Gold & Glory

by M. H. Johnson

  Showing a great deal of restraint despite the unusual nature of Sorn’s arrival, Malek’s forbore to comment on Sorn's arcane prowess until after Sorn had explained how he had dispatched the second crossbowman.

  It was a spell he had put much diligence and effort into mastering, a spell he knew so well and thoroughly that he could conjure up a mental construct of it with but a moment’s thought. So well visualized and ingrained was it that the magical energies that coursed just underneath his conscious self could be effortlessly brought to bear as they were focused and drawn through that arcane web of power he knew so well.

  The term 'full mage' however, puzzled Sorn. For all that he had spent countless hours gazing at the lives of these people in his scrying pools, he knew little of their actual political or social structures, save what he had read in texts and tales of one sort or another.

  And so Sorn carefully hedged his reply, hoping that awkward seeming embarrassment would cover his lack of knowledge, even if it implied that he had something to hide. Better, he thought, to seem somewhat reclusive, rather than utterly ignorant.

  "I am sorry, good Maleks, but I would rather forgo the subject of rank entirely, if it is all the same to you," Sorn said.

  "Of course, young sir. I merely sought the appropriate title to address you. Please, let me get you some more stew. Practicing the arcane arts really must take it out of one, no? You still appear famished," Maleks ladled some more stew into Sorn's bowl from the stew pot he had had the servants bring in from the kitchen to this one corner of the dining hall, taking the moment to refill Sorn's ale cup as well. Sorn was feeling a tad bit lightheaded, as he was in truth far more used to clear cold spring water than fermented drinks of any sort.

  "Indeed it does," Sorn allowed, taking another sip of cool ale. "You have no idea."

  Sorn couldn’t help smiling to himself as he reflected once again upon the glory of his flight, gazing down at the panorama of pasturelands and croplands far below, herds of cows and sheep like miniature toys, reveling in the freedom he felt whenever he took to the skies. The crow form certainly had its joys, Sorn reflected. He took comfort in the realization that even if he had acceded to being chained to the form of a crow for perhaps centuries in order to serve as a diplomat of mercy between his people and these, he would at least have been able to find consolation in the glory of flight. Yet for all that, the pleasures of his present form, strong and healthy as it was, possessing great manual dexterity, able to sip a cup of ale just so, were such that he was more than a little relieved that the ceremony had been interrupted before he had been forced to surrender his human and native forms altogether. Perhaps, he reflected, his cousins' mishap had not been such a bad thing after all.

  At that moment, Sorn's highly acute sense of smell caught a whiff of another presence, an older individual, he noted, as he took a closer look. The figure was just a tad bit stooped, but moving energetically for all that, and apparently in good health. A rich flowing beard, small pointed cap, and warm smile marked Sorn's first impression of the man. He appeared a good-natured individual, and the way he flopped to their table in the corner without the unspoken deference to Maleks paid by everyone else indicated he was a man of some importance. A warm smile was his only response to Maleks' raised eyebrow.

  "Greetings, Maleks. I have just heard the news that we have an unexpected visitor. Flew right into the central courtyard with poor Chester in tow, no less. Nadelins says he's going to make it, by the way." This last bit to both of them as the man helped himself to a mug of ale.

  "Greetings, Valentien, that is good news indeed. Someone has informed Elizabeth, I do hope?" Maleks acknowledged politely before turning to Sorn. "Sorn, this is our own good mage Valentien. Very helpful around the keep, I'm sure you'll agree. You look well, Valentien."

  "Thank you, Maleks, you as well. Perhaps, however, it would be best if you spoke to Elizabeth. These situations are delicate, and I do believe that while desiring to give Elizabeth reassurance, Nadelins still needs quiet for her ministrations. You are our diplomat in all but title, so perhaps it would be best if this responsibility fell upon your capable shoulders."

  Maleks solemnly nodded his head in concurrence with Valentien's words. "Well then, perhaps I had best be the one to inform young Elizabeth as to the state of her man and the delicacy of the situation." He solemnly dipped his head towards a ravenously eating Sorn. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Sorn. We will speak again, I am sure. Enjoy the stew." With that, Maleks gracefully made his exit.

  "Sorn, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. And let me say as well that we here at the keep appreciate what you have done for one of our own." Valentien smiled warmly at Sorn. "Maleks is a good sort, and understands that you and I may need a private moment or two to get better acquainted. Custom and all, don't you know."

  With that, Valentien's warm congeniality was transformed to something highly formal, even solemn. "I am Valentien, lesser mage of the House Shull. I am of the fourth rank, and my specialty is transmutation. I am a friend to the House of Canterbier. May I have the pleasure of knowing you?"

  There was something in the way of formalized ritual to Valentien's greeting, appearing as it did to wrap a neat summary of a mages skills, strengths, and allegiance in a simple greeting. Sorn, however, had no idea how to quantify his own arcane skills in the contextual response seemingly required by this culture, and so was momentarily at a loss for words.

  "I am sorry good sir. For though I appreciate your eloquent greeting, I am afraid I cannot answer in kind. Please forgive my cultural ignorance. Let me say instead that it is a pleasure to meet you, and I do hope you will forgive my inability to respond with equal grace," Sorn finally replied.

  Valentien gave Sorn a very quizzical look. "You mean to tell me, young sir, that you cannot give me your rank, specialty, or House? Not even your blood lineage?" Valentien's tone had become equal parts muted disbelief and genuine incredulity.

  "I am afraid not, sir. In truth, I don't even know what you mean by those terms." Sorn took a sip of ale, not quite sure what else to say.

  "Well, then I can only suppose you are from a place far away indeed," Valentien responded, apparently choosing to believe him. At which point, with a quick clearing of the throat Valentien began to address the curious youth before him in the pedantic tones Sorn’s cousins knew only too well.

  "A specialty is a field of arcana that various mages may choose to specialize in. Some choose transmutation, such as I do, for it has great utilitarian purposes. Spells of this type allow one to change, alter, or repair things. Even to change the very nature of substances like liquids, for example. A very skilled mage could change water into, say, ale." He paused, looking into his cup. "In fact, a very skilled mage could turn water into vinegar or wine as well, though whether it would be palatable or not is another matter entirely." This he said with a smile. "Said mage could then turn the wine, or vinegar back into water, if he so chose. Thus the mage would be assured of safe water to drink, no matter if the water had been previously tainted before. Of course, most mages would prefer to drink whatever fine spirits they had gone to all the trouble transmuting into being, assuming it's not vinegar of course!"

  With this the mage took another contemplative sip of his ale, smacking his lips in appreciation. "As you can see young sir, transmutative magic has wide application, and that was merely the particulars of one spell. One can also learn spells to alter size, shape, the strength of heat or light, to enhance a warrior's might before battle, or weaken an enemy's blade so as to shatter like glass. Indeed, one could learn spells to repair said shattered blade, making it as good as new. It has a fair number of protective applications as well. It is a wide-ranging arcane field, I assure you, and worthy of much study. Which is why I have chosen it." Valentien smiled. "Of course, I am no battle mage. The spells I specialize in are of a more utilitarian nature, particularly useful around a setting such as my good lord's keep."

  Sorn smiled "Indeed, sir, it sounds
like you know an impressive bit of lore. What was that you had mentioned about houses?”

  Valentien smiled. "One's House is a reflection of the college of magery that one has been taught under. Your house is your college, whether you have studied with the professors and their teachings directly, or whether you were taught independently by your master who himself graduated from said college, such as often happens when a town's mage finds a likely apprentice and takes him under his tutelage.

  "It is expected, of course, that said youth will eventually make the journey to his master's old college himself, both to be formally recognized, tested to establish his rank and aptitude, and to be trained further, if his aptitude allows for it. This, of course, brings much credit to the mage who apprentices particularly gifted students, thus serving to encourage us to be on the lookout for talent, as well as to discourage any mage from attempting to stifle it. Now, are we clear on the matter of Houses, lad?" To which Sorn gave a nod.

  "Excellent. Now let us address the matter of a mage's ranking. One's rank is a measure of the degree of one's ability to channel arcane energies. The greater one's aptitude, the more potent are the arcane energies that one can eventually access. Skill, of course, goes hand in hand with this, for the more one practices one's art, the easier it is for one to focus and cast one's spells, and the more likely one is to fulfill one's potential. I myself am of the fourth rank, which implies that I can use spells of the first and second orders of magnitude with a fair degree of skill and finesse.

  "I am considered to be a lesser mage, which simply means that I lack the potential to master spells beyond the second order of magnitude, as is the case for most mages, in truth." Valentien smiled. "This does not stop me from attempting to increase my skill and mastery over those spells that I do know. Indeed, a lesser mage may well cast those spells that he knows with greater finesse and control than a full mage or even a greater mage who has not put in the time required to master a particular spell.

  "Now in truth no one can be sure of what one's aptitude for magic will be, what order of magnitude of magics a mage can eventually access, until one has achieved a rank beyond which one just can't seem to progress. However, an educated guess can be made based upon one's initial affinity for casting arcane cantrips, or based upon a child's bloodlines. This is why I expected you to give me your blood lineage, and not tell me whether you were a lesser, full, or greater mage, as in truth, most lads your age are still apprentices learning to master basic cantrips, or for the very gifted, spells of the first order of magnitude."

  Valentien paused to sip some more of his ale, giving Sorn a considering look that left him feeling strangely uncomfortable. It was as if Sorn were back home and being confronted by the cook who just knew Sorn had sweetmeats on him, hadn't been fooled even once the many times Sorn had thought himself so clever sneaking them out behind her back, and was at that moment, in front of his snickering cousins, about to insist he show his hand, which would be just filled with the incriminating sweetmeats.

  "This is why I find your having managed to bring good Chester here to be no small achievement," Valentien said, his pale blue eyes gazing at Sorn intently. "For anyone, that would be a very impressive feat, as Chester himself is no small man, but for an apprentice who, no matter how talented, should still be struggling with first order spells at best? How very… remarkable."

  Sorn could just feel Valentien's penetrating gaze as he sipped his own ale, as if the man's pale blue eyes were somehow able to pierce into his very soul and examine his most intimate secrets. It chilled Sorn to think that this amiable-seeming older gentleman could see through his ruse so well, that he somehow sensed that Sorn was not all that he seemed. Looking for a distraction to break that unwavering gaze upon him, Sorn spoke the first question that came to mind.

  "Good sir, you spoke of both lesser, full, and greater mages. What exactly is the difference between them?" Valentien gave Sorn a knowing smile, leaving Sorn feeling like the man knew the question was being asked as much to fill the uncomfortable silence, to distract, as it was for real information, and that Valentien would humor him for form's sake.

  "A good question young Sorn. As I had mentioned, I myself am a lesser mage, and can cast no magics of a sphere greater than the second order of magnitude, though my ability to improve my skill and finesse with said spells is limited only by my dedication to the art. The majority of mages, as I have said, are of this sort.

  “A full mage is one who can cast magics of the third order of magnitude. These include such impressive spells as exploding balls of flame, invisible mail as durable as a suit of plate, and of course, the ability to fly. They also include spells that can allow one to step somewhat outside the flow of time, the net effect being one can react far faster and quicker for a brief span. Full mages comprise the most highly esteemed class of wizards, and are most likely to be friends of the duke or other figures of particular note. They are given great privilege, as are all mages to some degree, and a generous stipend. In turn, they are expected to serve as aids to the duchy during times of conflict or war, and to protect the nation's armed forces or cities as best they may. Though charged with protecting the duchy, and working in tandem with the duke's military advisors, they are, of course, not under the direct command of any mundane commander save the duke himself, and even then, only to defend the duchy during times of war.

  "It is within the realm of full mages as well to craft items of enchantment. A full mage is able endow an item with a piece of his own essence and thereby enchant it to perform various acts of magic all on its own. It permanently takes something out of the mage in question, for a small bit of his own self, a portion of his mana and spirit, becomes fused with the enchanted object. Yet that item now has its own purpose, sometimes even its own sentience, allowing it to cast spells or perform other feats, either at the behest of its wielder, or all on its own.

  "Indeed, such an item would allow even an apprentice to cast its magics, and several such items would make said apprentice look like a potent mage indeed. But there are reasons, young Sorn, why items of such caliber are not used lightly. Reasons why such items are almost never put in the care of apprentices. Novices in the arts that they are, apprentices would be barely cognizant of the risks they face from the use of such items, possibly with terrible consequences."

  The mage's eyes moved once more from his ale cup to pierce Sorn anew with their discerning gaze, before he smiled and went on. "But I digress. It is greater mages of which you would know about on this day, no? Greater mages are the most powerful mages of all, having access to spells of the fourth order of magnitude. These are the most potent caliber of spells that we know of, and include such effects as magical warding to block a mage from being struck by blows from a hostile foe, the ability to cast walls of fire, or even to transport oneself hundreds of yards in any direction, avoiding danger in the blink of an eye. Greatest of these magics, in my opinion, are spells that allow one to transform one's very essence, enabling one to take the form of an animal, or even to imitate the physical forms of beasts out of legend. Indeed, one could transform into a fish and swim the very seas, or a falcon and soar above us all, or a stag and run for hours across the plains, fierce and free.”

  The mage sighed a moment, looking speculatively at a vision only he could see.

  "In truth, young Sorn, it was in the hopes that I might one day be able to savor the joys of transforming my very essence into such creatures, and truly experience the world around me in all its wonder and glory, that drove me to practice as hard as I had as a youth. I was compelled by the dream that someday I might be one of the very few who had achieved affinity with magics of this caliber."

  Valentien shrugged. "Such, of course, was not to be. My diligence was great, though not enough to transcend my mortal limits. It was, however, that very diligence that gave me the skills and knowledge that I have today, and afforded me the position that I have earned here, aiding Lord Canterbier and his lands as best I may, res
pected and appreciated by lord and folk alike."

  Valentien smiled. "You see, Sorn, after a while you realize that though dreams are wonderful things, they are dreams only, and what really counts is the work you do and the skills you develop for yourself. Your ability to serve others with your natural talents will be the true measure of you, Sorn, and we are no lesser for what we are, lesser mage and apprentice that we may be, yet capable nonetheless of striving for virtue, of aiding those around us, and so aiding our own spirits in grace.

  "Ultimately, Sorn, what matters is that we are true to ourselves. Falsehoods bring only sorrow." His gaze was both penetrating and compassionate. "I will leave you to your stew now, Sorn. I hope you think about what I have said." With that and a small smile, Valentien made his way out the dining hall, leaving Sorn with his own troubled thoughts.

  It was a distracted Sorn, barely cognizant of the fact that he had polished off the entire stewpot, who found himself being gently ushered by the good butler Maleks to rooms he assumed were to be his quarters, complete with intricately woven rugs, finely crafted furniture of polished oak, and a copper bath filled with water near steaming.

  Despite the warm bath gently relaxing his fatigued muscles, Sorn still found himself brooding over the mage's words, wondering what exactly Valentien had been getting at. He had the feeling that the mage was suspicious of something, and letting Sorn know it, while still answering his questions. Did the mage know who Sorn and his cousins really were? The thought troubled him. That could certainly have consequences for all of them. Far better, he decided, if everyone thought that the four of them were just like everyone else, albeit talented of course, Sorn thought with a smile. Sorn was finally able to relax and enjoy the soothing bath, shortly thereafter making use of the fine clothes laid out for his perusal. A finer cut than the woolens he had last worn, that was for certain.