Day Three Parts 3 & 4

“Anjii, he’s infested,” the second man’s voice came to Banya and he squinted through his sore eyes to try and see his rescuers.
“Harry we need Lyria’s expertise to treat this mess,” her soft aside still reached Banya; he tried to speak to tell them his uncle could help, he was only as hour away if they hurried.
He found himself scooped up and being carried as if a small child and his first thought of a giant came back to him. They had not gone far when he heard the crackle of a fire and other people talking around him. His mouth was opened and a voice told him not to swallow the liquid they were pouring in but to spit it out after thoroughly rinsing his mouth.
Liquid fire hit the back of his throat and he gagged before swilling as instructed. He spat and felt his tongue shriveling from whatever had coated it.
“Aaagh,” he took a shallow breath just before his mouth was forced open,
“Again,” the woman spoke and his mouth was once more filled with the same burning liquid. He swilled and before he could spit this time was told to hold it and count to a hundred. His lungs burned by the time he reached twenty-five, at fifty his eyes had regained their ability to water, by seventy-five he was seeing stars as his life began to flash before his eyes. One hundred and he was on his knees retching and spitting the evil potion into the hard baked clay.
“Here,” a different youthful voice, higher than the others but still masculine spoke and he felt his body being raised as someone poured ice cold water into his mouth; once more he was told to swill it around and spit before he was finally given a long cool drink and allowed to swallow.
The fire crackled noisily disturbing him and in a daze he watched through his barely open lids as a man in a grey robe stood in front of it. He was old, far older than anyone Banya had ever seen in his short life before but, his movements were of a much younger man.
He held a curiously carved staff, blackened with age and strange symbols covered it, inviting the eyes of unwary people to try and read it. As Banya studied it a wave of nausea flowed over him and the old man shook his head, twisting the staff out of sight until Banya felt his stomach settle. He looked down at Banya who gasped in fright at a pair of strange silver eyes looking down at him.
“Not to worry boy we will soon have you sorted,” as he finished speaking he cast a handful of a strange powder into the fire, murmuring strange words which the youth had never heard before.
A sheet of flame shot at least twenty feet into the air causing Banya to cower away in fear. The old man laughed once at his fear, then spoke firmly into the fire.
“Lyria dear girl are you there?” Banya held his breath knowing something special was happening, but unable to explain how.
“What do you want Orlan?” the musical tones that made up the answering voice made him shiver; he had not heard anyone here speak like that.
“Dear girl we need your expertise and advice most urgently. There is a young man here, little more than a child really so what he was doing out alone in the swamp I really don’t know,” Banya stiffened indignantly. He was no child to be patronised like this.
“Orlan get on with it you are waffling,” the voice gurgled and made the old man pause, causing even more wrinkles to furrow his brow,
“Yes well, harrumph, like I said this young man needs your immediate attention; he has come through the swamp and is infested with the black gnat. I truly believe that only your not inconsiderable skills will save him.” He finished abruptly and Banya found himself holding his breath in anticipation of something special happening next.
Orlan closed his eyes momentarily in concentration before speaking softly,
“I speak to the Guardian of the Flames; I seek a boon and your protection for the person wishing to cross your barriers.”
Again he sprinkled the strange powder before murmuring softly a promise to keep the sacred flame alight forever; he glanced at the youth who was open mouthed in awe; Orlan’s eyes had changed colour, from silver to crimson as the magick he had created drew on his own blood for power.
The sheet of flame rising from the fire shimmered eerily; before Banya could blink an elegant, slim, shapely leg poked through the flames to rest firmly on the dirt floor, followed almost immediately by the rest of the body and, within a minute he found himself squinting into the strange violet eyes of a feyhrine woman.
Her dress was pale grey, made of a filmy fabric which clung to her perfect limbs. He was startled that it hadn’t catch fire as it drifted around her. Banya felt his hair stand on end – Old Magick! He had heard tales but dismissed them as mythical stuff and nonsense, made up by elders to frighten mischievous children.
His heart pounded and his palms grew damp, he knew that there were still the odd fey born. His mother had told him of a healer who had journeyed from the most distant village of Durrh when he was struggling to be born and she had saved his life. She claimed she had heard the child’s cries while he was still firmly entrenched in the womb which was the only explanation for her timely arrival. Before Banya’s parents could even ask her name or how to thank her, she had disappeared quietly into the night, her voice drifting on the wind as she sang her thanks to the Old Ones.
The birth cord had been tangled around his neck and without her help both he and his mother would have died. There was a mark which had been made as the knife had nicked his fragile skin; his mother was always dropping a kiss there as without the use of the knife he would most certainly be dead and burned. This woman could only be the daughter of the one who had delivered him; she was too young to be anything else.
******
Ship’s carpenters were usually not hard pressed at the start of a voyage and were unappreciative of the early morning wakeup call they had received. It took them less than half an hour to start work and the High Warlord was woken by the sound of industrious hammering and sawing coming from the stern of his flagship.
Leaving his quarters he noticed Geron was missing and frowned, before ascending up to the highest point on deck from where he could observe the work. He missed the small lad who had been watching for him and who scampered away, first to the galley to order his breakfast and then to tell Geron he had done as asked.
For the first time the boy was happy and had decided that hero worship of the Warlords personal servant could be a good thing. Geron had noticed his small shadow and decided to make use of him so had give him specific instructions. If the boy managed to obey he could be useful in the future.
As Azhmel wandered around he was surprised by the sudden appearance of a small table and chair, followed by the chef bringing a portable stove where he proceeded to cook his breakfast. He recognised signs that his servant was not being remiss in his duties and would withhold punishment for the moment.
Geron appeared as he was finishing his meal and he nodded towards the water flagon waiting for Azhmel’s approval before he poured himself a glass and drained it, the rest of the flagon was poured over his head rinsing the stinging perspiration from his eyes and cooling him down.
The Warlord chose to be amused and wondered if there was no-one else left to do any work? Geron snorted and grimaced before speaking.
“Apologies Sire but I am afraid you won’t be able to ride till later today.”
Azhmel waited, it was rare that Geron could not complete a task on time so wanted the rest of the explanation before speaking. Geron encouraged him to come and view where they were working as he told of the difficulties in getting frightened horses back on solid ground.
He knew the Warlord treasured his own horse and built on the idea that Fury was at risk of serious injury, or even death and breathed a sigh of relief when the Warlord agreed that he had once more taken the correct action.
“I will go down and speak to the new Mage Terrill … he may have a progress report for me.” Geron nodded unhappily and Azhmel noticed his expression.
“What is causing the face?” he flicked his fingers at Geron and listened as the man explained he needed to supervise the workers but was unhappy at the Warlord going below deck without his protection.
Azhmel laughed softly amused that after all these years Geron still was unaware that he was capable of defending himself.
“Send for the Mage to some here then. Tell him to bring his documents. I may as well make myself useful too,” he smiled sardonically at Geron,
“We will stay here in full view of everyone. If there is any trouble then I am sure one of my loyal soldiers will jump to my defence.” Geron agreed to this and once more Col found himself racing around the ship, happy that he had proved himself to be indispensible once more.
Terrill was dead tired. He had been awake since leaving the Warlord. He had read every scrap of paper, manuscript, scroll and book and was still no nearer finding out how they had set sail from the most northern port on Qol one day and found themselves here, nearly wrecked on the most vicious reef he had ever seen the next.
He rubbed his face tiredly and was just contemplating a nap when a scratching sound from outside the door caught his attention. Standing up, he moved softly to the door and snatched it open.
Standing there was the smallest member of the crew, Col.
“If’n it please your Mageship, zur, I be ‘avin’ to asks ya, to attend his ‘ighness the Warlord, and zur, you mun bring wid ee any fing which moight help wid our sit- e - ation” he grinned showing the gap where he had recently lost two teeth, pleased he had remembered the entire message.
Terrill looked down at him, his tired brain taking a few minutes to work out what was being asked of him. Across the corridor Glinn had opened his door listening to the boy’s request. He had come and spoke to the Mage many times throughout the night, exchanging the books and papers so different eyes may examine them, hoping to see something the other had missed.
Terrill looked up and saw the query in the youth’s eyes, he also noted the fear which he was trying hard not to show. He had pressed Terrill to go and examine the strange cargo and he had put it off, now it could be too late.
“Glinn, “Terrill made an immediate decision, hoping that the youth would have the ability to recognise anything useful and fetch him immediately,
“You must go and investigate on your own. If you don’t feel safe then I suggest you get one of the others. I must go and try to placate Him…” as he spoke he decided to take everything for Azhmel to examine. He had worked with Mage Gwinn for many years so there could be an outside chance that he would recognise something to help.
Piling scrolls and manuscripts onto the small boy’s outstretched arms he gathered up as many books as he could carry then indicated for the child to lead the way.
******
Lyria carried a large basket as she emerged from the flames and, after dropping a gentle kiss on the old man’s cheek firmly encouraged him to sit down and rest; the others apparently knew her well as they nodded their greetings keeping out of her way.
Banya could barely make out a man and woman standing in a soft embrace; they must have been his first rescuers. Further along there was a younger man backed my an enormous giant, at least seven feet tall he towered head and shoulders above everyone else. The old priest was seated on a broken tree stump in front of the fire. All were concentrating on the fey, Lyria.
Kneeling at Banya’s side, her strange violet eyes studied him unblinkingly for a long moment. He held his breath as she lifted a delicate hand and lifted his chin, looking first into his eyes, then at his nose and finally in his ears.
She wrinkled her delicate nose at a smell which appeared to offend her sensibilities. Then, gently squeezing on his cheeks she opened his mouth and finally gave a satisfied nod.
“Who amongst my friends has damned himself by carrying Kvass?” her lyrical voice carried across the ground and a deep voice chuckled heartily before confessing his guilt. Banya identified the voice as belonging to the giant. Lyria shook her head despairingly – Kvass would kill or blind anyone foolish enough to drink it if it was not properly brewed. She could only hope this batch was safe.
The giant of a man moved closer to the fire and Banya looking at his powerful muscles knew he had nearly single handedly pulled him form a watery grave in the quicksand. He still had not spoken to any of his rescuers but was comforted by the sound of their talking in the background.
Lyria held her hand out imperiously and the flask of Kvass was placed into her palm. Opening the basket she took out a wooden bowl and poured a generous quantity of the potent brew into the base. Ignoring the outstretched hand she put the flask in her basket, pulling the lid tightly down, and the gigantic man rolled his eyes in disgust before turning away.
“Open,” she spoke absently to Banya and he watched stunned as she placed a small cool stone under his tongue. Within seconds his mouth had began to salivate; the rawness of the uncut alcohol being soothed away. He squinted to watch as she added something which looked like ground up cactus and a generous amount of a white powder into the bowl.
“Hold him.” Her voice was terse and Banya was grabbed from behind by two pairs of strong hands. He had missed the signal she gave to her old friends Harry and Anjii. The giant gripped his legs tightly and Banya clenched his muscles. Whatever she was going to do, he knew he was not going to like it.
Lifting a curiously shaped glass tube from her basket, she put the tip in the liquid then, gently sucked enough to half fill the tube before sliding the tip of her finger on the opening. A brief glimpse of the other woman’s ruefully smiling face was all he saw, as his head was ruthlessly turned on its side and Lyria then let the liquid trickle into his ear, filling it to the rim.
It took a few moments before he felt anything. The canal inside was solid with the black gnats so it was with some difficulty that the thick viscous liquid seeped through to the bottom.
Starting as a strange itch deep inside, Banya found himself trying to shake his head, much as a dog does when a fly gets to his ears. Harry and Anjii held him even tighter as the itch began to tickle the back of his throat before it began to burn. Intense agony shot through his head; his back arched and he cried out, spitting the stone he held in his mouth away. His body shook violently, and his eyes rolled around for long minutes.
Vaguely he became aware of Anjii talking soothingly to him; her voice was so calm that he trusted she knew what the other woman was doing. Finally he heard a strange crackling noise deep in his ear and knew the liquid had reached the end of its journey.
Lyria stood over him and he could not see the pain in her face as she signaled the others to hold him even tighter. She stepped away and he was unable to see what she did next. The smell of burning hair and skin engulfed him and to his horror he realised she had ignited the liquid inside his ear and it was now burning deep into his head.
This time when he arched in pain, his body lifted from the floor and he managed to free an arm which he moved towards his head. Another hand, smaller, but strong none the less, grabbed his and held it down; the screams escaping his tortured throat grew louder and louder, before he suddenly passed out.
“Thank the Gods,” the giant of a man was ashen, never before having seen Lyria at work, he now eyed her as if she was suddenly become a poisonous snake.
“Was that absolutely necessary?” his deep voice rumbled at her and she looked at him with surprise.
“Varon!” Indignation oozed from every pore in her body,
“I am very disappointed with you. I would never do anything unless it was absolutely necessary,” her look caused the big man to hang is head shamefaced.
“Quickly, quickly now, we must turn him over and do the same to his other ear. With any luck he will remain unconscious; poor, poor, Banya.”
Lyria urged everyone to hurry and they all went slightly green around the gills at the thought of inflicting more pain on the youth.
Luckily he stayed unconscious while they did that and also whilst she made a slightly weaker thicker treatment to cover his eyes, and nose with. It was impossible for her to ignite the alcohol in these tender areas so she could only pray that all the gnats had died when her concoctions touched them. Opening his mouth she replaced the stone underneath his tongue, telling Anjii to make certain he did not lose it again; the stone should stay with him for the rest of his natural life, however long that might be.
“Good pieces of amber are hard to find; once I give it to a patient it belongs to them so do not let him waste it’s power” she grumbled good naturedly.
She then placed large, thinly cut slices from the insides of the agave cactus onto his eyes, bandaging them firmly to prevent any light entering. Her back ached by the time she had finished. The black gnat infestation was destroyed of that she was certain, as was most of his sight, sense of smell and sense of taste. He would be able to hear which a small blessing was considering the alternative was death.
******
The Warlord stood gazing out to see when Terrill and his small assistant arrived on deck. Col cast a frightened look at the Warlords back and hastily dumped his burden on the floor before fleeing to find Geron.
Terrill took his time arranging things for the Warlord to inspect, then as the day began to get hot cleared his throat tentatively to attract his attention. Taking a last long look at the empty horizon the Warlord turned and gave no inclination of his thoughts. His face showed its usual impassivity.
“What progress have...” he began and Terrill nervously interrupted him,
“I have to confess Sire that we have not succeeded in finding out anything. I don’t know how Mage Gwinn brought us here, wherever here is, so have no idea at all how to get us back.” On his way he had decided to confess his ignorance. That was easier for the Warlord to forgive than incompetence.
He lifted his head and his strange black eyes looked directly at the Warlord. He had found in the past that many people were unnerved by a direct gaze so thought to test it on his Lord.
Azhmel showed no sign of discomfiture, he was aware of Terrill’s need to try and establish some form of control to the difficult circumstances but was unwilling to allow him any leeway. He was the High Warlord with supreme control and Terrill would soon realise that all his powerplay tricks would not succeed.
As Terrill stood waiting for a sign that he had managed to influence the Warlord, he suddenly found the situation had been reversed. The Warlords eyes took on hardness and began to glitter oddly, Terrill realised that for the moment he had met his match and capitulated. He swallowed hard, his Adams apple bobbing nervously before dipping his head and pretending to concentrate on a particularly complicated passage in a book.
Azhmel knew these books by heart; he had furnished the Mage College with them, and he did not believe there was anything in them to help their situation.
“There must be some reason we ended up on this world,” he spoke abruptly and Terrill frowned slightly listening.
“This was our fifth expedition under the guidance of Gwinn, four went perfectly, and no mishaps so why are we here?” Terrill looked at him blankly unsure of his meaning.
“Is there something here, on this world which… which attracted us? Some form of lodestone perhaps, which pulled us from where we were to where we are” Azhmel voiced what he had been thinking since they first arrived here.
Chewing on his lip Terrill stood up mind flicking over the possibilities. The explanation as yet was unknown to him but, the more he thought of their current predicament the more he realised that the High Warlord could be right.
A flicker of excitement flowed through him, was it possible that his search could nearly be over?