The Price of Magic Read online

  “Because that’s what the god wants,” said Tokkenoht. “If you want to argue the point with him, you are welcome to do so when he arrives. I am sure he will grant you a quick death.”

  “If the young god wants two vaults, he shall have two vaults,” said Hunssuss. “I shall design a temple with three vaults if that’s what he wants.”

  “No, he specifically asked for two.”

  “I shall return when the plans have been redrawn. In the meantime, perhaps workers could start on the public baths.”

  “Good idea,” said Tokkenoht. “This is why everyone says you are such a wise elder.”

  Tokkenoht skipped the evening meal, instead sitting on the balcony just outside the throne room. It was the perfect spot from which to look over the western part of the city. Smoke rose from thousands of houses as the hearth fires were stoked up in preparation for nightfall. Just beyond the incomplete wooden city wall, she could make out some of the feathered runners, those that the soft-skins called velociraptors and deinonychus. They frequently gathered at the outskirts of lizzie settlements, to pick off those offspring that were too slow or too unobservant. Here though, there were very few offspring running loose.

  Returning to the hearth room, Tokkenoht found Hsrandtuss lying on his mat, with Ssu pressed up against his left side, her tail draped over his.

  “I wondered where you had gotten to,” he said, looking up at her.

  “I’ve been home all day.”

  “But you made no effort to see me. Don’t you miss your husband?”

  “I’ve just been tired. Do you want me to rub oil on you?”

  “Yes.”

  She picked up the bottle from beside the fire and sat down on his right side. Pouring the warm oil into her hand, she rubbed it into his skin, starting at his shoulders and working her way down, paying particular attention to the long, ugly sword scar in the middle of his back.

  “Perhaps being witch-woman is too much for a female,” said the king. He used the soft-skin word “witch-woman” instead of high priestess.

  Tokkenoht gave an amused hiss. Hsrandtuss was not fluent in the human language and didn’t realize that the word ‘woman’ indicated a human female. To be fair, most lizzies didn’t. It was difficult for them to differentiate the sexes among the soft-skins, as indeed it appeared the humans had the same problem with them. This was complicated all the more because the lizzies had occasionally came across human wizards, almost always male, and usually referred to them as ‘witch-woman’ too. Only the most knowledgeable lizzies knew that there were but two beings on the continent, one apparently now deceased, that truly deserved that term. Tokkenoht had never seen either, but both Hsrandtuss and Ssu had.

  “I am no witch-woman, but I will perform my duties as high priestess to the best of my ability.” She moved Ssu’s tail out of the way so that she could reach the king’s with oil.

  “I know you will. If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have chosen you.”

  She finished oiling him and put the bottle back by the fire.

  “Lay here beside me,” he said. “You two will sleep with me tonight.”

  Tokkenoht lay down and pressed against his right side. She lay her tail over his, and then felt Ssu’s atop hers. Ssu was the king’s regular sleeping partner. Rarely did he ask for one of the other wives, though they often joined him without being asked—especially Szakhandu. Tokkenoht rubbed her claws down the side of his stomach. He sighed, and then they all went to sleep.

  Feeling less tired after a day of mostly rest, Tokkenoht got up in the morning ready to return to her duties as high priestess. She usually had one of the servants paint her, but this morning Ssu insisted on doing it. Lizardmen frequently painted themselves, the patterns indicating tribal affiliations and status. The most common colors were black and red, which were made from charcoal and red ocher. Less common was yellow, which came from a fairly uncommon root, or white, made from a nut, poisonous if ingested but safe for lizzie skin. The blue that completely covered Tokkenoht was almost unheard of, as it’s only source was a plant brought to the continent and cultivated by humans. Its use was as much a demonstration of Yessonarah’s wealth as was the gold that the king and his wives wore. Ssu painted the zigzag design of yellow on the high priestess’s belly, and then used the same color to circle around her eyes. It made her eyes look gigantic. After donning her colorful cape, she left the palace and climbed into her sedan chair for the trip to the temple.

  Mindful that the populace would be watching her along the way, Tokkenoht sat up straight, folding her arms across her chest, her talisman and her spear held tightly in her hands, as the bearers carried her along. The spear was a tiny replica of the weapons launched by warriors with atlatls, the shaft a mere twelve inches long and the point made of gold. The talisman was a mummified lizard with four legs splayed out and with a wooden handle attached to its tail. It was filled with a special mixture of seeds and herbs, enchanted with magic.

  About halfway to the temple, Tokkenoht was met by Xiosasatt, one of her acolytes. He was painted half white and half red, with a blue circle on his chest and on his forehead. He was of course on foot, and fell in step beside the sedan chair.

  “The flowers have started to arrive, Your Reverence. They are being arranged, starting at the top of the temple and working our way down.”

  “Perfect,” she said. “What about Yessonar’s meal?”

  “It will be ready. The warriors have captured a saltasaurus. They will slaughter it when the time is right.”

  “Tell them to wait for an order. He may want to eat it alive.”

  “As you say,” he said with a shudder.

  Suddenly there was a loud sound like thunder and the two bearers on the Tokkenoht’s right hand side fell to the ground. The litter rolled over on its side, spilling the high priestess out like a dropped basket of fruit. She dropped her spear but held onto her talisman as she rolled to a sitting position. She instinctively raised it in the air when she saw four lizardmen pointing human thunder weapons in her direction. They weren’t the small ones that could be held in one hand, but the long ones. She knew the human word for them, but couldn’t think of it at that moment. The thunder sounded again, as smoke erupted from the ends of the weapon.

  “Uutanuhn, uutanuhn, uutanhn,” recited Tokkenoht.

  The metal of the four weapons began to glow red and bend. Then the wooden portion, where the males held them, burst into flames. All four dropped them to the ground and turned to flee.

  Tokkenoht stood up and looked around. Two of her bearers had been shot. One, with a gaping hole between his eyes, was obviously dead. The other was shot through the thigh, and blood was oozing out as he hissed in agony. The high priestess put her left hand on his wound, while she held her talisman up with her right.

  “Uutanuhn, uutanuhn, uutanhn,” she recited again.

  Her hand glowed and the blood flow stopped. As she stood up, a troop of a dozen warriors arrived from the direction of the palace.

  “They went that way!” shouted Xiosasatt, pointing.

  “Go with them,” ordered Tokkenoht. “You know what they look like.”

  The acolyte hurried along after the warriors. Tokkenoht directed the two uninjured bearers to right the sedan chair, and then she helped the wounded lizzie into the seat. She pointed to two males standing nearby, gawking.

  “You two, help them. Carry him back to the temple dormitory.” They rushed over to help. She pointed to two others and then at the fallen thunder weapons. “Gather up those up and take them to the palace.”

  The two other lizzies hunkered down and tried to hide in the growing crowd.

  “We will take them,” said a nearby female.

  Tokkenoht looked her over. She was older with an ugly claw mark on her shoulder. She stepped forward with a smaller female that couldn’t have seen eight summers. Together, they picked up the four large weapons.

  “Good,” said Tokkenoht. “Take them to the palace and give them to St
raatin or Szakhandu.”

  The two females started off quickly up the slope toward the palace. Seeing her ceremonial spear lying in the dirt, Tokkenoht picked it up, and marched off in the direction the sedan chair had gone, toward the temple.

  It was late in the evening when the high priestess returned to the palace. The evening meal was already in progress, so Tokkenoht walked out to the garden instead, dismissing the servant who had temporarily taken over Ssu’s spot watching the offspring cage. Most of the little lizzies were hidden in the foliage, though two of the yearlings were peering out through the mesh. One of them had on Tokkenoht’s blue leg band; the other was wearing one of Szakhandu’s orange.

  She hadn’t been there long when the high priestess felt somebody sit down next to her. She rolled one eye over to see that it was Hsrandtuss. He didn’t look at her, instead aiming his gaze at the cage.

  “It’s hard for me to think of them as anything but pests at this age,” he said.

  “Look at them carefully,” she said. “Those are not just any little ones. They are your children.”

  “Well, they do look heartier than most.” He turned and rested his chin on her shoulder. It was an unusual expression of affection for a male to make to a female, though common in the reverse. “I hear you had some excitement today.”

  “It was a minor incident.”

  “Four males attacked you with human weapons. There are plenty of warriors that would have turned and run under those circumstances.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “No, I wouldn’t. And you didn’t either. You showed no fear. You defended yourself and then you took charge.”

  “I was afraid though,” admitted Tokkenoht. “I was very afraid.”

  “But you didn’t show it. The people are all talking about you. You behaved like a male. No, you behaved like a high priestess. This is why you are my favorite wife.”

  “You tell all your wives that they are your favorite.”

  “Of course I do. It’s my secret for a happy home life.” He stood up. Then turning toward her, he then grasped end of her snout and lifted her face up to look him in the eye. “Our offspring will prove to be the finest.”

  The next day, Tokkenoht made the trip to the temple without incident. This time she was part of a procession that included nearly a dozen acolytes and hundreds of young females, dressed in garlands of flowers. She climbed to the top of the stairs and turned to face the population of the entire city.

  She gave her prepared speech. Halfway down the temple steps, an acolyte repeated it, and another at the bottom of the steps repeated it again for the citizens on the street to hear. It gave the effect, from Tokkenoht’s point of view, of her voice echoing away into the distance.

  “Today we dedicate this temple to the one remaining god of our people. We dedicate it to the Great God Yessonar, God of the Sky, God of Courage, God of Crafting and Manufacturing, and protector of the holy city of Yessonarah.

  She had scarcely finished speaking when a shadow flashed across the sky so fast that many didn’t see it. Tokkenoht raised her hands and a steel-colored dragon dropped from the sky, landing atop the temple vault so hard that the entire pyramid shook. Since time immemorial, the lizzies had worshipped dragons, but one by one they had died over the ages, except for this one. Yessonar, God of the Sky, stood up on his hind legs. Almost a hundred feet from the tip of his whip-like tail to his head, he stretched out his mighty scale-covered wings and roared, the sound like thunder echoing for miles.

  His massive head, covered in whiskers and spikes, dropped down closed to the high priestess.

  “Well Tokkenoht, is that enough, or do I need to play it up a bit more?”

  “Perhaps some fire.”

  The dragon took a deep breath as he raised its head. Then opening its mouth, he released a gout of flame that shot horizontally across the sky from one end of the city to the other. Thousands of lizzies down below, on the street, dropped to their knees and prostrated themselves.

  The great head, larger as the high priestess’s entire body dropped down next to her, so close she could feel his whiskers touching her.

  “I hope you have something for me to eat,” he said. “I’m famished.”

  Chapter Four: Wizard Peter Bassington

  “Good morning, all,” said Peter Bassington walking jauntily into the dining room.

  “Hi, Uncle,” said Sen from her seat atop a pile of mail order catalogs.

  “Good morning, Peter,” said Baxter, watching him sit down and then pushing a platter of white pudding toward him. “You seem in good spirits.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be in good spirits? Why wouldn’t anybody? We’re here in Birmisia, the weather is warming up, there’s plenty to eat, and no one to tell us what to do. Isn’t that right, sister?”

  Senta didn’t answer. She was staring off into space.

  “Sister?”

  “What?” She blinked and looked around, her eyes finally settling on him. “Oh, do you still live here?”

  “Don’t mind her,” said Baxter. “She’s got her mind on important things and can’t be bothered with us mortals.”

  “Well, I’m a journeyman wizard now. I passed my test. Maybe I could help you with whatever you have going on, sister.”

  “That’s half-sister,” said Senta. She rose out of her chair as if gravity didn’t exist for her and stepped around the table, pausing just long enough to bend over and bite Baxter on the ear, before leaving through the kitchen door.

  “I think she’s getting meaner,” said Peter, frowning and reaching for the toast.

  “Get Mr. Bassington some eggs.” Baxter snapped his fingers at one of the lizzie servants. “Like I said, don’t mind her. She’s got something on her mind and forgets the ordinary things—like the fact that we have feelings.”

  “Well I shan’t mind her. Life is too good to go around worrying about things.”

  “So, what are you doing on this thoroughly wonderful day then?” asked Baxter.

  “Oh, I’m going to fiddle around for a couple of hours, and then I have a lunch date.”

  “Oh? And where are you taking Miss Bassett?”

  “It’s not with Abigail. I’m taking out Lucetta Hartley.”

  “I don’t think I know that family.”

  “They’re just here from Brechalon—Langsington.”

  “Well, you certainly seem to be a popular fellow,” said Baxter.

  “I know.” The young man grinned. “None of them ever noticed me back in Brech, but here I’m that popular.”

  “I’m sure you can attribute some of that to the fact that your sister is letting you spend her money as freely as you can.”

  “Yeah. Do you think she’d let me buy a steam carriage? That’s really the only reason I’m not completely irresistible.”

  “I know for a fact that Senta will have nothing to do with a steam carriage,” said Baxter. “She doesn’t like them. And part of your resistibility has to do with your being a dunderhead.”

  “Hey! She said I could buy what I wanted. Besides, I don’t see you with any of your own money. How much did that fine suit set you back?”

  “You watch your mouth if you don’t want it smacked,” said Baxter.

  Peter raised a finger, threateningly. Baxter gave him a withering look.

  “I wasn’t referring to your spending habits,” he said, “but to your jumping from one young lady to another. You’re going to burn all your bridges. You know they all talk to each other, don’t you?”

  “There are plenty of fish in the sea,” grumbled Peter, bothered less by the criticism than by the fact that Baxter didn’t seem to be afraid of his magic.

  “That may be, but a good fisherman doesn’t poison the water.” Baxter wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it onto his plate. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Sen and I are off to ride a dinosaur this morning.”

  “You can’t take a baby on a dinosaur.”

  “I’m not a baby,” said the l
ittle girl. “I’m three.”

  “You see there,” said the man, standing up and scooping the girl up into his arms. “Come along, my darling. Let’s get my riding clothes on.”

  Peter watched him leave and then turned his attention to his breakfast, just as the lizzie brought out two basted eggs on a plate.

  “You should listen to him,” said a sultry female voice. “I would imagine he’s been with many women.”

  Peter looked around, not seeing anyone at first, and then the coral dragon rose up from the other side of the table, taking Senta’s vacated seat. She reached out her scaly arm and picked up each of the remaining platters one at a time, dumping their contents onto Senta’s barely touched plate.

  “What do you know about it, Zoey?” asked Peter.

  “Hardly anything, which is only slightly less than you.”

  “Hardy har, har.”

  Peter took two more bites of his breakfast then called for a lizzie to bring him a cup of tea, which he carried out into the garden. Sitting in a wrought iron chair, he sipped the drink as steam rose up and tickled his nose.

  “You could catch a chill out here without your coat on.”

  “I might be able to catch some peace and quiet. If only.”

  “Nobody wants the dragon around.” The smooth metallic body curled around him until the spiky, whiskered face was right in front of his. “I could get a complex.”

  “I apologize,” said Peter, with a sigh. “I was in such a good mood when I came down the stairs, and then… well, I get reminded that I’m just me.”

  “What’s wrong with being you?” asked Zoey.

  “There shouldn’t be anything wrong with being me. Look at me. I’m a decent fellow. I’m not horribly ugly. Plus, I happen to be a very good journeyman wizard. I passed my test quite handily, not that anyone cares. But in this house, I certainly don’t stand out. Senta has more magical power than I do by ten-fold…”

  “Um, more like a hundred.”