The Maiden of Moonfane Forge

*

The broad, low farmlands of the vast land basin reflected in Iris’s dark eyes—fields of young wheat and other grains, pastures containing cattle and horses, windmills and little villages dotting the horizon. Her long raven hair shifted about her back in the morning breeze. She was surprised at the sense of relief the vision brought to her. At last, they had left behind the imposing mountains and choking forest. She could see again, as far across the distance as her eyes allowed, survey everything, hold court over everything. Years of preparation had paid off. Success was only days away now. The completion of only the first of what would be her many great achievements was only days away. She allowed herself a thin smile and let the gauzy shade fall back in place over her carriage window, cutting off the view. Sitting back in her padded seat, she luxuriated in the feel of finally being on a proper road once again. For days upon days, she had suffered the jarring bumps and jolts from uneven forest trails and deeply rutted tracks, and listened to the endless scraping of low tree branches and untamed underbrush scratching her carriage’s sides. They had lost one carriage; the others would have to be repainted. But no matter. It was over now and it would all be worth the great pains she had gone through when they arrived finally back at Black Crux.

One of the horses pulling the carriage that trailed her own whinnied. Iris’s eyes snapped open. She had not realized she’d been dozing. Waking from Slumber sometimes left her so vigorously energized that she spurned regular sleep and remained awake for days. That had been the case upon waking in the woods, and it was catching up with her. Suddenly, one of her own carriage’s horses grunted and there was an abrupt lurch sideways as the beast stumbled. Iris caught herself from being thrown against the door. At the same moment, there was a sound of wood cracking, followed directly by one of her guards cursing loudly.

“Stop!” someone shouted, and Iris’s carriage came to a halt. Normally, she would never tolerate anyone giving orders to her driver except her, but in this case, she let it go. She sensed what had happened. She thrust the door of her carriage open and was hastily handed down by one of her guards, irritation defining the set of her expression. The old woman was at it again. “Murzagis,” she called, and the man was at her side. His long hair and oddly styled moustache were lank from days on the road. He and his men had had to ride hard to catch up, but she had been pleased to hear from his report that they’d tidied up the last of the loose ends that could have caused her problems. Now, as he awaited her command, his dour and pocked face betrayed nothing. He would already know why she was so displeased—the captain of her sell swords was a sharp one—so Iris chose to say nothing, eyeing the man as she breathed through nostrils pinched with annoyance. Murzagis simply nodded and reported.

“We bind her well, my Lady,” he said. He kept his voice even, though Iris knew he must be as frustrated as his men were with their ungrateful charge. “Still, she finds ways to cast her spells. They’re subtler each time. She makes it seem as if a horse has thrown a shoe or a rider has caught his leg on a branch.”

“And with these little tricks, she has outsmarted your people and destroyed one of my favorite carriages in the woods. Bind her tighter,” Iris commanded and turned away to climb back into her carriage.

“Any tighter and it would permanently damage her hands,” Murzagis remarked. The man conveyed no hesitancy to inflict this were he so ordered, he merely stated it as fact.

Iris paused with her foot on her carriage’s step. Her sell swords were capable fighters, and as discreet as Murzagis had promised her when she had hired them, yet too many times had they tried and failed to prevent a frail old woman from playing childish tricks that constantly hampered their progress. While it could not be expected that swordsmen would be versed in handling a mage—especially an exceedingly powerful one—Iris had expected them to at least show some more gumption in dealing with her.

Yet, so far, their threats to Marigold had only resulted in even more canny acts of defiance, and Iris was growing weary of the endless delays that marked their travel, and of her guards constantly grumbling about the danger the old mage represented. She had so desired to save this reunion between master and apprentice until they were home, where she could be properly refreshed before formally revealing herself and welcoming her teacher back into her service. But the old woman insisted on making things difficult, and Iris was not blind to the effect it was having on her sell swords. Marigold had grown even more powerful over the years than Iris had expected. If she didn’t intervene now, the old mage might actually find a way to stop them, and if that happened, how much extra coin would be required to keep her guards in line?

With an exasperated sigh, Iris stepped back down from her carriage and swept past the commander of her guards, striding back to the trailing carriage that housed her once-mentor. She heard the old woman’s complaints as she approached.

“Who are you people? Answer me! You have no right to do this! Let me go, you bunch of dung-washed, piss-soaked barbarians!”

Iris yanked open the carriage door and leveled her dark eyes on her teacher. Mage-Matron Marigold lay there across the carriage seat, bound tightly from shoulders to ankles. How she had managed to cast any kind of Barrier, let alone with such precision, while immobilized thus was beyond Iris. When the old woman looked squinting up into Iris’s face and recognition dawned on her, her complaints fell dead on her tongue and her gray eyes widened.

“Gilliana?” she said, and her voice quavered with disbelief.

Iris studied Marigold’s shocked features. It had been many years since she had heard the master mage’s voice. It was deeper, thinner. Old.

“My name is Iris, Mage-Matron, as you well know. You must cease these silly games now. No more of these Barriers that stop my horses and terrify my guards.” She paused, adding thoughtfully, “Hm. This reminds me of the last time we saw one another. Do you recall that day?”

Marigold’s mouth worked wordlessly as she sought to make sense of this revelation that cast her situation into an entirely new light. “What is going on here, Gilliana?” she asked at last. “How did you ...? Where are these swordsmen taking us?”

“I am taking you home. And we are nearly there, so stop this ridiculous struggling once and for all or I will be forced to have my sell swords put an end to it however they see fit.” Iris stared the old woman down, awaiting one of her typical witty and defiant replies. Instead, Mage-Matron Marigold stared back at her in silence, her wrinkled face a mask of confusion. “Good,” Iris said.

Her point had been made. She slammed the carriage door shut and was pleased to hear nothing more out of Marigold’s mouth as she returned to her carriage.

Without needing to be commanded to do so, her guards re-formed their ranks around the carriages and got them moving again.