“What does that mean?”
“They were running as fast as horses,” said Walter, “…even though they wore armor. When they reached the gates, they began pounding upon them with the heavy iron maces that they were armed with.”
His description suggested that they were supernaturally enhanced, much like the Knights of Stone, but there were no such troops that I knew of. “What happened then?”
“By the time the runner alerted me, they had nearly demolished the town gate and some had scaled the wall itself,” replied Walter. “The guards managed to knock several off the walls with poles, but one reached the top and got inside. He killed over twenty guardsmen, and nearly managed to open the gate itself, before Master Grayson brought him down with a lucky shot through the eye.”
Luck has little to do with that man’s aim, I noted silently. “How did they scale the walls so quickly? Did they have hooks?”
“I am told they simply drove steel spikes into the walls and pulled themselves upward, withdrawing the spikes as they went and driving them in higher up.”
“Using hammers, that would take too long, they should have been full of arrows by then,” I observed.
“They didn’t use hammers. They were driving the spikes in bare-handed and pulling them out the same way. A rough count indicates that nearly two hundred of these men are outside the walls now. Should I have used the blue beacon, or simply put up the barrier enchantment?” asked Walter uncertainly.
“Two hundred!?” I said incredulously. There were only twenty Knights of Stone, and I was the only man capable of creating such bonds. The gods had to be involved, of that I could be certain. “You chose rightly,” I reassured Walter. “I’m assuming the barrier enchantment put an end to their attempts to enter.” As I spoke, I leaned against the wall and slid carefully down to the floor. There were no chairs in the room, and I was still feeling very unstable.
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “When it went up, those still climbing were flung from the wall itself. Those battering at the gates haven’t been able to do any more damage at all. Are you alright? You don’t look well.”
“As a matter of fact I don’t think I am,” I said honestly, “I think I may have been poisoned.” To further emphasize my point, I leaned over and emptied my stomach onto the floor. I’ve never been very good at vomiting, and frankly, it wasn’t the sort of thing I really hoped to acquire skill at. They always tell you, you’ll feel better afterward, but in my experience that was generally untrue. Once my belly was empty, the retching simply became more painful.
Walter went pale and covered his own mouth with his hand. Evidently he wasn’t the sort of fellow with a strong stomach for such things. He managed to keep from joining me, though. After a few minutes I had regained control of myself, and I moved away from the mess I had made. Idly I wished that Walter was good enough at healing to block my nausea. That had been a useful trick I had learned during Penny’s pregnancies, but it required a certain degree of sensitivity and a lot of confidence to accomplish. Though I trusted Walter with my life, I didn’t trust him enough as a healer to ask him to muck around with my brain like that.
“It looks worse than it is,” I told him eventually, as I tried to regain my dignity.
“And it smells worse than it looks,” he answered acerbically. Walter occasionally showed signs of dry wit.
“Thanks for your sympathy,” I responded, with a crooked smile.
“Don’t we have a healer who can help?”
I shook my head negatively. “No, just you and me, and I’m afraid I won’t be doing any healing for a while.”
“I know nothing about treating poisons,” said the older wizard.
“Neither do I, and the only person that I know of who does, is in Lancaster,” I told him.
“Who?”
“Lady Thornbear… don’t you remember how she kept you drugged until I could question you?” I reminded him. Many years before, Walter had been forced to aid in the kidnapping of my wife. He had been captured and Dorian’s mother had kept him drugged and insensible for days, before I was able to talk to him.
He shuddered at the memory, “I was sick for days after that. I think I’d rather die than take any remedy she offered.”
“Heh…,” I uttered, giving a half-hearted chuckle, “I can’t say I blame you. I’d probably feel the same if I’d been in your position.”
“You should let me take you to Lancaster. Perhaps there’s something she can do for you,” he suggested before adding, “How serious do you think this poison is?”
“I thought it was bad, but now that a few minutes have passed, my symptoms seem to be improving,” I replied.
“Why would anyone bother poisoning you with something non-fatal? Your enemies aren’t known for their mercy,” Walter argued. A moment later he clarified, “Not that I’m hoping it’s a fatal poison, you understand.”
I waved my hand to indicate that I wasn’t upset. Just moments before I had been convinced of the same thing, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the poison’s purpose had probably just been to render me unable to fight, and if that were the case, then it probably wasn’t something lethal that I had been given. Ultimately the goal would still be to kill me, but my death would probably come as a result of the assault on the castle, rather than because of whatever had been put in my drink or food.
I explained my reasoning to Walter, as well as describing the primary effect the poison was having, namely the complete suppression of my magical abilities. As I spoke his face grew pale, and rather than finding reassurance, my friend seemed to be becoming more anxious. Finally I stopped talking and just stared at him. “What?” I asked.
“It’s magebane,” he replied simply, as if that one word was enough.
“You’ll have to explain. I’m afraid I’ve not heard the term before,” I told him, but even as I said it, the word tickled the back of my mind, stirring one of my ‘other’ memories, a memory of a classroom from a time well over a thousand years past. In my mind’s eye I saw a thin, balding man pacing in front of his students while discussing what had seemed at the time to be an interesting, but useless bit of trivia. The plant we call ‘magebane’ today, was originally called ‘glintel’s flower’, and supposedly was one of the few things known to be highly poisonous to the She’Har. It was renamed later when it was discovered that, while it had been thought to be harmless to humans, it is in fact deadly when given to those with any degree of magical ability.
“I know only what my father taught me,” said Walter, “According to him, it was a deadly poison manufactured to kill wizards. It was used by some assassins not long after the Sundering. Though it can’t be proven, it was thought that the secret of making it was held by one of the four churches.”
“Did he happen to tell you how it might be countered?” I asked without much hope.
“No. He said no one knew what the poison was made from, and neither did they know of an antidote. It completely suppresses magical ability in the short term, and most victims die a painful death a few days later,” Walter’s voice was apologetic as he finished.
“This is still better than I expected,” I told him with a wan smile.
“What?”
I laughed sardonically. “When I came in here, I was expecting you to tell me that we were under attack by one of the gods, in person. Without my power, I figured the two of us would die trying to tr…,” I paused as I realized I had been about to give away one of my closest secrets. “…trying to keep them from getting the stone,” I amended.
“How would you fight them without your magic?” asked the other wizard.