Footwizard

by Terry Mancour

We drifted off, after that. I didn’t arise until long past midnight, when I felt an uncharacteristic chill for such a warm summer night. A little confused, I rose without waking Alya and realized that, yes, it was somewhat cool in our chamber. Not enough to need a heatstone, but perhaps a bit of a fire might be in order.

  There was wood already laid on the hearth – having servants can be a blessing – and it only took me a moment to kindle it with a cantrip.

  “About time,” a voice said, from nowhere. Before I could react, a shower of fire cascaded at the foot of my bed until it formed a woman with bright red hair and an irritated expression. “You don’t use much fire, so I had to make it chilly in here to get your attention. That’s a little insulting. You were going to flee into the wilderness without speaking to me? After you flirted with Ishi all night?” she asked, her hands on her hips.

  “She flirted with me, and it wasn’t all night,” I said, defensively. “Hail, Briga, Mistress of the Flame, Queen of Combustion, oh Princess of Primal Plasma. Do you have some divine wisdom to impart to me, on the eve of my great journey? Or did you just want to deprive me of sleep?” I asked, sarcastically.

  “I wanted to warn you, Minalan,” she said, her expression unchanged. “Anghysbel is dangerous. Ishi was correct: the gods cannot see into that land. Or have any interaction with you, while you’re there. At least nothing overt, that I can tell. That place . . . it concerns me.”

  “It scares you,” I accused.

  “It’s a volcano – I like volcanos,” she insisted. “I should be able to manifest almost at will, there. But with no magic, that includes divine magic. And necromantic magic. No songspells, no irionite, and certainly no Imperial magic. So you will be well and truly on your own.”

  “How come no one trusts me to go someplace without magic?” I complained.

  “The same reason I wouldn’t be the best goddess to take to sea,” she pointed out. “Magic is your greatest strength. Therefore, you will be weak without it.”

  “I will manage, I promise,” I said. Now I was getting irritated.

  “Perhaps you will,” she admitted, reluctantly. “But your ancestors were wary of that place, when they first encountered it. They studied it in depth, and were themselves concerned. Do you have any idea of the destructive power of a volcano?”

  “I saw Mount Renly erupt, in Farise,” I recalled. “But I was miles away from it.”

  “Renly?” she snorted. “Mount Renly is a campfire, compared with what lies in Anghysbel. It is what your ancestors called a super-volcano. Where the crust of the world is thinnest. Should it have a major eruption, it would devastate most of the Five Duchies,” she predicted. “Your ancestors knew of it and were concerned about it even then. Even a minor eruption could be problematic for your realm.”

  “I promise I won’t make the volcano erupt,” I said, raising my hand in pledge and rolling my eyes.

  “Don’t joke about it!” the goddess of fire said, seriously. “The volcano isn’t even my primary concern. There are a lot of things crawling up there in the realm of the jevolar. The volcano might not even be the most dangerous of them. There are things there that are found nowhere else on Callidore. Ancient horrors. Long-forgotten races. You must be wary at all times. Especially if trouble follows you there,” she warned.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. That sounded like a warning.

  “I’ve seen through the fire’s eye a danger you are unaware of. Though I might be mistaken, it appears as if your enemies, too, are planning an expedition to Anghysbel.”

  “What?” I asked, no less confused.

  “I’ve witnessed several conversations,” she reported, leaning on the post of my bed. “The Nemovorti have reached the conclusion that they, too, need to explore this land, for their own reasons. But once it was learned that you are going, they had the best reason of all: to capture the Magolith when it – and you – are at your weakest.”

  “But you said that necromantic magic won’t work in Anghysbel,” I protested.

  “Which is why the effort is being made with Enshadowed and gurvani agents,” she provided. “A company of them is even now making their way to the edge of the desolation. They seek to gain it ahead of you and then take you on the trail.”

  “Will they?” I asked, surprised.

  “Not at their current pace,” she admitted. “They have yet to emerge from the Penumbra, and someone misinformed them that you will not depart for more than a week, yet. But they will follow you, Minalan. And they might catch up with you. You should take that into consideration.”

  “I will,” I agreed, after a moment’s thought. “That is useful information, actually. This quest just became more challenging.”

  The goddess snorted. “It will grow yet more challenging, that I can guarantee. Yet the Enshadowed will be as hampered by a lack of magic as you will be. That may give you some small advantage. But you must be careful, Minalan,” she pleaded.

  “I’ll pack an extra dagger,” I promised, tiredly. “Anything else?”

  She sighed, and folded her arms. “You aren’t taking me seriously, are you?”

  “Of course I am,” I replied. “But a man can only hear so many dire warnings before they stop having an effect. I’ve made every preparation I can possibly make, at this point. I’m confident enough that I’m allowing my wife to go someplace the gods themselves fear. Ishi is terrified of Anghysbel. So are you. I’m sure Herus will have to add his own dire warnings . . . but if old Fondaras the Wise can make the trip not once but four times, I’m going to have to presume my own competence on this matter.”

  “The footwizard is renowned for his wisdom,” she pointed out. “You are renowned for your power. Which will be gone.”

  “So perhaps I’ll cultivate a little wisdom to make up for it,” I shrugged. “It is an opportunity to gain knowledge.”

  “Fondaras might be just the footwizard to grant it to you,” she decided. “I’ve followed the man for years, around thousands of fires. His name was come by honestly.”

  “So I hear. I’ve always given more stock to the brothers of the road than most of us magi,” I pointed out. “Besides, he knows the way. And if an old fart like him can make it, then I’m sure a healthy young man like myself should be able to manage it.”

  “Not all he made the journey with returned,” she said, sadly. “There are reasons I am fearful about this.”

  “Can’t you just whip up a little divine foresight?” I offered. “Nothing as heavy as prophecy, but just a glimmer of whether I make it or not? For my peace of mind,” I explained.

  “I . . . I can’t, Minalan,” she said, with the utmost serious expression on her face instead of whipping out a snappy retort, as I expected. “I’ve tried. We all have. Your journey defies our foresight. We get glimmers of death and madness, joy and wonder. Indeed, it feels as if this trip is enwrapped in prophecy already. But none of us can even get a glimmer from . . . that place. Nor of you. Nor of the future, even in the roundabout ways in which we can glimpse it. It appears as if everything just sort of . . . stops until you return. If you return,” she corrected.

  “That does sound serious,” I admitted, troubled.

  “It is. There is a kind of dark tangle of fate bound up with your journey. The fate of everyone. The Gods. The Alka Alon. The Kingdom. The Vundel. The Formless. Your Ancestors. The Forsaken. The entire human colony. Life on this world. Nothing will be truly determined until you come back with the knowledge you seek.”

  “That’s not terribly helpful,” I observed, coolly.

  “It’s frustrating, is what it is!” she corrected, angrily. “Having some sense of fate and the future is implicit with almost all manifestations of divinity. Some of us go beyond that, and risk foresight, or even prophecy. Most of us flirt with the idea, even knowing how dangerous it is. But all of us depend on our sense of fate to help guide us.

  “But none of us can get a bead on this matter. When the gods are in doubt, and fate itself has be
come entangled, that’s frustrating, Minalan.”

  “And not terribly helpful,” I repeated. “Well, you recall that happy confidence I felt about my journey? If it makes you feel better . . . it’s fading, now. Quickly.”

  Chapter Six

  Departure

  The lands to the north of Vanador beyond the Maier River, are known from antiquity as Callierd. It is a land of gently rolling hills broken by occasional rocky mountains. It is here that the vast forests of the Wilderlands give way to grassy hillsides, ideal for horses and sheep. Within it is the reborn town of Nandine, ruled by Viscount Tyndal of Callierd, from whence the Spellmonger’s expedition to Anghysbel departed. Viscount Tyndal, by all accounts a mage knight of most noble bearing, impressive virtue and uncommon bravery, boldly accompanied his liege northward, for by decree Anghysbel was recorded a fief of his. All who beheld his handsome face and dashing figure felt confident in their safe return, for such a captain has rarely led a company so bravely as Tyndal of Callierd and none doubted his success in any endeavor he undertook.

  From the Expedition Book of Anghysbel,

  Recorded by Viscount Tyndal of Callierd

  “Where do I sign?” Gurkarl asked, as he studied the long scroll detailing the terms of my treaty with Ashakarl, King of the Goblins.

  “You know how to write?” asked Tyndal, surprised.

  “It’s just like reading, just in reverse,” shrugged the gurvan as he continued to read the treaty.

  “Just sign there, at the bottom,” I indicated. “Just below my signature and seal. I don’t suppose there’s a gurvani equivalent, is there?”

  “Not with wax and a seal, but every literate gurvan develops a kind of pictograph to represent his name or position,” he said, as he expertly dipped the pen and signed his name in Narasi, then added a little picture the could have been gurvani writing. I knew they had a written language, though it was crude in comparison to ours. Their letters looked more like slash marks than pen strokes. But I had to admit that it had a certain artistry to it. “This one is mine, as Ashakarl’s ambassador. Congratulations, Minalan. You are at peace with the Gurvani Kingdom,” he said, as he sanded the parchment dry.

  “Now if I could just claim the same with the rest of the gurvani,” I sighed. “But it’s a good start. Ashakarl remains in favor of the alliance?”

  “If it means he can shift his focus away from the north and east, and redirect his forces southward, he is decidedly in favor,” Gurkarl reported. “Since the wars in the winter and spring, many of those lands are nearly empty, now. Ashakarl plans to take advantage of the disarray and expand his rule as much as he can this summer.”

  “It looks like I will be missing out on many exciting things, while I’m gone,” I reflected. “Please extend my good wishes to His Majesty, and wish him the best of luck in his wars.”

  “In truth, we’re seeing it less as a war, and more as a recovery,” Gurkarl said, as he rolled up the treaty. “Ashakarl doesn’t have the strength to wage a proper war. But he will expand until he meets resistance. Thank you for assuring that you will not attack him while he does so. Don’t you have any proper ale around this place, Tyndal?” he asked, looking around at the inn.

  “Plenty, Ambassador,” Tyndal grinned. “As your host, I’ll even pour. Probably my last chance at a civilized drink for a while,” he considered, as he dipped three mugs into the barrel on the bar and distributed them. “To peace!”

  “To peace,” Gurkarl and I both toasted. It seemed poor form not to drain the mug.

  “Now, off on our expedition,” mused my former apprentice. “The wagons are ready, the teams are hitched, and Nattia’s bird is ready to fly. Fondaras says we need to go today, if we’re to have the best chance of crossing.”

  “I still think it is foolish of you to make this journey,” Gurkarl said, shaking his furry head. “My people know of that place. They say it’s cursed and avoid it.”

  “Of course they do,” I agreed. “Quite sensible of them, actually. But I won’t be gone long, and any curses I happen across will be purely of my own doing. Magic doesn’t work there, so neither do curses.”

  “I think he was speaking in the metaphorical sense,” proposed Tyndal.

  “No, no, I was being literal. They think it is actually cursed,” insisted Gurkarl. “But good luck, anyway.”

  “Are you done in here, yet?” called a voice from the doorway. “Pentandra wants to hurry up and say her farewells so she can get back to the palace,” Lilastien reported. She had traded her white coat for more traditional traveling garb, leather riding trousers and a tunic.

  “Yes, the treaty is signed,” I informed her, standing. “We were just enjoying a celebratory ale, before we left.”

  “Of course you did,” the Alka Alon sorceress said, rolling her eyes. “You are also keeping everyone waiting. That’s rude.”

  “We’re making peace, in here,” I said, dismissively. “It’s worth a few extra moments to ensure everything is properly signed. But we’re done – let’s go bid our friends goodbye and start this journey,” I urged.

  There were a goodly number of well-wishers who had arrived by the Ways in Callierd to see us off. Pentandra was chief among them, of course, but she was not alone.

  She had brought her husband, Baron Arborn, as well as Terleman, Mavone and Sandoval. They were waiting just outside of Tyndal’s tavern, watching as the four wagons we were taking were lined up along the road. At the head of the column were the warhorses of the six knights Tyndal was bringing along for security. I had asked for the increase due to Briga’s warning. If the Enshadowed were leading gurvani into the wastelands against me, I wanted to have plenty of steel to meet them with.

  “They were having a quick ale, after signing,” Lilastien explained to the party as they shuffled around. She sounded quite judgmental, but then I could write that off to anxiety about the journey.

  “It was an important ceremony that required an adequate toast,” Tyndal said, defensively. “Now that we are properly fortified, we are ready to depart.”

  “At last,” smirked Pentandra. “For all else is in readiness, according to Fondaras. The dwarves are loaded into the wains, the alchemist has arrived with his wagon, Taren is lurking gloomily on his horse, Gareth has that toy of yours strapped in, the birds are ready to take wing, and the horses are restless. It is time for you to go.”

  “I consign my realm to your care, Baroness Pentandra,” I said, formally. “Gentlemen, I trust you to follow her lead, in my absence?”

  “She’s already my boss, as Deputy Court Wizard,” Terleman shrugged. “She makes more sense than you, anyway.”

  “You are still in charge of military matters,” I reminded him. “But I would appreciate your deference to her advice on matters of policy.”

  “I’m anticipating a long, boring summer, in all honesty,” Sandoval declared. “Pentandra had better not interrupt that. I’ve earned it.”

  “Nine weeks, Minalan,” Mavone reminded me. “You can only be gone for nine weeks. Remember that, and don’t dawdle.”

  “I don’t dawdle!” I said, with a sniff. “I merely pause to appreciate the subtle things. Farewell, my friends. Pentandra,” I said with a bow.

  She smiled in return, and then she looked troubled. “What? What is it?” I demanded.

  “I’m just going to miss you, Minalan,” she said, with what seemed like a bit too much emotion for the occasion. After all, I’d barely seen her at all in the last few years. We’d both been busy with our respective realms. Indeed, I’d seen more of her in the last few days than I had since she’d gone to Vorone.

  “I’ll be back in two months,” I protested. “I—"

  “Nine weeks,” Mavone insisted. “You have nine weeks. No more.”

  “The point is it won’t be that long. You won’t have time to miss me. It’s just a quest. I’ll be back before you know it,” I promised.

  “But you will be changed,” Pentandra sighed. “That’s why I will m
iss you. Just don’t die,” she reminded me, a note of seriousness in her voice.

  “Travel always changes you,” I reflected. “I expect this to be no different. Dying is not on my agenda. At least this time I don’t have ten thousand orphans trailing behind me.”

  “No, just one small caravan,” Arborn observed. “My people have made the journey many times. It is perilous, even for us. Be careful, my friend.”

  “I’ll have my wife with me. I’ll have to be careful. She won’t let me do anything dangerous,” I pointed out.

  “I’m counting on that,” Pentandra agreed. “Very well, then: farewell, and may Trygg and Briga bless your journey. And Herus. He loves this sort of thing.”

  With a round of embraces and a few private words for each of my counselors, I finally heaved myself into the wagon seat next to Alya. She’d said her goodbyes, already.

  “Let’s go!” I called to Tyndal, who was mounting his warhorse. Then I turned back and saw the two giant falcons at the rear of the column. “Ladies, if you’d like to take flight and scout ahead?” Ithalia and Nattia both nodded, and climbed aboard their respective birds.

  “We’re off, at last!” Alya said, clinging to my arm as I urged the team forward. “It feels like it has taken forever to get here!”

  “Just a bit of business to finish up,” I told her. “I didn’t want to leave anything to chance while I was gone. I don’t want to return from a holiday to a mess. That’s always disappointing.”

  “I know,” she sighed. “I am just impatient. We haven’t been on a trip like this in years.”

  “I’m looking forward to it, too. Ho, Fondaras!” I called to the footwizard, who was riding a rouncey up and down our caravan, dressing the column. “How does it feel to be going on a journey with the greatest wizard of the age?”

  The old man rode over to me, and matched our leisurely pace. There was a disturbing grin on his face. Or perhaps a smirk. Fondaras is subtle, that way.

  “Perhaps the greatest mage, but not the greatest wizard, my lord,” he suggested. That made Alya’s mouth gape.