Read Online Ilbei Spadebreaker and the Harpy's Wild by John Daulton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Daulton
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about, and if’n there were, they wouldn’t be meddlin with the likes of us.”
“It’s the diseases that are the most troubling,” Jasper said. “Carving them up is not the problem. I don’t have scrolls for the specific diseases borne upon harpy spit or excrement, not if it gets set in. I could possibly prevent one, and I’m being optimistic here, but I don’t think I could cure it if it took hold. That could be very bad.”
Kaige heard this and his eyes bulged. He stopped and stared, horrified. “Scrolls? Like paper magic?”
“Yes,” Jasper replied. He didn’t look as if he appreciated the implications in Kaige’s tone.
“You mean you can’t heal for real? Like a real wizard?”
Indignation pushed Jasper’s eyebrows upward, and he clearly restrained his initial response. Instead, he said, “Since you are a simpleton, I will explain it to you—not that I expect you’ll understand, but I will try. I am an enchanter. That is my only school of the eight, so, doing the math for you, yes, that makes me a One. Enchanters make scrolls, and we read scrolls. And what happens when we read them is magic —magic just like all other magic that’s ever been cast by any human in history. My gift, the enchanter’s gift, is the gift of sigils and signs. It is the gift of permanence.” He straightened to his full height upon finishing, the hauteur in his bearing suggesting that he expected Kaige to appreciate the information he’d just been given and maybe even offer an apology. He did not.
“Yeah, but if we get harpy spat, you can’t just lay on hands like a real healer. We’ll all die.”
Jasper rolled his eyes, rolling his head along with them. He looked back to Kaige. “I will ‘lay on’ parchment, and it’s all the same.”
“But you just said you don’t got the scrolls.”
“That is true. But my point is that a healer who doesn’t know the correct spell can’t help you any more than I can without the right scroll. So you see, your objection is groundless.”
“What about, say, spider bites or copperheads? Or a bad fall? Or a patch of death weed? What about dragon’s fire, or even if someone just gets a hole poked in them with a sword?”
“That’s enough,” Ilbei said. “It’s gonna be me what puts a hole in ya with my pickaxe if’n ya don’t quit with all that. All of ya. Now Kaige, if’n you’re gonna spell me fer clearin the road, then take yer damned sword back and get to it.” He nodded toward the shortsword he’d borrowed from the big man to cut their path, droplets of water shaking loose and falling from his beard as he did. “Go on now. We need to get to that camp, gather what word we can, and get back by nightfall. So move it.”
Kaige looked warily from Ilbei to the skies, then to Jasper, then back to the skies. Ilbei took a step toward him, menacing him with the promise of violence far more immediate than anything an imaginary harpy could contrive. Kaige saw it and stepped away, taking up his sword and setting himself to work, hacking here and there at the crooked, red-barked limbs of the manzanita brambles that reached across the trail to block their way. Such was his worry over the possibility of harpy diseases that he made quick work of it, hacking through thick limbs as easily as cheese. In little more than an hour, they’d made it to Camp Chaparral.
Chapter 7
C amp Chaparral, like Cedar Wood, surprised Ilbei by its small size. Neither camp could have supported the needs of more than fifty or so miners and their families—those that might be inclined to drag a family so far away from the rest of humanity anyway. The camp consisted of five wooden buildings. Two were barely more than shanties, but three of them were built well enough to have the look of civility. One sent up a plume of smoke from a mud-brick chimney despite the scorching heat of the day, suggesting the preparation of a hot meal underway. Harpy Creek ran at a pretty good clip forty or so
“It’s the diseases that are the most troubling,” Jasper said. “Carving them up is not the problem. I don’t have scrolls for the specific diseases borne upon harpy spit or excrement, not if it gets set in. I could possibly prevent one, and I’m being optimistic here, but I don’t think I could cure it if it took hold. That could be very bad.”
Kaige heard this and his eyes bulged. He stopped and stared, horrified. “Scrolls? Like paper magic?”
“Yes,” Jasper replied. He didn’t look as if he appreciated the implications in Kaige’s tone.
“You mean you can’t heal for real? Like a real wizard?”
Indignation pushed Jasper’s eyebrows upward, and he clearly restrained his initial response. Instead, he said, “Since you are a simpleton, I will explain it to you—not that I expect you’ll understand, but I will try. I am an enchanter. That is my only school of the eight, so, doing the math for you, yes, that makes me a One. Enchanters make scrolls, and we read scrolls. And what happens when we read them is magic —magic just like all other magic that’s ever been cast by any human in history. My gift, the enchanter’s gift, is the gift of sigils and signs. It is the gift of permanence.” He straightened to his full height upon finishing, the hauteur in his bearing suggesting that he expected Kaige to appreciate the information he’d just been given and maybe even offer an apology. He did not.
“Yeah, but if we get harpy spat, you can’t just lay on hands like a real healer. We’ll all die.”
Jasper rolled his eyes, rolling his head along with them. He looked back to Kaige. “I will ‘lay on’ parchment, and it’s all the same.”
“But you just said you don’t got the scrolls.”
“That is true. But my point is that a healer who doesn’t know the correct spell can’t help you any more than I can without the right scroll. So you see, your objection is groundless.”
“What about, say, spider bites or copperheads? Or a bad fall? Or a patch of death weed? What about dragon’s fire, or even if someone just gets a hole poked in them with a sword?”
“That’s enough,” Ilbei said. “It’s gonna be me what puts a hole in ya with my pickaxe if’n ya don’t quit with all that. All of ya. Now Kaige, if’n you’re gonna spell me fer clearin the road, then take yer damned sword back and get to it.” He nodded toward the shortsword he’d borrowed from the big man to cut their path, droplets of water shaking loose and falling from his beard as he did. “Go on now. We need to get to that camp, gather what word we can, and get back by nightfall. So move it.”
Kaige looked warily from Ilbei to the skies, then to Jasper, then back to the skies. Ilbei took a step toward him, menacing him with the promise of violence far more immediate than anything an imaginary harpy could contrive. Kaige saw it and stepped away, taking up his sword and setting himself to work, hacking here and there at the crooked, red-barked limbs of the manzanita brambles that reached across the trail to block their way. Such was his worry over the possibility of harpy diseases that he made quick work of it, hacking through thick limbs as easily as cheese. In little more than an hour, they’d made it to Camp Chaparral.
Chapter 7
C amp Chaparral, like Cedar Wood, surprised Ilbei by its small size. Neither camp could have supported the needs of more than fifty or so miners and their families—those that might be inclined to drag a family so far away from the rest of humanity anyway. The camp consisted of five wooden buildings. Two were barely more than shanties, but three of them were built well enough to have the look of civility. One sent up a plume of smoke from a mud-brick chimney despite the scorching heat of the day, suggesting the preparation of a hot meal underway. Harpy Creek ran at a pretty good clip forty or so
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