Wizard of Wisdom: An Epic Fantasy Series (Wisdom Saga Book 1)

by W. C. Conner

Waving away the servant who stepped forward at their approach, Prince Gleneagle lifted the latch and swung the door inwards. After accepting her affectionate kiss on the cheek, he pulled the door softly closed behind her and walked slowly on down the hallway toward his own rooms, his brows knitted with concern. He ignored the guards who had been shadowing them as they walked, so used to them that he was no longer aware of their presence.

  No one paid any attention to the dark-haired guard who had lagged well behind the others when he detached himself inconspicuously and turned back in the direction from which they had come.

  3

  The stillness of Wisdom’s morning was broken by the arrival of Tingle’s wagon. Heads looked up from their tasks and poked out of windows as the townsfolk heard the telltale clanking of the pots hung all about the sides of the tinker’s cart as it rolled slowly down the dusty street.

  “Tingle! Hi, Tingle,” came the cry as he clattered down the road with small children and dogs running and skipping behind his wagon as he went.

  Tinglesser waved and shouted replies to the words of greeting as he headed toward the village green where he would set up shop, selling and repairing the metal pots, pans, plates and cups that made him welcome wherever he went. The news and personal messages that he carried from town to town, along with his outgoing personality, had made his semi-annual visits more of an event than the mere availability of his tinker’s skills. More happily for him, he was assured a steady source of home cooked food from those to whom he brought special news from friends and relatives in the outside world.

  He unhitched his horse, Lily, from the wagon and led her over to the small stream running beside the green. As she drank he ran his hands over her legs and lifted her hooves to inspect them for any possible injuries or stones before returning to his cart, where he found several of the townsfolk looking over the selection of pots and pans hanging on the wagon. A small group of them were curiously eyeing his newest invention, a cup with markings stamped on the side to aid in measuring ingredients for cooking or mixing potions. One or two were already there holding pots in need of repair. Tingle smiled at everyone. This would be a profitable stop; he could feel it in his bones.

  “What news of the outside world?” called Hobbs, the old miller, who left virtually all of his duties these days to his three sons.

  Tingle gave the crowd his most winning smile. “Join me tonight at Three Oaks,” he replied. “You know I’ll only open my treasure chest of knowledge the first night I’m here, and you’ll get a free mug of ale if you come early enough.” This was what everyone assembled expected to hear as it was what he did at every visit, and he was roundly cheered by all present.

  “Good people,” he added, “while I have it to mind, is there a resident hereabouts by the name of Wilton?” He was greeted at this only by blank stares. “I found a bag peeking out from under a bush in a ditch beside the road as I drove into town. It has the name ‘Wilton’ stitched upon it and papers within naming him as the correspondent. He’d be quite old judging by the contents of the bag.”

  Again, blank stares, but one voice called out, “We’ve one newcomer to town, Tingle. Not a young’n, but he’s no old’n neither. He’s working as Scrubby’s assistant. Keeps to himself, though. Don’t recall ever hearing his name. Even Scrubby don’t say nothing about him.”

  Tingle shook his head. Clearly this would not be the owner of the bag he had found. “Well and good,” he finished. “It’s apparent this person is not known to those of you here. Now remember, you must be at the Three Oaks Inn this evening to share the news from outside. If the conditions are right, I might even be prevailed upon to sing a new song I learned during my last visit to Afrah’s waterfront entertainment parlors.” That announcement brought some laughter mixed in with another brief cheer, for the songs he learned in that port city were notoriously smutty.

  As the cheer died out and the curious went back to their chores, those with pots already in hand moved forward to haggle with Tingle over the costs of repair. These hopeful customers believed that the earlier you began the process, the easier it would be to get the tinker to settle on the price you wanted. He always saved his broadest smile for this group so they wouldn’t notice that they paid slightly more than everyone else did by the time the haggling was done. Tingle had learned that these customers seemed more satisfied by the belief they had gotten a good price than they were by the price itself.

  In the background, the swineherd’s new helper pulled a cart heaped with garbage scavenged from the kitchens of the Three Oaks Inn, as well as those of the rest of the town’s residents, as he did every second day. No one paid him any attention.

  Wil pulled the cart along beside the pens so Scrubby could dip into the slop sloshing in the bottom before pouring oozing glops of the stuff into the troughs around which the pigs were jostling for position. Once the cart was empty the two of them leaned against the fence, watching as their charges gobbled the garbage cast off by the residents which would return to them in the form of chops, bacon, ham, sausages and bladder balls for the children, and much, much more. From there the cycle would begin once again.

  “Did you see the tinker’s wagon on the green?” Scrubby asked as the hogs snuffled out the last bits of soured milk, spoiled fruits, vegetables and meats that made up their gourmet dinner.

  Wil nodded.

  “He always tells the news of the outside world at Three Oaks that first evening he arrives,” Scrubby continued. “Buys everyone that shows up early enough a tankard of ale, too.”

  Wil concentrated on a small pig that had been shouldered aside by the others as he searched for any scraps that had been missed.

  Well, I’m going,” Scrubby announced as if he’d been challenged. “I always do. Well, unless I’m sick, of course. Three Oaks’ ale is the best around; way better’n I make when I’m able, and I sure don’t have the money to buy a tankard for myself.” He looked sideways at Wil. “Join me?”

  Wil nodded. “But only to please you and to get a free ale,” he said. “I have no interest in the outside world.”

  As they joined the throng pressing into the common room from the courtyard of Three Oaks, Scrubby pointed toward a tall, lean, dapper man with a ready smile wearing a jaunty leather cap from which protruded a colorful feather from some sort of bird Wil didn’t recognize. “That’s Tingle there,” Scrubby announced, then added happily, “and it looks like he’s still buying tankards”

  But Wil only heard part of what he was saying. His attention had focused on a bag sitting on the floor next to the tinker’s chair. Without a word, he headed directly toward Tingle with Scrubby in tow.

  “Hello Scrubby,” greeted Tingle. “Who’s your friend?”

  “That’s my bag there,” Wil said, an accusatory edge to his voice.

  “Ah, you are my mysterious Wilton then. Well and good. You’ve saved Scrubby the discomfort of introducing you to me. I’m Tinglesser but nobody calls me that except my several wives, and only when they’re angry at me, so that’s all they ever call me.” Tingle laughed at his own joke and winked broadly. “Yes, it’s yours but nobody here seems to know you – at least, nobody but Scrubby here. I didn’t really have any hope that the owner of the bag would show up this evening, but I brought it along anyway in the unlikely chance that I might be relieved of its responsibility.”

  He drew his head back, raising his eyebrow as he considered Wil’s appearance. “I’d heard that Scrubby had a new helper,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “From what I learned of you from the contents of your bag, I would never have thought to find that man working here in Wisdom as Scrubby’s helper.” He swung a bench around and motioned to both of them to sit with him, looking about for a serving wench as he did.

  A serving girl was behind him and he playfully pinched her bottom to get her attention as he had done dozens of times in dozens of alehouses. She whirled around in indignation and the smile died on his lips when he felt the tip of a short dagger
at his throat.

  “That’s not the best way to get on the good side of the new tavern owner, now is it?” she asked.

  The point of the dagger followed the motion of Tingle’s throat as he swallowed nervously. “It works on all the other tavern owners,” he replied, praying his voice wouldn’t squeak noticeably. He turned his face up to her, presenting what he prayed was a convincing smile. “My friends here need a tankard each, and I’ll need another to satisfy myself that my throat doesn’t leak when I swallow after this.” His mischievous grin returned as he sensed the tide of outrage ebbing when her eyes narrowed and her mouth puckered as if suppressing a laugh. “You realize, of course, that you’re in danger of losing a substantial tip should you damage me in any way.”

  She threw her head back and laughed loudly as the dagger disappeared into her skirts. “Bravely said,” she declared as her eyes appraised him boldly from top to toe. A suggestive edge entered her voice as she continued, “Make the tip good enough and I’ll make you a double or nothing wager later tonight.” His confident smile told her the tip would be worth it and her fingertips trailed lightly over his clean-shaven face as she turned to go. She returned shortly with the three brimming tankards upon which no foam floated to make them appear full when they really weren’t. Tingle’s wink promised her the tip would be generous.

  He watched appreciatively as she moved away. “That is the finest looking tavern owner I have ever met,” he mused. “How long ago did she buy Three Oaks, Scrubby?”

  Scrubby blinked. “Well, I don’t truly know, Tingle,” he said. “Maybe a month or two, maybe three. I knew that old Melvin sold it after his wife died last autumn – being as she was the one who actually did all the work around here and all – but the fact is, I only come inside when you come to town so this’s the first time I’ve ever seen her close up myself.

  “I’d heard Clarence say she was beautiful after his pa brought him in here for an ale on his birthday, but he thinks anything wearing a skirt is beautiful. He was sure right this time, though. I used to think Hobbs’ youngest daughter, Mattie, was pretty until Hobbs married her off to the cooper’s son over in Muirshead, but that there’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and that’s for sure.” Scrubby picked up the tankard and drank it all straight down.

  “Well, that’s something I never would have expected to hear from you, Scrubby,” Tingle observed as he watched Scrubby chug his ale. “Mattie is a comely lass indeed, so you must definitely be smitten. Here, let me buy you another.” Three more tankards appeared, one before each of the three men, and these went down as easily as the first round, if not as quickly.

  At the arrival of the third tankard, the pace of consumption slowed and Tingle stood upon his chair, banging loudly on the table for attention. The crowd shushed itself and Tingle began telling them what he had learned in his travels that would be of interest or wonder to the good folk of Wisdom. He told of storms and floods and fires, of proud folk brought low and low people elevated unexpectedly, of nobility born and nobility died, of strange creatures like the bird from which came the feather in his cap and of common creatures which had performed heroic feats or foul, such as the dog that roused and saved an entire family from a fiery death when their house burned, and the horse that killed its master by pulling him into a bog after he had fallen when attacked by bandits.

  He then turned to the one subject he knew that all would quiet down to hear.

  “Here, now, is news that I know is of interest to everyone in Wisdom. Indeed, it is of interest to everyone within the three duchies and the principality; Prince Gleneagle continues to deny the petitions of the wizards who have been pressing for access to the Old Forest. I have it on very reliable authority that the head of their order, Greyleige, has announced within the brotherhood that conquest of the Old Forest will ultimately be accomplished with or without the permission of the Prince.” There was a murmur of disapproval as the listeners worried that Wisdom, sitting as it did close against the border of the Old Forest, would get caught up in the politics of the rich and powerful.

  “My sources tell me that most of the order is opposed to forcefully taking or even entering the Old Forest, but Greyleige and his two puppet wizards have closeted themselves in a great tower they have caused to be built in the center of the old Wizards’ Compound on the Crelleon Plain. There are even rumors a massive fortification has been raised around the entire compound. The original buildings of the Compound are said to have been built many centuries ago before the elves left this earth, and the wizards I have spoken with have told me there is much magic lurking yet therein. The three conspire to gather it as well as the magics of the Old Forest to their command.”

  A general uproar of disapproval erupted and the crowd started loud discussions with frequent expressions of distrust of all wizards in general and the three in particular. As the assembled townsfolk broke into loud groups denouncing or defending the wizards, Tingle stepped down from the chair and their fourth tankard appeared before them. The crowd had grown and gotten louder.

  Under the influence of the ale, Wil began to let down his guard and he revealed his utter disrespect for wizards in general. “They’re self-centered and power hungry – all of them. May Greyleige be sent straight to the other side before his time, and may he take every last wizard now alive with him.”

  One voice close enough for Wil to hear defended certain of the wizards, maintaining these few at least simply worked to keep the land living and vibrant as well as they could since the elves had fled their world.

  Wil looked sullen. “I don’t trust any of them. They’re all flawed by magic and power, arrogance and ego.”

  Following that tirade there was a brief lull in the conversation and Tingle leaned back slightly, fixing Wil with a quizzical smile. “I’m fascinated by you,” he said. “Let’s get out of here and go someplace where we can talk in private.”

  Scrubby looked glum and started to get up to leave, but Wil’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “No, Scrub,” he said, looking into Tingle’s eyes as if defying him to tell the swineherd he wasn’t welcome. “You’re invited as well.” Tingle gave a slight bow and touched a finger to his cap in a salute of agreement to Wil.

  Having never been included in any meeting as personal as this promised to be, the smile that crossed Scrubby’s face was of a singular radiance.

  As they started through the front door, a swirl of skirts appeared before them. “You forgot my tip,” came the whispered warning that had a suggestion of pointed daggers in it.

  Tingle leaned into her and lowered his head to whisper in her ear. She listened, a cynical smile on her lips as he talked, then laughed explosively as his lips captured her earlobe just as he finished. “Tingle’s a perfect name for a scoundrel like you,” she accused, one eyebrow arched in approval. “The name’s Thisbe,” she continued in partial answer to whatever he had said, “and you will deliver my tip to the last room on the right at the top of the stairs.” With that she leaned up to him and pressed her body lightly against his. A smile spread quickly across his face as she whispered in his ear.

  “Thisbe. Last on the right,” Tingle repeated as her skirts swirled once again and she disappeared almost without a trace into the increasingly rowdy crowd.

  With Wil balancing his recovered bag on his shoulder, the three of them carried their tankards into the darkness outside Three Oaks, walking carefully to avoid spilling. A bright quarter moon in a cloudless sky made it easy for them to pick their way without stumbling. They arrived very shortly at the tinker’s wagon and Tingle excused himself briefly to answer the call of nature and look after his little gray mare, while Wil and Scrubby worked silently at lowering the level in their tankards.

  After returning to the wagon, Tingle dropped down beside them and looked Wil over carefully. His first impression back at Three Oaks had been that there was nothing particularly remarkable about the swineherd’s new assistant. He was taller than average and well knit, t
hough not rugged in any way. Still, as Tingle now looked at his angular face with its mildly aquiline nose and piercing eyes of steel gray, he couldn’t help but feel the presence of something within the man that defied definition.

  Taking a deep swallow of the ale which had cooled in the evening air, he set the tankard on the ground and turned to Wil. “So, Wil, tell me what a man of your education is doing shoveling pig dung for my friend, Scrubby.”

  Without looking up, Wil began talking without hesitation, his tongue loosened by the number of tankards he’d consumed. “I’m being happy and contented for the first time in my life, and there’s nothing wrong with shoveling pig dung. Scrubby has shown me that there’s a place for everyone and we all contribute what we can. Without Scrubby, the people in this little town would have to raise their own pigs, if they were even willing to, and I’d wager there’d be a lot less pork consumed here and a bit more hunger without Scrubby’s caring and skills”

  Scrubby looked surprised and more than a bit uncomfortable at this outburst by his accidental helper.

  “And what’s more,” Will continued, “he’s been a friend to me with no questions. He asks for nothing in return for his friendship.” He looked over at the plain man with the bad complexion and stringy brown hair. “I’m proud to say he’s the first person I’ve ever felt that I could say I love as a friend.”

  Scrubby’s mouth hung open as he heard Wil’s incredible admission. With the exception of his long departed mother, nobody that he could remember had ever said they loved him.

  Tingle smiled disarmingly and hoisted his tankard. “To friendship then,” he offered. They silently lifted their tankards and finished them off.

  “Now, back to you, my surprising friend,” Tingle said, turning again to Wil. “You don’t look at all like I expected. I was looking for an old man. You don’t look old.”