Tin Thoughts: The Downfall Saga, #2

Chapter 1

The first note rang out into the air, loud and brash. Donovan intentionally plucked the out of tune string, and his lute let out a wail which made the hairs on the back of the neck stand up. The note pierced the conversations around the room, struck the far wall, and rebounded. When it came back to him, Donovan added a deep beat, like a horse galloping in the distance, it was a sound that was felt, more than heard, in the noisy room. He let the horse continue to gallop, letting out an inhuman scream every few strides, until most of the heads in the room had turned towards him. He silenced the strings, and the audience quieted in turn. Donovan allowed the scowl to leave his face, and a smile slowly replaced it.

He let the silence stretch out for a moment longer than was necessary. He waited until he saw the first hand reaching for a drink before launching into Breaker. The song was about a dangerous section of water near the southern edge of the continent, where the currents were strong, and the ocean hid many dangers. The music embodied the crashing waves with the subtle undertones of the lamenting sailors. Donovan chose this as his first song because it started fast and heavy, and only grew faster. His fingers flew over the strings, sweat began dripping down his brow, yet he managed to keep the smile on his face as he surveyed the crowd.

Donovan had spent the first part of his summer wandering around Kendra. Classes didn’t resume at Haven until the fall, not that he was sure he would be resuming his studies. He was a poor wizard, the weakest in class, despite his best efforts. His Gift seemed to express itself in different ways than the other students, but no one could explain to him why it was different. Maybe it was the Blood Magic, they would say, yet none could explain how it would affect his Gift as such.

Eleven months ago, he had turned up at Haven, alone and frightened. An intricate symbol had been carved into his chest, over his heart, which he’d been told was Blood Magic, not that any of the wizards at Haven claimed to know much about it, since its use had been forbidden centuries ago. Eleven months later and the cuts looked as if they had been made mere hours ago. It siphoned energy from him, sustaining its magic in perpetuity, unless he could track down whoever had created it, and get them to undo their work. Donovan had no recollection of events previous to the first night he appeared at Haven, and no one knew if the Blood Magic had a more nefarious purpose than blocking his memories.

He spent most of his nights playing his lute. He needed time to forget, so he could finally remember.

The song finished in a flurry. The notes so fast that he’d mess them up if he tried to think about them while he played. He drew a couple of deep breaths while the audience applauded. He’d chosen that song to get their attention. Now he had to keep it.

The first dozen chords rang out, true and steady. A few people began singing an old drinking song while he played, and more joined in with every chord. There were many variations to the words, but most of the people of Kendra favored one version, and they sung it loud to drown out any opposition. Donovan had learned the tune the first night he’d played at The Engorged Liver, but he still didn’t know its true name.

With no recollection of his family, he’d turned to his one true love. He’d played for free the first night to a small smattering of people, but now made a fair wage playing to a packed house every night. He didn’t play for the money. He played to pass the time until he would begin his quest anew. He would track down his family to find out who he is and why they had abandoned him.

His only lead was a man named Eamon. Eamon had left him a couple of notes the previous year, along with the lute he was currently playing. His final note told Donovan how to contact him when he was in Lornell in August. Lornell lay far to the east, in what used to be Deogal lands. The lawless, border town had grown over the years, and Donovan was curious about the business Eamon was conducting there.

Scanning the crowded room, Donovan saw the usual mix of people crammed into every available chair, except for a lone figure sitting at a table in the corner of the room. The figure had his back to Donovan. He had a shaved head and a stocky build. When he turned his head to the side, Donovan saw a narrow braided beard hanging from his chin.

Donovan finished his song and took a break. Walking over to the bar, he ordered a cider. He took a sip to ease his sore throat. The cider’s aroma was a welcome relief from the stench of humanity filling the room.

We’ve got a lively bunch tonight, said Aine, one of the servers at The Engorged Liver.

I’m not going to complain if they want to sing the songs for me, said Donovan.

My ears wish they wouldn’t.

It’s your ears or my throat.

Donovan downed the rest of the cider. He surveyed the room, paying attention to everyone’s demeanor, their conversations and, most importantly, the state of their drinks. He tried to adapt his song choice to the state of the room, but it was difficult when everyone was in a different state of inebriation. He set his mug down on the bar and returned to his stool on the small stage.

His gaze drifted to the figure in the corner who had turned around, and was watching the stage. Something looked off about his face. Donovan thought that his eyes might be too far apart, but couldn’t tell for sure at this distance.

They locked eyes.

Donovan was the first to blink, and he looked down at his lute. He pretended to make a couple of small adjustments before he started to play a ballad. He got a third of the way through the song before being interrupted.

Play something good, not that sissy stuff, came an obviously drunk voice from the middle of the room.

Donovan ignored him and continued to play and sing.

Oi! came the voice again.

Donovan searched the crowd until he found the speaker. A large, burly fellow sat at a table, red faced with a trail of liquid running down the front of his shirt.

Play something else, he said, banging his empty mug on the table.

Donovan continued to ignore him, when a mug came flying at the stage. Donovan kept playing as it sailed towards his head, and didn’t react as it brushed the edge of his ear, before smashing on the wall behind him.

Donovan finished the song as the man got up and walked towards the stage.

You deaf boy? I told you to play something else.

I was just about to, before you interrupted me.

You sassing me? I won’t let a boy sass me. He lifted his leg to step up onto the stage.

You can say whatever you want from down there, but the stage is mine, said Donovan calmly. If you step up here, we will have problems.

Donovan set his lute into its case beside him on the stage, and waited to see what the man was going to do next. Judging by the smiles and laughter from the crowd, Donovan knew how ridiculous of a sight this must be. Donovan thought that he was seventeen, but didn’t know for sure without his memories. He was small for his age, and here he was, facing down a man nearly a foot taller than himself and at least a hundred pounds heavier.

I’m being paid to entertain the crowd, said Donovan. So you can either go sit down and let me play, or take a step forward and I’ll give everybody a show that they weren’t expecting.

The man hesitated, clearly surprised by Donovan’s attitude. Donovan watched the man’s eyes twitch back and forth as he tried to think of a way to save face.

Is there a song that you want to hear?

Donovan saw his body relax, and he took a step backwards.

Thomas’ Tramp.

As you wish.

Donovan gave him a smile and carefully retrieved his lute from its case. When he looked up again, he saw that the man had already retreated back to his seat.

Donovan played for the next hour before thanking the crowd, and beginning to pack up his lute. Several patrons stopped by for a quick word and dropped an iron penny or two into an old hat that he’d placed on the stage. Donovan was just closing the clasps on his lute case when he sensed someone standing nearby. Looking up, he saw the man who’d been sitting in the corner table standing a few feet away.

Donovan got a better look at him up close. He was four and a half feet tall and muscular, with a shaved head and a long, narrow black beard done up in a single braid. His face was broader and flatter than a normal man. Donovan thought that he might be a dwarf but wasn’t too sure.

Sorry, but I have to go, said Donovan, collecting the money from the hat and transferring it to his pocket. He was pleased to see a couple of crescents among the pennies.

You’ll have time to listen to me, he said.

I’ve heard it before, and it’s rarely true, said Donovan, picking up his lute case and turning to head up to his room.

Can’t you spare a couple minutes?

Donovan headed for the hallway leading to the stairs.

My name’s Tuff.

Donovan heard heavy footsteps follow him up the stairs. He walk to the end of the hallway, and unlocked the door to his room.

Boy. You will show me respect.

Donovan turned to face Tuff.

If you want my respect, then earn it, said Donovan. You can start by not calling me boy.

Donovan. Yeah, I know your name and a lot more besides. Does that surprise you?

Donovan gave him a shrug, and opened the door to his room.

That’s it, said Tuff. He raised his right hand and pointed it dramatically towards Donovan, palm first.

Donovan watched his eyes widen and he stared down at his hand. Tuff looked back at Donovan, and thrust his hand forward again, with a similar lack of results.

Donovan bent down beside his bed and slid the case underneath. Tuff followed him into the room and stood uncomfortably close beside Donovan.

What did you do? asked Tuff. How?

It’s not polite to enter someone’s room without permission, said Donovan.

What are you going to do about it? Use your magic? I forgot, you barely have any.

Donovan raised his left hand slightly, and the knife that he had pulled out of the sheath behind his back prodded Tuff between his legs.

You have one chance to leave the room whole. Otherwise you’ll lose some of your dangly bits.

Tuff stared down at him for a moment before bursting out laughing.

Osmont was right when he said that you’d face down a bear with nothing but a piece of string, and still expect to survive.

I thought you’d be more attached to your dangly bits, said Donovan, raising the knife higher so the tip of the blade dug painfully into Tuff’s pants.

Be careful with that. Those things don’t grow back.

Tuff stood on his tiptoes and slowly backed away from Donovan.

Better, said Donovan. Now what were you saying about Osmont?

He’s the reason I’m here. He didn’t think he’d make it back in time and didn’t want you travelling to Lornell on your own.

So he sent a strange man to be my escort?

You take that back before I give you a whooping.

You don’t think that you’re strange? Donovan stood up, picked up the pack which was hanging on a bedpost, and slung it over his shoulder.

Strange, I’ll give you, but don’t call me a man again. While I may travel your lands, I was bred and raised in Kern.

My apologies. I wasn’t sure if calling you dwarf was offensive. Donovan ushered him out of the room. Donovan stepped out into the hallway, before closing and locking the door. As I said earlier, I have places to be and I don’t need a chaperone.

Donovan left Tuff standing there as he headed downstairs and out into the busy streets of Kendra. He wove his way through the crowd and headed for the keep sitting atop a hill, towering over the rest of the city.

Chapter 2

You’re dead, said Jerel, wading into the middle of the melee.

He didn’t touch me, said Donovan, lowering his practice sword and looking over at Jerel.

I’m the one doing the teaching, not you. If I say you’re dead, then you’re dead. Do you want me to demonstrate?

Why don’t you.

Put your sword back up. Just like how you tried to block his last swing.

Donovan raised his sword in front of him.

Let’s see what would happen if this was a real fight and he swung as hard as he could.

Jerel grabbed the sword from the guard that Donovan had been sparring with. With no warning, he turned around and leveled a hard slash at Donovan.

Donovan tried to block the attack like he had the previous one, sword in his right hand, blade pointing upwards, and close to his body.

Jerel’s attack knocked his sword aside and hit him hard on the shoulder, causing his entire arm to go numb. His sword clattered to the ground.

If you want to fight like a dancer, then you’d better dance while you fight, said Jerel.

Jerel was a wizard employed by the Royal Family of Rourke. Donovan had met Jerel the previous year when he was invited to dinner with the Queen and one of his classmates, Prince Caddaric Kelvin. Donovan had been making almost daily trips to train with Jerel and the guards at the keep. Caddaric had managed to join them a few times, but most days he was trapped inside, entertaining his mother, the Queen.

You are still young, and quite small, continued Jerel. You cannot fight might with might. You must use speed and guile to defeat your opponent. Understand?

Yes, Jerel, said Donovan, looking down at his dropped sword.

Watch your opponent, not the ground. Now pick it up.

Donovan flexed his hand several times as the feeling slowly returned to it, before bending down to retrieve his sword.

Good, said Jerel. Now get ready to spar.

Who am I sparring with? asked Donovan, taking a step back from the five guards clustered around him and Jerel.

All of them.

That’s not—

Fair. Neither’s life. Deal with it.

Donovan took several more steps backwards and sized up his opponents. Lou and Orson were the newest guards. They’d only been training for a couple of weeks with a sword, but they were big and strong. Clifton and Gerard were decent fighters, but clumsy if they moved around too much. Gord was a solid fighter and would be his toughest opponent. Donovan knew that this wasn’t a fair fight. Jerel was trying to humble him, but he wasn’t prepared to admit defeat.

As soon as Jerel signaled for them to start, Donovan dove under Orson’s guard, and hacked at his hamstring. Standing up, he took a casual swing at his neck to put him out of the fight.

Clifton tried to push past Orson’s kneeling form to attacked Donovan, but his blade got caught on Orson’s arm. Donovan finished him with a stab to the chest, and backed away from the three people trying to encircle him.

Five seconds in, and two opponents were down. Not a bad start to a difficult situation, thought Donovan.

His first priority was to further reduce their numerical advantage, and Lou was the easiest target. Lou approached from his right, while Gord came straight at him. Lunging towards Lou, they locked blades. Donovan threw a kick which connected with his knee, dropping him to the ground. Donovan casually finished him while circling to put his body between himself and the remaining attackers.

This was when things would get interesting. With the easy targets felled, it was only a matter of time before Gord and Gerard coordinated their attacks. He tried to grab the sword out of Lou’s hand, but he refused to release it.

They circled around the body, each in a different direction. Just before they closed in, Donovan dove over Lou’s prone form. Rolling back to his feet, he watched as they closed in. Gord was only a few feet away when Donovan threw his sword at him. It wasn’t something that he’d do in a real battle, but the spinning sword hit Gord in the chest.

Gerard hesitated for a moment as he watched the sword clatter to the ground, and Donovan closed the distance. Grabbing his sword arm, he twisted around and threw Gerard to the ground. Despite the size discrepancy, Donovan used leverage to his advantage and painfully twisted Gerard’s arm until he released his sword. Picking it up, Donovan finished his prone opponent, only to feel a heavy kick to his backside which sent him sprawling. The sword was jarred loose from his hand when he hit the hard ground, and he was forced to roll away to avoid Jerel’s next attack.

Never lose track of an opponent, said Jerel.

Donovan looked around the courtyard, trying to find something that he could use to hold Jerel off.

I didn’t know that you were my opponent, said Donovan.

Even worse.

My teacher was a s—

His response was cut off as Jerel resumed his attack, and methodically led him around the courtyard. Every time Donovan shifted his focus to find something to defend himself with, Jerel increased the intensity of his attack. After a couple of minutes of retreating, ducking and diving, Donovan knew that Jerel could end the sparring session whenever he wanted, unless Donovan could find a way to surprise him.

Do you know a dwarf named Tuff? asked Donovan.

Tuff? said Jerel, pausing his attack.

As soon as he hesitated, Donovan dove in and tried to grab one of his legs.

Jerel calmly pivoted away from his dive and brought his sword down, not so gently, onto the back of Donovan’s neck.

Distractions? Is that what you think of me?

I’m serious. A dwarf calling himself Tuff came to see me today. He said he knew Osmont.

Osmont has spent plenty of time in Kern, so anything’s possible. What did he want?

He wants to accompany me on my trip.

They walked over to the other sparring partners. Donovan shook their hands and thanked them for the session, before he and Jerel retired to a quiet corner of the courtyard.

You still intend to meet with Eamon?

I have no choice. He’s the only link to my past.

Don’t let your desires blind you.

It’s worth any risk to find out who I am.

Jerel rested his hand on Donovan’s shoulder and looked intently into his eyes. Your past doesn’t define you. You are who you are.

Donovan rested his back against the stone wall and thought about what Jerel had said. So much had changed since he’d shown up at Haven with no recollection of who he is and how he got there. He wondered what his friends Kort and Ravyn were up to, and if he’d ever see them again. Ravyn was probably sitting at home studying for the upcoming school year, while Kort would be hard at work on his family’s farm.

Tell Caddaric that he’d better start practicing or I’ll have to come back and embarrass him, said Donovan, changing the subject.

He could practice every day for the rest of the summer, and you’d still be able to show him up. I’ve never seen someone pick it up so fast.

I had a good teacher. Thank you for everything. Donovan reached out and shook Jerel’s hand.

The road is long. Make sure to take care of yourself.

Donovan waved at Rich who was watching the gate and headed back down into the city. He was pleasantly surprised that he didn’t see Tuff on his way back to the inn. He slipped in the back door, and made his way to the kitchen. He pilfered a quick meal and took it up to his room to eat, before turning in for the night.

It was still dark out when he woke. Packing his belongings for the trip, he slipped his pack onto his back. He lovingly caressed his lute case, before sliding it back under his bed. It pained him to leave it behind, but he didn’t want to carry its bulk while travelling. He’d arranged to leave the rest of his belongings in the room for the next month, and trusted Aine to keep them safe. To avoid a potential meeting with Tuff, he opened the window and climbed down the side of the building to the street below. Black cloak wrapped around him, he was just another shadow moving through the city.

Leaving through the east gate, he turned north and followed the path towards Haven. The horizon was just starting to lighten when he started up the winding path that led to the only entrance into Haven. He was breathing heavy by the time he had climbed to the top of the path, and loudly pounded on the gate. A cover slid aside, and a familiar set of eyes peeked out through the opening.

We meet again, Hayward, said Donovan.

Hayward had been watching the gate on the night when Donovan first arrived at Haven.

Donovan, said Hayward. If I let you in, do you promise not to kick me in the knee?

I won’t, unless you try to throw me out, said Donovan, laughing.

Hayward let him in. Donovan crossed the courtyard and headed towards the large building on his right where his teachers from the previous year resided. He paused inside until his eyes adjusted to the dull blue light originating from a series of spheres hanging from the ceiling. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and walked down the hallway. He glanced at the plaques on the doors until he reached the one labeled Osmont Wyatt. He pounded on the door a few times, with no response. He continued down the hallway and knocked on Professor Alden Cleary’s door.

Come in, came the reply a moment later.

Donovan opened the door and poked his head into the cluttered office. Books and loose papers were scattered everywhere, as if a tornado had blown through the room. A stale, musty smell washed over him. He tried to breathe through his mouth as he searched for Professor Cleary in the room.

Donovan, it’s so good to see you, said Cleary, standing up to look at Donovan over the piles of paper on his desk. Come in and have a seat.

Thank you, sir, said Donovan, carefully picking his way across the floor. He shifted a stack of papers so he could sit down in one of the chairs.

Cleary was a mole of a man. He had a small, stooped posture, a growing paunch, and long unkempt fingernails. He wore a stained shirt, and his disheveled hair made Donovan wonder when he had last left his office.

I’m surprised to see you again. I thought you weren’t planning on coming back this year.

I’m not. I’m heading to Lornell today and stopped by to see if Osmont was here.

I haven’t seen him for more than a couple days at a time, all summer long.

When you see him next, please let him know that I left.

Will do. I hope he gets back soon. It’s quiet around here without the Headmaster and him around.

Please tell me that the Headmaster didn’t resign after what happened last year.

I’m afraid so. The council still hasn’t announced if they are going to replace him or try to convince him to stay.

I hope he comes back, said a subdued Donovan.

Donovan skimmed the titles on a stack of books on Cleary’s desk. They all sounded like books on prophecy and the end of the world. Some were old and worn, but a few looked newly made.

I see you’re still studying the end of the world.

Yes, said Cleary, sitting forward in his chair. "I have been re-examining many of the texts with a more literal approach in mind. I’d previously discounted many of the references to the bringing of storms as hyperbole for catastrophic events. Now I believe that a sect of people who worshiped Zeren instigated many of the events during the previous Breakings, and they will be involved this time as well.

Professor Cleary had a theory that every millennia or so, cataclysmic events spread around the world leaving devastation in their wake. History referred to these events as the Breakings. Written history seemed to support his theory, with global conflicts breaking out one and two thousand years ago. If his theory was correct, then another Breaking was imminent, and he’d shifted his focus to the prophecies which he thought could be used to predict the upcoming events.

That could explain the necklace that I acquired last winter.

Donovan had been accosted by a mysterious man who had put him to sleep, as if by magic, while he was attempting to track down Eamon. Before he had fallen unconscious, he had ripped a necklace off the man’s neck. The symbol on it was a dagger wrapped in lightning, which was the mark used by the followers of Zeren.

How so? asked a startled Cleary.

Ravyn told me that it was the symbol used by the followers of Zeren in ancient times, but surely you already knew that.

Yes, yes. Of course I did, he said in an offhanded manner.

Speaking of symbols, have you heard anything about the pendant that I found in the underground chamber?

Cleary gave him a wide eyed stare before answering. I’m really quite busy. You’ll have to check with Osmont or the Headmaster.

Donovan knew a dismissal when he heard one. Standing up, he shook Cleary’s hand before departing. With thoughts of the pendant in his head, he headed towards the main part of Haven.

Leaving the building, he walked through the grassy quad surrounded by bushes and trees. A large willow stood in the center, where he and Osmont had spent many hours running through Vanoras, a system of exercises which use slow, smooth movements that mimic many combat techniques to relax both the body and mind. He gave the tree a longing look, as he continued along the path.

Haven was split into several sections, scattered throughout a series of valleys and underground passages in a small spur of mountains running south from the main mountain range. The public was only allowed to see a small section of its expanse. Two large buildings dominated a flat shelf in a nook between two mountains, but this was merely the gateway to the rest of the complex.

An enchantment was placed on the tunnel leading deeper into Haven which prevented people from accidentally wandering through. Donovan had been injured the previous year, and taken to the Medical Center to receive treatment. Upon returning through the tunnel, his knowledge of its existence broke the enchantment, and he was now free to roam the entire grounds of Haven.

He had to blink several times against the bright yellow lights when he entered the tunnel leading to the next valley. Haven maintained a very modest appearance to the public, and only allowed its members to see the more opulent displays. The lighting was only one small part of this. The public section was poorly lit by a combination of dim blue lights and torches which caused the students to strain their eyes during their first year of study, while bright yellow lights provided an imitation daylight everywhere else.

Exiting the tunnel, he quickly crossed the opulent valley, towards the tunnels on the far side. He walked past the stairs to the Administration Building and entered a tunnel which shallowly sloped downwards.

Jerel had given him a tour of Haven earlier in the summer, and showed him how to navigate his way through the main underground tunnels.

Given the early hour, he only saw a handful of wizards, who he politely nodded to as he passed, as he travelled to the Foundry.

He was assaulted by the sound of metal hitting metal when he opened the door to the Foundry, followed by a wave of heat which washed over him. Shutting the door behind him, he took a look around. The walls were covered in peg boards, with hooks attached to hold all of the various tools commonly used in the Foundry. White lines were drawn around each tool, to identify where they hung when not in use.

Shirtless students were scattered around the room, bodies plastered with sweat, as they pumped the bellows on the forges. Scales sat atop tables near the storage room, with kilns nearby to remove any moisture from the compounds.

Donovan’s eyes roamed the room until they settled on the figure who looked out of place. Professor Wryhta was the head Artificer at Haven, but you wouldn’t have guessed it from his small size, thick round glasses, and meticulously groomed body. He’d previously told Donovan that the Artificers were the key to Haven’s power, and he had to look the part.

While the Foundry made many magical items, such as magical lamps which could light an area for several years before needing a recharge, it was the production of more mundane items where it excelled. Wizards could easily manipulate even the tiniest objects with their magic, which allowed them to manufacture the smallest, most intricate clocks ever produced. Their elemental control allowed them to produce and maintain precise temperatures while they forged steel and other metals into manufactured goods. That was the primary reason why Donovan was here, but the conversation with Professor Cleary had