A Clash of Magics by Guy Antibes (read this if txt) 📕

already on his finger when he prayed to Dryden to have enough power to get a message off. He closed his eyes and imagined the ring filling up with magical power. Trevor could almost feel the ring seek out its companion.

Reena answered.

“I don’t have much magic to make this work, so just listen. Lissa is at the Drowned Swallow in Khartoo. I had a misfortune and ended up on a ship to Berry Port in Sirland. If there is a seer in Khartoo, have him tell her I’m okay, but without a magician, so I’m stuck on this vessel. I’m using up all the magic in …” The communication failed. He tried again, but it was plain the communication had drained his weapons. He could only hope enough information had gotten through.

Trevor thought back on the message. Misfortune was right. So much for being Dryden’s Messenger. He didn’t even have the time to transfer what he learned at the Enclave, and Trevor might never find out if he had killed Gareeze Plissaki before he had to flee. Still, he was alive and breathing air rather than water. Trevor thought he could have done much worse, but he worried about Lissa and Snowflake in that exact order.

~

Life aboard the ship wasn’t too bad. Once the ship’s healer had failed to provide enough power so Trevor could teleport, Trevor spent the days at menial tasks in the kitchen and evenings entertaining Captain Bookend with his stories. The captain and her two mates returned the favor and entertained Trevor. The time went quickly, but Trevor’s fascination with the sea had waned by the time they put into Berry Port on the morning of their sixth day at sea.

Sirland used to be part of the ancient Presidonian empire that extended south through West Moreton, so the culture wasn’t much different from what he was used to. After giving his thanks and his farewells to the captain and crew, he decided it would be best to find a seer so everyone could be notified. He hefted the purse that Captain Bookend had given him, thinking about where to go next. Berry Port wasn’t the capital of Sirland. Wistfall, the Sirland capital, was only three days away, so before midmorning, Trevor was mounted, making his way through an unfamiliar country, hoping there was a seer at the end of his three-day journey.

The passage was a blur. All Trevor could think about was getting back to Lissa, but that would take a powerful magician. He hoped the Sirlandian seer knew such a person. Trevor drove his horse mercilessly, while the urge to return to Khartoo increased with every mile. Finally, Trevor trotted through the open gate of Wistfall. The city seemed to be under a cloud of darkness even though it was midday.

When Trevor secured a room in an inn close to Wistfall Castle, the country’s ancient seat, the innkeeper lamented about the downward spiral of Sirland.

“What makes the country spiral down? What is down, even,” Trevor said.

“Taxes, restrictions on magic, the ordering of fertile fields to lay fallow. It’s as if Queen Marta has no respect for her people,” the innkeeper said.

“And when did this start?” Trevor asked.

“About a year and a half ago. But we thought the measures were temporary.” The innkeeper shook his head.

“Does the queen consult with her seer?”

“Seer?” the innkeeper said. “He died just before all this started. The queen has rejected having the seer replaced.”

Maskumite meddling was as plain as it could be, Trevor thought. Without a seer and with restrictions on magic, it looked like Trevor would be heading west to the Maskumite border on a horse, but first, Dryden’s messenger had to eliminate the Maskumite magician who likely ran Sirland.

Trevor put on his black diving outfit. He wouldn’t fit in with the styles of Wistfall, but he wanted to stand out at this point. The only identification Trevor had was the token from Khartoo for Des Boxster. It looked like he would have to revert to the Boxster name for now.

After his midday meal, Trevor strolled the streets of the capital. He wasn’t far from Wistfall Castle, and in front of the home of Sirland’s queen was a broad area full of stalls. Trevor bought bags for his horse and a set of clothes that, he hoped, could be worn in court. He returned to his room and changed into his new clothes, and then he walked purposefully toward Wistfall Castle. However, Trevor stopped at the entrance to the Wistfall Cathedral to Dryden.

Would this be where the seer did his ministry? He walked in and asked to see the bishop. After being shunted from cleric to cleric, Trevor finally was shuffled off to a middle-aged man, but it was made clear the man he met wasn’t the bishop.

“You are making things difficult by your insistence to see the bishop, young man.”

“I am from Collet,” Trevor said. “I didn’t want to tell anyone but the bishop because I am not officially in Sirland.”

The man laughed. “You expect me to believe that is true?” The man was too confident to be an ordinary cleric.

“I do. Did Lister Vale send a seer to Sirland pretending to be a cleric?” Trevor asked. It seemed a logical move on the part of the head seer.

The cleric’s eyebrows rose. “And what position does Lister Vale hold?”

“He is the head seer. You would also know Yvan Grindeworm, who was my tutor in Presidon.”

“And I am just what you said should be in Wistfall. I have met Yvan a few times, and that makes you Trevor Arcwin, not Des Boxster.”

“You can locate me if you are a seer. I don’t show up clearly, I’ve been told.”

“You can be found?”

Trevor nodded.

The cleric closed his eyes and then opened them wide.

“I am playing the part of Dryden’s messenger,” Trevor