Drifter Mage Read online

  DRIFTER MAGE

  by

  P M F JOHNSON

  Copyright 2013 P M F Johnson

  Dedicated to Sandra Rector Johnson, the light of my life.

  Chapter One

  Fist-sized whirligigs floated through the scattered trees, their silver-blue, metallic skin reflecting the early rays of the sun as they turned like corkscrews through the air, each beautiful, each magical, and each with a razor-sharp ridge that spiraled around its body, dangerous for the unwary.

  Deebin Parten pursed his lips as he considered the herd of whirligigs that had overtaken them in the night. He set another stick on the fire. Whirligigs avoided fire, and despite their razor-sharp ridges they generally didn't attack mortals, so why were these in so close? He saw none on the open prairie to the north, the direction the wagon was pointed.

  "Deeb?" asked his wife Mara, descending the stepladder from the wagon. "Are you worried?" Mara Parten was redheaded, tall for a human woman and unusually pretty, but very practical.

  Deeb gestured at the uncanny creatures, drifting closer. "I thought we'd outrun them by now." He shook his head. "This whole region is wilderness. I shouldn't have..." His voice trailed off.

  "What, then?" she challenged him. "You should have stayed in Thehar and died like your brothers? You have Galle and me to think of. They would have killed us too."

  "Papa, someone's out there." Galle shaded his eyes, looking out at the low hills eastwards, and came to stand beside his mother. Galle mostly acted old beyond his years, a slender, eleven-year-old boy.

  Deeb felt pride looking at him, then concern. What sort of life was he leading them into?

  The stranger rode up slowly as the whirligigs separated around him, keeping their distance. He was a wide-shouldered human on a dun horse that looked as tough as he did, and he carried his war staff like an extension of his arm. The glow of power from his staff was noticeable even in the morning light. The drifter mage halted a few dozen paces out, glancing at everything in their camp, cautious as a wolf. "Hoping you might have a cup of pimien coffee."

  He looked wild, even dangerous, but Deeb would observe the civilities even so, and waved him forward. "Ride in, then, and welcome."

  The stranger rode up and dismounted, keeping his staff in hand. On seeing Mara and Galle, he bowed. "Sorry to intrude, folks, but I've been riding far, and no coffee in a few days."

  Mara began cutting extra slices of rizzi into her frying pan. "We'd be glad to have you join us for a meal."

  "That's right kind. Thank you."

  "I am Deeb Parten. This is my wife Mara, and son Galle."

  "Pleasure's mine," said the stranger. He picked up a bucket, went to fetch water from the stream. Returning, he nodded at their wagon. "New to the Wilderlands?"

  "We've not been out here before, no." Deeb admitted.

  "Not going far, then."

  "To the mountains up north, we were thinking."

  "Won't get far with that weight of magic in the wagon."

  Deeb was astonished. "How did you know what we're carrying?"

  "Solid magic has a feel to it some creatures out here sense easy as you'd see a flame at night." He took a cup of the tangy pimien coffee.

  "Is that how the whirligigs found us?" Galle asked, always curious.

  The man nodded. "That'll make them anxious. Daring, even. They feed on magic. Storms and such, mostly. They'll be sizing you up, now."

  "We intend to make it through," Deeb stated coolly. "We are aware there are dangers."

  Mara admitted to herself the stranger was quite handsome, despite his unshaven cheeks. If you looked past his old clothes, frayed at the edges, he carried himself with an easy confidence and a sense of tremendous, hidden power. He was obviously a mage. She wondered what his history was.

  "This is right tasty." The stranger finished his coffee, poured himself more. "You ever driven a team across the prairie like this, no road?"

  "I have not," Deeb said.

  "Thick as the grass is, it's hard drawin' for your mules, so they won't make much speed. Make you easier targets. Sooner or late the whirligigs'll decide you can't hurt 'em, then they'll be at you from all sides at once. Seen the results a few times."

  A sad look briefly crossed his face.

  "We can defend ourselves against them. I have some skill at conjuring."

  The stranger's eyebrow rose. "Not much use unless you got an imp. Yours was took."

  "What are you saying?" Deeb faced him.

  "Just that the folks in those shacks yonder got your imp."

  "Lok has been loyal to our family longer than I've been alive," Deeb declared. "He wouldn't just leave us for some strangers without notice." He looked reluctant to admit something. "And I have a geas on him, when it comes to that."

  "Might explain the bindings they got on it, then."

  "You cannot know that is our imp," Mara protested.

  "You brought an imp out here, and you ain't got one now. Folks in those shacks had just the one yesterday, but they got two over there now." The stranger shrugged.

  Deeb stood, irresolute. How could the stranger know about their imp? Imps could hide themselves so that not one person in a hundred could sense them. Elemental mages, as this fellow seemed to be, judging by his staff, rarely knew anything about conjuration magic, which dealt with imps. But now that Deeb thought about it, he could not sense the presence of his old friend around the camp. And Lok was the best protection they had against the magic of these wild lands.

  "Papa, Lok IS missing," Galle said. "He's right."

  The boy had always been more sensitive to the magical world, maybe even more so than Deeb himself.

  "Your imp's bound in the center of town," the stranger said, "where those who can see magic'll spot him right off."

  "Why would they steal something and not try to hide it?" Deeb asked.

  "You're a right pretty woman, ma'am," the stranger abruptly said to Mara.

  She blushed.

  "When you passed those shacks yesterday, they saw you?" he asked Deeb, in turn.

  "Surely. We weren't sneaking past."

  "So they seen your setup here, sniffed out your magic by the weight of the wagon, spotted your woman."

  "I don't understand."

  "They're low-down, that crew," said the stranger. "No-account, but cruel. They saw your wagon and woman, and they mean to have both." He shook his head. "Prob'ly came out here last night with a catch trap, used a bit of raw magic to lure your imp away from the wagon. They got a few tricks I seen like that."

  Deeb felt ill at the thought. He had been sure if they kept to themselves, kept their profile low, they would avoid any troubles out here. With a heavy, fearful heart, he went to the wagon, drew forth his bow and quiver.

  "Deeb, where are you going?" Mara asked in a frightened voice.

  "We can't leave Lok in their hands," Deeb said. "Most people are cruel to imps. Anyway, we need him ourselves."

  The man put a bucket of water on the fire to heat for cleaning dishes. "Ever had to kill anyone?"

  The question surprised Deeb. "Of course not."

  "You go over there bow in hand, you'll have to, today."

  "That's not--"

  "These are the Wilderlands. You go over there without being ready to kill, they'll murder you in an instant."

  "What about the sheriff?"

  "No Boundskeepers out here. No law."

  "I'm good with this bow."

  "Shootin' at rabbits? Rabbits ain't shootin' back. They left that imp out a-purpose. They want you to come in for the imp. They intend to ambush you, friend. Kill you dead."

  "That's unheard of."

  "Is it? They're thinking you got raw magic in that wagon they can turn a good profit on. They seen your wom
an, too. She'll fetch a price with certain traders who operate out here, no questions. They want you armed, so if anyone asks they can say you came in looking for a fight, and they had to protect themselves."

  "I can't let them keep Lok."

  The stranger nodded. "So what you do is, you approach them ready for trouble, watchin' for it, figuring somebody's got to die and it ain't gonna be you. Once you're there, find the big orcen feller with the long hook nose and preacher-like voice, and while you're conversin' you just cover him with your bow. Then tell them to release your imp quick-like."

  "Deebin, you can't do this," said Mara. "You have Galle and me to think of."

  "I can't leave Lok with them," Deeb said. "He's my oldest friend. And he's our protection, Mara."

  "If he don't try, ma'am, they'll just trail after and ambush you some night."

  "And you know this how?" Mara demanded. "Couldn't you be one of them?"

  He grinned, tipped his hat. "For all you know."

  Deeb stood, irresolute. Mara looked over at the wagon, then at the stranger. Her mouth tightened. She went to the back of the wagon, leaned her head inside. Deeb heard the low murmur of her voice.

  A moment later, she returned. He looked at her quizzically.

  She nodded her head in a short, sharp movement, as though reluctant to admit something. "They say you must go."

  "And him?" Deeb did not indicate the stranger, but she understood who he meant.

  Her eyes remained down. She made a mere shrug.

  Deeb did not know exactly how to interpret that, but he had to trust Mara's family, he supposed. Tough and crusty they might be, but they knew a great deal. And maybe the stranger would believe other people were concealed in the wagon, and that would make him hesitate. It was a thin hope, but what else did he have?

  "I will do it," Deeb declared.

  "Best to do it when you're het up, then," the stranger said. "Don't you fret about the woman and boy. If you don't come back, I'll take them on."

  "Watch your words," Deeb said sharply. "That's my wife."

  "If you're gonna do it, partner, you better go."

  Deeb looked from one to the other.

  "Deeb, go," Mara said. "Don't distract yourself thinking of us, we'll be fine."

  "I'll go along," Galle said. "I have a bow."

  "You have to protect your mother," Deeb ordered.

  The boy eyed the stranger warily.

  Deeb felt a rush of helplessness -- so many dangers, he could not challenge them all. He must pick the worst danger to face first, and deal with others in turn.

  So he notched an arrow to his bow and headed out. As he went, he tried to wet his dry lips. It was only a few hundred steps to the tiny village. He remembered the men leaning in their doorways while they passed late yesterday. Human and orcen, scarred, with mocking eyes. The ratty look of the men had bothered him, and he had been relieved to get past them.

  The bow seemed heavy, awkward in his hand. He had never loosed an arrow at any man. Could he? And it bothered him to leave his family with a stranger, who was maybe even in league with these men ahead. But he didn't see what choice he had. And there was something about the stranger he trusted, though he could not have said why.

  Lok WAS there, in a sort of plaza in the middle of the jumble of buildings. Deeb could feel Lok through the ether, a sort of familiar warmth against his face. Coming closer, he discovered the pale, nearly translucent imp immobilized in the plaza, beside a hitching post. The imp did not look up, as though he could not see into the mortal realm for some reason. The thieves had not bothered to conceal the imp -- displaying their contempt. One of them must be a conjuror, to have trapped an imp. His imp.

  Deeb also remembered the way these men's eyes lingered on his wife as the wagon passed the settlement. It had worried him. Now he saw the thugs in the doors of the shacks, waiting for him. Some were human. Some were orcen, taller than humans and reptilian in their features, with dark grey, mottled skin and thick tails. Every one of them looked rough, deadly.

  He could not hesitate, nor turn back -- he could show no fear. Did they plan to kill him? If so, how? All he had to do was walk straight in, claim his imp and depart. He felt cold, wondering what they had planned.

  #

  At the wagon, the human stranger finished cleaning his dishes. "You two got yourselves a fall-back plan? I'm not thinking he's likely to succeed. You'll be a widow by noon, ma'am. I admit I'm less maybe than some, but--"

  "You're just allowing this to happen?" Mara asked.

  "Not my business."

  She shook her head in despair. All mages were made cold by casting their magic, war mages more than most, even. A terrible side effect of magic.

  "Mister, help my father," Galle asked, suddenly.

  The stranger looked at the boy in surprise. "You love him?"

  "He's my father."

  "Not what I asked. Man can sire children though he ain't nowise a father, nor a husband either."

  "I do love my Papa," Galle pleaded. "Please."

  "We both love him," Mara said, fiercely. "And we're proud of him. We're good people, sir. Decent people."

  The stranger shrugged, then bowed. He went to his horse and mounted, then looked straight at Mara. "Understand woman, if your man is kilt, you'll have to be choosing 'twixt them or me." He turned his horse and headed off towards the town.

  Shaken, Mara watched him go, while Galle crowded up beside her, scared.

  #

  Riding up, the stranger could see Deeb at the center of the collection of shacks. He guided his horse in a wide circle to use a screen of brush to approach unseen. When he reached a good spot where he could see Deeb and cover the town he drew up and set his staff across the saddle before him, waiting to see how the struggle would play out before he committed himself. He was close enough to hear as Deeb spoke.

  "I'm grateful you've kept my imp from straying."

  A tall, ugly looking human scratched at a mole on his chin. "You thinking to claim that imp? Cuz we found it floating out free on the prairie, and our conjuror took him fair 'n square."

  "He is my imp. I know his name."

  The ugly man grinned, an expression that looked more like a snarl. "So use his name and call him."

  That would give their conjuror the imp's name, and the ability to command the imp, take him away permanently. But Deeb remembered the drifter's advice, and sure enough, he saw an orcen man with a long hook nose leaning against the wall of a shack to the right. Deeb shifted his weight, a simple move, and with that his arrow was pointed dead at the hook-nose man, the bowstring drawn back.

  "I'll thank you to free the imp before my arm gets tired and I release this arrow," he said. He began to walk slowly towards the imp.

  The ugly man's eyes narrowed. "You try to take that imp, we might think you was robbin' us. You want to get kilt?"

  "Even if you kill me, I'll still release the arrow and that man dies." Deeb reached the imp's side.

  "Let him have the imp," said the hook-nosed man, blanching. His voice was sonorous, like a preacher's. "Don't do anything stupid!"

  From the corner of his eye, Deeb could see pale streaks of magic binding Lok's eyes and body. Deeb was no expert, but knew some basic properties of magic: a spell like that needed a power source. There. A small bit of glowing stone lay beside Lok. It radiated the feel of hunger, lust, and despair -- raw magic. Deeb took his eyes off the hook-nosed man and kicked savagely at the glowing stone, knocking it away. With a crackle, the spell broke. Lok was released.

  But the moment Deeb looked away, the hook-nosed man dove inside his shack and the other men on the street flung themselves aside.

  Two voices cried out triggering words, casting magic.

  In helpless horror, Deeb realized he had been snookered -- in worrying about the men before him, he had not known the real ambush awaited behind him.

  A thud sounded a moment before a bright seed of light flashed by him. The seed struck an abandoned shack
ahead, with an explosion of flame. He spun around and raised his bow, but saw no one.

  Except that, at the corner of a shack down to the left, a body sprawled in a blackened circle of turf, the head and one hand visible from around the shack. A war staff lay in the dust beside the body. Smoke rose from the blackened ring, and an acrid smell wafted along the street. From some nearby bushes beyond the street the stranger stepped out, staff in hand.

  "We've done enough here, I'm thinking," the stranger said to Deeb. "Move easy, and feather anyone who moves with an arrow."

  Deeb proceeded down the street, his bow covering the shacks, his imp protecting him from magical attack. In moments he was behind the shelter of the brush. He felt sick at heart, trembling in reaction to the danger avoided.

  As Deeb headed back to camp, he realized the stranger had somehow vanished again. Protecting their backs, maybe. He was a strange, dangerous man.

  And he had killed the war mage lying in ambush for Deeb.

  Chapter Two

  The herd of whirligigs drifted closer, and one nearly brushed Mara's hand. She struck at the magical creature distractedly, her eyes on the collection of shacks across the river. Deeb walked out from between two buildings, headed for their camp. Seeing him, her heart pounded in sudden relief.

  "Galle," she said, "ready the mules."

  "Aw," Galle started. He wanted to hear what his father would say. But he went for the mules before his mother said anything else.

  Deeb entered their camp, a faint flicker in the air above him proving he had retrieved their imp. "They're still there. We need to leave."

  As Galle finished watering the mules before bringing them up to be hitched, Deeb turned to Mara with a haggard expression.

  "They had me set up. Several of those thugs were out in front of me, but one was hiding in ambush behind me. The one from behind tried to kill me, Mara."

  The intake of her breath was audible.

  He looked sick. "That stranger was there, but they didn't spot him. He looks like a drifter, but he's a full war mage, sure enough. He hit that man in ambush with a flame, just as the thug was casting a spell at me. The thug's spell went right past me, nearly hit me. But the stranger burnt the man dead."