloody Brook is highly revered,” said the other. “It is kept free of snags here, natural or otherwise.”

  “Then I thank you and apologize again for not staying to visit,” said Douglas with another deep bow. “Give my best wishes to Her Majesty the Queen when you see her next, and to the Prince Consort. Her time of birthing must be very close.”

  “We expect word daily,” acknowledged the soldier.

  “And we must be on our way, unfortunately,” Douglas said. “I wish we could linger until you have heard.”

  The Faerie Guardians saluted with their sharp lances again and, executing a neat about-face aboard their metallic-green-and-red hummingbirds, disappeared into the forest’s daytime gloom.