by W. C. Conner
“The Simple Wizards generally require the aid of symbols or objects to carry out their spells of influence over mind and body. Fire and smokes are most often used in healings as are plants, while magical symbols and objects such as a talisman are common in spells of all kinds.”
“What about the use of animals and their parts?” Wil asked. “Just the idea of using such things to make magic happen seems unwholesome.”
Eldred’s expression darkened as he replied. “I will not speak further of that type of spell. It is the province of the dark powers, but all manner of summoning is used by such as those.”
Scrubby sat silently, listening intently with his fingers crossed surreptitiously against evil.
“There is one type of spell I have not yet mentioned,” Eldred said after several moments. “It is the province of the Great Wizards and, to a much lesser extent, wizards of the lower orders. It does not require the use of any sort of physical aid for it is human magic of the highest order. Simply stated, the principle is this: If you can see it in your mind, you can make it happen.”
“Oh, come now,” Wil exclaimed. “It can’t be that easy.”
“You’re right. It’s not that easy,” Eldred acknowledged, “but that’s the principle behind it. As I said before, the truly Great Wizards are capable of it and there are a few within the lower orders who can perform perhaps one skill at that level. They are referred to as ‘prodigies’ and are highly prized depending on their skill for they never covet more than they have. Prodigy Healers, particularly, can live sumptuous lives in the houses of nobility and royalty. Bartholomew has a weak gift of that sort, but nowhere near strong enough to brand him as a prodigy. He relies most often on herbs and smokes, on chants and the drawing of hurt through the use of magical objects.
“As to how the high human magic works, however, let me give an example. Let’s presume that nobody had ever seen or imagined a wheel and that everybody just dragged their goods across the ground, or perhaps had them dragged by an animal as they undoubtedly once did. Nobody knew what a wheel was, but one day someone had an insight. Perhaps he saw a log or a round stone rolling down a hill and it occurred to him that he could use that circle to make it easier for him to move his goods. By visualizing a way to make that round thing something that could work for him, he performed a sort of magic of his own. He created something out of nothing.
“It’s not perfectly analogous, of course, but the process is similar. You must visualize what it is you want to have happen, and turn your total concentration on it; visualize a way to make it happen. Where the person who made the first wheel used his hands, however, your tool is the potential within your mind. You make it real.”
“I repeat, it can’t be that simple,” Wil said.
“For the visionary making that first wheel, it wasn’t that simple. The first one was most likely the most difficult and weakest, but with practice the wheels became more perfectly round and more able to stand up to the strains of the road.” Eldred smiled at Wil’s incredulous expression.
“Ordinary humans all have differing abilities and levels of competence, and wizards are the same way. Very few of us can do all things, and even fewer can do all things well. In fact, the largest percentages of us have small skills that could be compared more to mending and patching than to building. Those are the Simple Wizards and they have the ability to help gardens grow and flourish, or to help animals thrive where before they were languishing, or to help a broken heart to mend. In that, we are like non-magical people, each one of us contributing what we can to the greater community, very often without even being aware of it.”
At that point his voice tapered off and he looked thoughtful. “But there are some who do not work for the good of the earth. There are those who work only for themselves. There are those who have fallen to the sweet poisoned words of Greyleige and turned their backs on the heritage their power bespeaks. These want power and wealth only; selfish aims for selfish minds. It was this we revolted against.” He turned eyes to Wil in which fear danced like candle flames. “We have seen what Greyleige is capable of. It is this you have been asked to destroy.”
“I will not be allowed to destroy it,” Wil replied soberly. “I have been told that I will be lost if my powers are used to destroy.”
It had been decided by Caron that Scrubby and Peg would remain behind at Three Oaks to keep it open and to watch for the unlikely return of Morgan and Kemp. The others would follow in Morgan and Kemp’s footsteps. Tingle’s Lily had been restored to her restless self after only two days of adequate food and care by young Philip.
In the hurried trip to Muirshead, Caron and Mitchal had procured mounts for the rest of them. None were the equal of Lily, though all of them were at least marginally serviceable. Even in the face of these uncertain mounts, they had agreed that they would be able to catch up to Kemp and Morgan more quickly if all were riding rather than afoot.
The party set out early on the second morning after Wil’s return. They allowed the horses to walk for they had no remounts should one of the older horses fail them if pushed, and judging from the appearance of at least two of them, that could easily happen.
As Wil swayed to the slow gait of the horse, his mind returned to the previous afternoon when he had worked with Eldred on summoning his potential. Because it was obvious that Wil was a Great Wizard, Eldred had decided to do what he could to help him call forth his visualized magic.
“Because your potential is known and our time together will be all too brief, I want you to attempt one of the simplest of the visualized magic spells which is that of fire,” he told Wil. “Because of its simplicity, it should come easily to you.”
This was an exercise that was used by the teaching brothers to help them evaluate the potential of young students for it was one of the first visualized spells that most Lesser Wizards were able to perform, if they had the ability to do it at all.
Wil had struggled with it, however, for he could easily visualize fire but was simply unable to do anything more than make the candlewick upon which he was focusing become warm to the touch. He was certain that at least part of the problem was that it felt too much like the repetitive lessons he had disliked so very intensely during his two years at university. The more he concentrated, the more quickly he found himself distracted.
Eldred became increasingly frustrated by Wil’s inability to focus on the exercise. “It’s clear that you have enormous potential, Wil,” Eldred had told him after several hours, “but you seem to be fighting against your own mind.”
Wil had looked at Eldred, his own frustration clear in his expression. “My only comfort is the knowledge that Gleneagle told me that it would be my potential and not my ability to perform magic that would be my weapon in the battle,” he said. His words, however, had been more positive than his conviction because, in fact, he still felt that he might well be arriving almost as a naked babe doing battle with a fully grown, heavily armored warrior. He knew he would do what was required because there was no alternative. If he did nothing he would end up being consumed by Greyleige’s darkness; if he faced him and failed, he would end up being consumed by Greyleige’s darkness. His mouth set itself in a thin line of determination. There was no alternative. He must succeed even though he had no experience; he must accept the shade’s promise that his potential would be the source of his strength.
As Wil came back to himself, he saw a falcon diving on a pigeon flying across the field beside which they rode. His heart went out to the bird for he felt as if he was much like the doomed, hapless pigeon flying exposed in an open field, terrified by the extent of calamity about to strike it. He wished the pigeon better luck than he felt he might have when he faced Greyleige.
Wil didn’t see the pigeon disappear in a brief shimmer of light just as the falcon’s talons reached out to strike it because he had turned his head at the moment he made the wish.
After three easy days of travel they arrived at the crossroads and mad
e camp.
“Now’s the time I most miss my wagon,” Tingle announced as he went about striking flint to steel to get the cooking fire started. “Pots and pans, food bags and containers, water barrel ... everything right where it’s supposed to be. Makes preparing meals far less difficult.” After another few moments, a spark from the flint held and he blew his little nest of dried grass fuzz into flame and placed it into the kindling, carefully adding dry grasses and shaved kindling sticks to help the fledgling fire along. Once it was clear that the growing flame was no longer threatened by an errant breeze, Tingle looked up and added, “Come meal time like this, it comes to mind that we should have invited Peg along after all. Kemp bragged that she’s a fine little cook when out on the road.”
“Is that a complaint I hear?” Thisbe asked, the knife in her hand pausing in its slicing of a turnip into a small pot.
Tingle blanched, remembering the last time there had been a knife between the two of them and he shook his head. “No complaints, Thisbe. No complaints.” She smiled smugly as she went back to her slicing.
Wil arrived with an armload of deadwood as Tingle and Thisbe finished what sounded like a domestic tiff. Leaning over the growing fire to carefully add the branches he had brought, the gemstone slid out of his shirt and glinted as it spun slowly upon its chain in the flickering light. He straightened up and returned it to the inside of his shirt.
Five days before, Caron had taken the hand holding the gem out to her and pushed it gently back toward Wil. “Now is not the time, Wil,” she had said. “My heart tells me it will serve its purpose about your neck better than it will about mine, at least for the time being.” Her dark eyes had looked deeply into his as she added, “You will know when it is time to return it.” Wil’s gaze followed Caron’s movements on the far side of the fire as he remembered the depth of those eyes.
It had grown full dark when the crack of a branch breaking under a hoof turned all heads toward the road. At the sound, Tingle, who was the only member of the party to have experienced the attack at these same crossroads, drew his sword. Mitchal stood near the tethered horses, both hands gripping the broadsword he had been sharpening just moments before. The slow footfalls of a large horse could be heard moving toward the fire.
Caron stepped forward, a dagger concealed within the sleeve of her shirt. “Come forward and show yourself,” she commanded.
The tension was palpable among the group until a swaybacked plow horse with two small figures atop it emerged from the darkness into the firelight. Weapons slid easily back into their scabbards as Scrubby slid off its back as it stopped, then helped Peg to drop to the ground.
“Is there a problem already?” Caron asked incredulously as the rest glowered at the scare that had been given them.
“Oh no. No problem back home, Caron. It’s just that we talked it over after you left,” Scrubby said as Peg stood slightly behind him, “and we agreed that we won’t be left behind when those we love are in danger.”
Peg colored at the way Scrubby had expressed it, but her mouth was set in determination. “I started upon this road with Morgan,” she said softly, “and I intend to travel the rest of it with him. I’ll not be denied.”
“All very well for you two,” Thisbe said, “but what about Three Oaks? I left you to look after it.”
“The wizards’ll take care of it,” Scrubby replied. “They heard us talking and told us to take out after you. Said that they can at least help by doing that much. They’re watching out after my hogs also.”
Thisbe shook her head in disbelief. “They’d better be more reliable than you two,” she said, though her words were more severe than her expression.
Caron smiled. “However could we turn away loyalty like yours?” she said. “Should our cause fail, you would not have been safe there anyway. We might as well all face the future together.”
She cast an amused glance toward Thisbe and Tingle. “Come and help us prepare our meal, Peg.”
27
It had been a difficult decision, but in the end Morgan had persuaded Kemp that the need for haste overrode the need for caution and they had taken the road through Confirth as being the most direct to Gleneagle. Kemp knew well what lay in store for Morgan should he be caught and taken before the Duke who had banished him upon pain of death, and he had tried his best to dissuade him, arguing that the northern route, while longer, was by far the safer. Morgan would have no part of that argument, however, and they were already safely more than halfway through the duchy.
They used the less traveled roads whenever possible and broke their own trail parallel to the main road when they had no other option. Morgan moved them deliberately and slowly by night as much as he could to keep their visibility at a minimum, and stopped frequently to listen before and behind. Kemp had finally grudgingly admitted that it seemed Morgan’s familiarity with the area would see them safely through it. Thus, they were taken quite by surprise when the voice came to them out of the darkness. “Stand and disarm, gentlemen.”
Morgan had a moment’s thought to attempt to battle his way past this checkpoint on what was normally a very lightly traveled side road until he realized this was more than a checkpoint; this was a full military patrol and the two of them were surrounded by weapons glinting dully in the pale moonlight. Looking toward Kemp to do as he did, Morgan unsheathed his sword and daggers, laying them in a pile before him and stepping away. Kemp followed suit.
“Thank you, Morgan,” the voice said from the darkness. Morgan looked to where the voice had come from, certain that he knew who it was that spoke. “By the duke’s edict, it is within my authority to execute you on the spot, my friend,” the voice continued.
“Roland?” Morgan said.
“Aye, Morgan, it is,” was the reply, and an armored figure stepped out of the shadows onto the trail.
Morgan acknowledged Roland with a slight bow of his head and remained with his head thus inclined. “I know you to be an honorable man, Roland. I willingly submit myself to your justice,” he said. “I ask only that you allow my companion to continue unhindered.”
Roland’s eyes flickered over the massive blacksmith with interest. “Justice will truly be served one way or the other,” Roland replied. “Before my verdict is rendered, I will hear the testimony that was denied me by my absence when you were banished.” Ignoring the expression of surprise on Kemp’s face he continued, “I have heard more than one account of your treachery, Morgan. Perhaps it was treachery, but perhaps it was not. I will judge.”
He indicated the weapons they had placed on the ground. “My men will look after your weapons. Please follow me.”
Kemp turned his look of confusion on Morgan who just shrugged, then picked up Tenable’s reins and followed Roland as he walked off the road into the trees.
Kemp came even with Morgan as they walked. “I told you it wasn’t a good idea to go through Confirth,” he whispered. After walking for another minute, he looked at Morgan who appeared unconcerned and his curiosity overwhelmed him. “What’s this all about, Morgan?”
“You heard what was said between us, Kemp. Roland is an honorable man. I have bound myself to his honor and his justice.”
Within the next several minutes they could see the points of light from many campfires through the trees, and shortly thereafter arrived at a substantial military encampment. These were regular army troops, not a ragtag group of undisciplined mercenaries.
Once inside the camp, they followed Roland and two of his lieutenants into the command tent. The rest remained standing while Roland seated himself behind a campaign desk and fixed his intense blue eyes on Morgan who stood properly at attention before him. Kemp did his best not to seem ill at ease, but ended up shuffling his feet from time to time nonetheless.
“Tell me the truth of your banishment,” Roland said simply, placing his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers before his mouth.
“The charge against me was correct insofar as it went,” Mor
gan began. “I did indeed refuse to carry out a direct order from your brother.”
Kemp’s head snapped around and he looked from Morgan to Roland and back again making no attempt to hide his surprise. Roland’s eyebrow arched quizzically.
“At Greyleige’s direction, Berlayne ordered me to assassinate the princess, Caron Gleneagle. When I summarily refused, your brother banished me as you heard. Had we not been friends since childhood, I would be dead now, such was the anger of both Greyleige and Berlayne.
“I need not tell you that Gleneagle is your brother’s liege lord, Roland, and his duty is to his liege lord, not some wizard. For that reason alone I would have refused. But more, while I have killed often, and even at times with pleasure, I have never murdered and never will. Without my honor, I am not a man.” Without looking at Roland, Morgan finished, remaining at attention.
Roland studied Morgan for several moments, then turned his gaze briefly on Kemp whose expression clearly showed he was overwhelmed by everything he had heard. “And your companion?” he asked.
“He is a blacksmith, Roland, and we have been companions since shortly after I was banished.” For the first time his military bearing bent just a bit and he smiled briefly over at Kemp before returning his eyes straight to the front. “His master was the blacksmith in Wrensfalls before he was killed during an unfortunate storm. Since he had no place to go after his master died, he set out upon the road and it was there that we met. You have intercepted us enroute to join Prince Gleneagle as he prepares for war against Greyleige.”