Summoned: Magic Comes to Whiteport Read online

  © Copyright 2017 by S.J. Madill

  All rights reserved

  Registration #1144476, CIPO

  No portion of this book may be reproduced, scanned, altered, or distributed in any commercial or non-commercial use without the express written consent of the author. Exception is made for quotes used in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to individuals, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover Credit: Deranged Doctor Design

  (http://www.derangeddoctordesign.com)

  Books by S.J. Madill

  Fantasy

  Summoned: Magic Comes to Whiteport

  Science Fiction

  HMCS Borealis series:

  Burnt Worlds

  Chosen One

  Loyalties

  Realm of Elinth

  Borealis #5 (coming soon)

  Acknowledgements

  Mike the poet, who replaces a good word with the perfect word.

  Lia the kaleidoscope, who helps characters become real people.

  DeVerne the genius, who makes sense out of an imagined world.

  Bill the visionary, whose ideas add richness and depth.

  To Mom,

  who believes.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Armoury

  Fist-sized rocks were still falling from the night sky when Sergeant Ralinn reached the square. He winced as a piece of brick clanged off his helmet.

  Downhill, near the outer wall of the fortress, smoke and flame poured from the ruins of a shattered building. After the explosion's deafening roar, there was now the incessant clattering of small stones and debris raining down around him. Amid the rubble, a man started to scream.

  Ralinn spat on the ground, and drew his sword. When he heard the pounding of boots approaching from behind him, he turned to look back uphill. Dozens of armoured soldiers were coming down the street toward him, the red glow of the fire reflected on their breastplates and helmets.

  "Bear Company!" he bellowed, his voice hoarse. "To me!"

  The troops began to form up around him. Some were missing their shields, while others were still pulling at the straps on their armour. All of them were watching him, their eyes wide and alert. Pebbles and grit continued to fall around them, striking helmets with sharp metallic pings. A thick cloud of dust was billowing up the hill toward them.

  Ralinn pointed at one of the soldiers. "Harson!" he yelled at the man. "Go to the keep. Tell the Captain that the armoury has been blown up. Tell him to call the Imperial Guard."

  The growing circle of soldiers parted, making a path for Harson, who saluted and broke into a run up the hill.

  A voice came from the back of the group of soldiers. "Where's Eagle Company, sir?"

  The sergeant shook his head. "They were at the armoury." He took a deep breath, and raised his voice. "Bear Company," he shouted, waving his sword in the air. "With me!"

  With the cries of "Bear!" behind him, Ralinn turned and started a fast march down the street. Smoke rose into the sky, and a wall of dust was flowing uphill to meet them. He ran into the dust, blinking as it stung his eyes

  The grit in the air became thicker, and Ralinn coughed as he stepped around a man-sized stone that lay embedded in the street. Somewhere off to his right, he heard a man moaning, and beyond that was the muffled sound of someone pleading for help.

  Clambering over a larger rock that half-blocked the street, Ralinn spat out a mouthful of dust. His stomach had started to twist on itself, and he found himself gripping his sword tighter.

  He paused in front of a massive piece of the armoury's front wall, the face of the stone still covered in faintly glowing runes. Ralinn shuffled sideways between the stone and the building at the side of the street, watching as the magical symbols slowly faded. When he was first stationed here, he'd been told that the runes on the building were cast by a High Mage builder, to render it invulnerable. Now he watched as the light of the powerful wards faded and winked out.

  Through the thick, gritty dust that filled the street, Sergeant Ralinn could make out the flickering light of the fire up ahead. They were close now; he took a moment to look behind him. His troops followed, their blinking eyes white against their dust-covered faces. The soldiers further back looked like slow-moving ghosts, shadows in the murk.

  Climbing over a section of fallen wall, Ralinn saw bodies piled on the other side. The smell of burning human flesh filled his nose as he recognised the breastplates of Eagle Company. A dozen or more of their soldiers, heaped against the wall like a handful of discarded toys.

  Ralinn licked his lips and tried to swallow, tasting grit and soot in his mouth. He said nothing, just motioned for his troops to follow him, as he crossed the last few steps to the armoury's back wall.

  He put his back against the stone, and watched his soldiers silently fall in beside him, with more of their comrades slowly emerging from the dust, climbing over the debris. Some of them paused to look at the bodies of Eagle Company, but most just glanced and kept moving.

  There was little sound here. No screams or moans of the dying, no pleas for help, just the faint hiss of grit and dust falling on their armour and the ground, and the crackling of distant fires. A few stones clattered nearby as the debris shifted.

  When most of his troops were with him, Ralinn put a finger to his lips to command silence, then began to shuffle sideways along the armoury wall. The soldiers of Bear Company followed.

  With his sword in his right hand, clenched so tight his wrist ached, Ralinn advanced along the outside of the armoury, keeping the stones of the wall on his left, brushing them with his fingertips as he moved. The intricate runes that covered the wall had all lost their blue glow, and now looked as still as the etchings on a tombstone.

  He reached the edge of the wall. The front half of the armoury was completely gone, its walls blasted outward and scattered across the grounds of the fortress. Glancing once more at the line of expectant, anxious faces behind him, Ralinn nodded. Taking a deep breath, he launched himself around the corner of the broken wall and into the armoury.

  The building was empty. What had been a massive stone building filled with racks of magical weapons and armour — enough to outfit an entire brigade — was now only a shell, three walls and no roof. The interior was bare: where there should have been full racks, there were now only the dust-covered tiles of the empty floor. Above him, the remaining rafters were afire, the dry wood crackling and pouring flame and smoke into the air. Beyond, the sky had begun to clear, and there were stars.

  In the far corner of the armoury, there was movement. The Sergeant could see a flicker of yellow-green light, with a reddish silhouette in front. He shifted his grip on his sword, his other hand clenching inside his glove, and slowly moved forward.

  As he stepped onto the tile floor, his troops began to enter the building behind him, fanning out on both sides. They kept pace with Ralinn, their swords at the ready, none of them speaking a word.

  Moving across the tiled floor, Ralinn could make out the shapes in the corner. A small, hunched figure, in flowing robes, stood in front of a flickering magical portal that swirled with yellow and green light. An ornate wooden rack, the last in the room, moved toward the portal. Covered in a hundred neatly-stored magical swords, the rack of weapons slid into the portal and vanished.

  The robed figure slowly turned toward Sergeant Ralinn and his soldiers, and took a step forward.

  At first, Ralinn thought the kind, creased face was that of his grandmother, but her eyes were sharp, and stared right through him. She wore robes of red and pink, elaborately tailored in flame-like patterns.

  Sergeant Ralinn felt the blood drain from h
is face, as a vast weight formed in the pit of his stomach. "Oh gods," he stammered. "High Warmage Banavia. Ma'am, what are you—"

  "Such brave young men and women," said Banavia, a sad smile on her face. "It's all my fault." She shrugged. "I was supposed to be gone before you arrived. I'm not as fast as I used to be." The High Warmage shook her head. "Never grow old, children. It's miserable."

  The Sergeant tried several times before his voice would come. "Ma'am, you can't… the Emperor will—"

  Banavia gave a dismissive wave. "He'll do what he always does, Sergeant: nothing." She paused a moment, then put her hands on her hips. "So now you've seen me… I'm so sorry, children. Please understand, it's nothing personal."

  The High Warmage swept her hands up into the air in front of her, and spoke a single syllable of an arcane language. Sergeant Ralinn heard himself scream as his body burst into flames. He dropped his sword, and put his hands to his face, hearing the screams of his troops sounding strangely distant. As he collapsed to the ground, his final thought was of his grandmother.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Katryn: Cabin

  Katryn stepped through the door and into the first-class skyship cabin. The thick red carpet felt spongy under her feet, and unsteady; she reached out to touch the doorframe for balance. Treading carefully, she set her bag down on a carved wooden bench.

  Reaching up one hand to push her long brown hair over her ear, she looked around the opulent stateroom. Beams of brilliant sunlight streamed in through the windows, glittering off the ornate brass fixtures and the gilded furniture. Overstuffed leather chairs surrounded a gleaming table topped with a golden bowl full of fruit. Against the far wall lounged an extravagant mountain of a bed, piled high with a carefully-arranged sea of silks, pillows, cushions and tassels.

  She paused, running her hair between her fingers. Her fingertips were still numb; she couldn’t feel her hair. Life – if it could be called that – was still returning to her body. It was frustrating, the delay between thought and movement, as though she were using someone else’s hands. Everything felt clumsy and slow, like waking up from a long sleep. It had been weeks now, since she had been brought back from death, and she still felt like a passenger in her own body. Not everything worked, not yet.

  That reminded her; she took a deep breath, and tried to smell the room. The room looked like a boudoir, a place of indolent living and affordable virtue, and she expected it to be heavily perfumed. Instead, she smelled nothing. Something else that had yet to return to life.

  She started as the door closed noisily behind her.

  "Gods, Kat! Look at this room."

  Donza had entered behind her, and Katryn watched as she surveyed the cabin they would share. The bright-eyed young woman tossed her own bag onto the floor, and put her hands on her hips. Her short, dark hair was a frenzied mess, and it framed the flawless, rosy-cheeked face.

  Donza’s eyes sparkled as she winked at Katryn. "Swanky, huh?" She walked past Katryn, shrugging out of her long, black leather coat, which she let fall into a rumpled mess on the red carpet. Plucking an apple from the bowl, she slumped into one of the deep upholstered chairs, crossing her legs on the table in front of her. Her boots were filthy with dirt.

  "Donza," chided Katryn. "You’re tracking mud on the carpet."

  Donza peered over the apple, looking at her boots as if just discovering she was wearing them. She grinned. "Just a little."

  Katryn took a carefully measured breath and sighed, walking over to the window and into the sunlight’s golden glow. Looking down, she swept specks of dust from her clothes. Her blue velvet coat swayed gently around her legs, and draped over the sword she wore underneath. Her embroidered tunic and breeches were clean and neat, and her polished boots sparkled in the sun. She remembered having a wardrobe full of clothes like these; families like hers put value in appearances, always wearing the latest fashions. But now, next to the comfortably rumpled Donza, she felt overdressed.

  She leaned forward into the sunlight, squinting as it shone on her face. "We’re a long way off the ground," she said. "How long until this thing leaves?"

  Donza was examining her fingernails, then set to chewing at a rough cuticle. "Any time now, I guess. Then it's just three days' flight to Whiteport."

  Katryn was still looking out the window. "The city's nice from up here."

  "Can you see the Imperial Palace?"

  She looked into the distance, over the landscape of rooftops and spires, decorated with flags and strings of prayer banners. In the hazy distance, back against the face of the mountain, were the graceful white towers of the palace. "Yes," said Katryn. "We never got a chance to go see it. No time."

  Donza paused between bites. "You sound… you know what? Let's come back. As a holiday. Maybe in the spring?"

  "I’d like that." She stood still a moment, in the sunbeam, her eyes on the slouching mage. Katryn felt warmth begin to spread through her face. She closed her eyes and smiled. "Donza," she whispered. "I feel it. Warmth. I can feel the sun on my face."

  Donza took another bite. "Great. That means it's working. You should get more feeling over the next few days."

  "Everywhere?"

  A grin. "Everywhere, Kat. But it means you'll feel pain, too. It was an all-or-nothing thing."

  "I understand. But what about my fingers? I still can't feel anything with my fingertips. I'm going to need to if—"

  "Kat, I've told you, this takes time." Donza pointed at her with an apple core. "Usually it takes weeks or months."

  "I don't have months. I don't even have weeks."

  "I know. And I'm doing what I can. But you need to be honest with me."

  Katryn shot her a look. "What is that supposed to mean?"

  The smile faded from Donza's face. "I know you're up all night, every night, while I'm sleeping. Hour after hour, you're practicing walking, and jumping around, and swinging your sword. And every morning you tell me how well you're doing."

  "But I am. I am doing well—"

  Donza shook her head. "You're pushing yourself too hard, Kat. It will all come back, in time. You have to rest it, give it time—"

  Katryn raised her voice. "I don't have time, Donza! I don't!" She jabbed one finger toward the window. "I've got less than a week to get to Whiteport. I need to get back there, get those bastards and get what's mine!" Glaring out the window, tightness pulled lines into her face. "My family—" she sputtered, "I don't have time for this." She turned to look at Donza.

  Donza shrugged, dropping the apple core on the table and picking up a new one from the bowl. "Don't have time to be dead?" Not an accusation, more of a statement. She took a slow bite of the apple.

  Katryn felt the warmth drain from her face, and the words hanging on her lips faded away. She pushed quietly away from the window, crossing the cabin to where Donza sat. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, putting a hand on the back of the chair. "I shouldn't… you've given me so much. You've given me everything I am right now."

  Donza took another bite. With her other hand, she reached over and patted the back of Katryn's hand. "Look, Kat. I know perfectly well what I've given you. And I don't expect you to spend the rest of your days thanking me for it. But—" she patted Katryn's hand again, "I do need you to be honest with me. Getting you going again was a lot of work, and it's not done yet. It's going to take time, and I want it to work properly." She took another bite. "Necromancy is complicated."

  "I know, Donza—"

  "I'm doing this for you. I want you to get what you're looking for."

  "It's just…" Katryn looked around the room as if hoping to find the words she was looking for. She stepped over to the other chair and carefully sat down. "When I woke up — can I even call it that? — I didn't feel anything. I saw my body on the table, and I saw you, but it was like watching someone else lying there. I couldn't move. When you weren't there, all I could do was think about everything that's happened, and everything I need to do. And all I could do for days was lie
there and wait. I felt so helpless. I wanted to scream."

  "Kat," said Donza quietly. "You're going to be fine. Trust me." She smiled. "Have you eaten anything?"

  "You said I couldn't."

  "Good. Just checking. No more need to eat or drink. Or sleep, as you've already noticed."

  Katryn slowly pushed herself back to her feet. "I never drank much—"

  "—You missed out—"

  "— But I liked eating." She walked back to stand in the sunbeam. "And sleeping. I really enjoyed sleeping."

  Donza's thin smile turned into a smirk. "Well, there are prices to be paid for things."

  "I know."

  "Even though you're pushing yourself — much more than I'd like — I admit you're doing very well." Donza held up one hand, ticking her fingers off with the other hand, still holding the apple. "Damage repaired. No scars. Normal body temperature. Normal heartbeat." She looked over at Katryn. "How's your sense of smell?"

  "I don't know. What does it smell like in here?"

  "Like a whorehouse. A classy one, but still—"

  "Then no, it's not working."

  Donza curled up the finger she had been about to tick off. "Well, you're still doing well. You're much further along than my previous experiments."

  Katryn raised an eyebrow. "Experiments? I'm an experiment?"

  "Turon's teeth, no! I had to practice too, you know. Spent years at it. You're my masterpiece, Kat. I'm so proud of you."

  "Stop that," said Katryn. She put her hands to her face. "Wait, am I blushing? By the gods, I can do that?"

  Donza laughed. "Masterpiece! Yes, you can. And, in time, more besides. You’ll sweat, and your hair and nails will grow, all that."