The Spellmonger Series: Book 01 - Spellmonger

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The Spellmonger Series: Book 01 - Spellmonger Page 10

by Terry Mancour


  “A lass as young as you, a widow?”

  “Yes,” she said, her smile fading. “He died in a riding accident a year and a half ago. I gave our farm back to his parents and moved home. I help my father run the creamery, now.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it. Damn it, I wanted that smile back.

  “Thank you. Now, can you answer me this: where the bloody hell did all of these damned goblins come from?” Her voice broke at the memory of the fight she was just in. “We were headed out to Hymas to see about some shears and some tonic -- Sagal’s got a sick calf – when they sprang out from the trees.

  “At first I thought they were begging – that happens sometimes,” she explains, “and I’ve traded with the mountain folk food for firewood often enough. But then out came the clubs and suddenly we were fighting for our lives. I’m glad you showed up when you did,” she said.

  Finally. When one does go out of one’s way to rescue a damsel in distress, an outpouring of heartfelt thanks and gratitude is to be expected on the part of said damsel. Perhaps some light kissing and hugging. Occasionally the offer of a reward, either monetary or sexual, is added (and usually refused), but the regulations governing such things are pretty straightforward on the gushes of gratitude, from what I recall of the legends and sagas.

  “Really? It was no trouble. My apprentice and I were just passing—”

  “Yeah, it would have taken me most of an hour to finish them all off,” she said, without a trace of doubt.

  I stared at her just a moment too long, and inspired a blush that showed off every freckle on her face.

  “Well, since they were obviously interrupting your busy schedule, I’m happy I could help out.”

  “They are just gurvani,” she said, dismissively. “I don’t know about this lot, but most of them would scatter at a loud noise.”

  “It’s not just this band. A hundred or more of them attacked Minden’s Hall two nights ago. Almost forty people died, buildings burned, it took Sire Koucey to drive them away.

  “Not many beggars in that lot, either. Lots of clubs, lots of spears, lots of snarling fangs and bloody claws. My lady, I’ve seen the gurvani fight, deep in the jungles of Farise, and I assure you that they are a most capable foe, when properly roused. From what Sire Koucey tells me,” I said, on the theory that dropping the name of the local lord might possibly impress her, “they haven’t been a problem here since the Goblin Wars.”

  “That’s right,” she agreed, thoughtfully. “They’ve always been very respectful to us. Can we move him back to his hold? It’s not far.”

  “This litter is ready to go. Tyndal, help me get Goodman Sagal home to his wife. Goody Alya, I have no idea what has troubled them so. But now they are troubling me, and that is something for which I cannot stand.” I tried to sound brave and resolute, and only realized after I said it that it sounded pompous and self-important. Luckily, I still had some points left from saving her life, and she overlooked it.

  Tyndal pulled the litter behind his horse while I let Alya lead Traveler and I cleaned my sword. We walked slowly and warily, but that also allowed me a chance to speak with her at length about all sorts of completely unimportant but vital things. The walk lasted twenty minutes, and by the time we approached the front gateway to her sister’s house I was genuinely smitten.

  Quite odd for a first date, I know. But I’ve been on worse.

  * * *

  “Dad, what can I do?” I whined, seeing my world crumbling around me. I didn’t want to be a mage – I wanted to be a baker.

  “Do? Well, the first thing we’ll do is go up to the castle,” he said, scratching his beard. “It’s possible that you have an erratic or weak Talent,” he admitted. “This morning’s fire could be a unique occurrence, in which case nothing much will change. But the responsible thing to do is to get Master Tilo to test you. Or, perhaps you are favored of Briga, the Fire Goddess and patroness of bakers.”

  While he was a little unsure about the differences between a spell and a miracle, a devotion to the Flame That Burneth Bright might lead me to take religious orders in Her name, which would have pleased him immensely, I knew.

  “On the other hand, you could possess enough Talent to warrant further training as an apprentice mage. There’s plenty of good work for a spellmonger or hedgemage, if they know their craft, and the post of court wizard is a notoriously cushy and lucrative one. Though it’s not as stable or as honorable tradition as baking,” he said. When I knew he wasn’t mad at me, I felt immensely better, and only partially because of the liquor that warmed me from the inside out. “I suppose we should go ahead and start. Wait here, I’ll get Goron to run the shop this morning.”

  Goron was my oldest sister’s husband, and second in line for inheriting the shop and the charter, after me. He’d married my eldest sister the year before, after apprenticing with Dad for two years. I nodded and grabbed the jar for another sip while he was gone. Goron, I knew, might be pleased at the idea of me leaving the baker’s trade – he didn’t relish the idea of eventually working for a lad half his age.

  It took us most of the morning to walk up to the castle. It was a strange and happy time for me, walking along the slightly muddy road next to the river at sunrise, my Dad joking and laughing with me. The liquor had warmed me, and Dad had had the foresight to grab a few sweet rolls for breakfast on his way out. He made me feel a lot better about the whole thing. By the time we reached the gates of the castle, I knew that I was still his son, and he would always love me, even if I was “special.”

  It took us another half-hour to get in to see the vice-castellan, a snooty Remeran who obviously thought that we needed getting rid of. Dad wasn’t about to be brushed off like some dirt-farmer, though; he was an artisan of note, he stood his ground, and I was surprised at just how quickly we found ourselves in front of the Baron and Baroness, who were just starting breakfast when we were ushered in by the vice-castellan.

  At the time I thought it was because Dad was such an important person in the village – the Baron treated him with respect – though in retrospect the hot, freshly-baked sugar rolls which Dad presented to Baron Lithar, may have had some influence.

  His Excellency listened with great interest to my father’s story. Then he asked us to sit with him and the Baroness while we waited for Master Tilo to arrive from his tower, at the other end of the great castle. I was in awe and didn’t make a sound. We were breaking our fast with nobility.

  Master Tilo showed up in good time, just as the Baron was finishing telling us of his son’s recent tournament victory. The old mage was resplendent in his decorated robe and richly-embroidered woolen mantle. He arrived in the Hall blowing hot breath thorough his hands (the castle seemed far colder than home, I noticed, and remember feeling sorry for the Baron that he had to live in such a draughty place) and he was just as delighted by the sugar rolls as the Baron and Baroness. He, too, heard my story, and after grabbing the last sugar roll off the table he agreed to test me.

  I remember those tests pretty well. He led me back to his tower, through the maze of the castle, and into his mysterious workshop. Master Tilo was thorough at his craft, and wasn’t satisfied with the first – or even the twenty-first – arcane test.

  He placed stones on the back of my hand and had me tell him about my earliest memories. He had me hold a stick in both hands and spin around clockwise, then counterclockwise. He put a bag over my head and asked me about my favorite colors. He wrapped me in red thread and had me sing.

  I felt like an idiot.

  When my stomach reminded me that it was closer to noon than dawn, Tilo finally sat down, lit his pipe, and bid me absentmindedly to sit.

  “Well, my boy, it looks like you have a lick of Talent after all,” he admitted, kindly

  I swallowed hard. “I do, Master?”

  He nodded, his gray head wreathed in smoke. “Yes. More than we can safely ignore. In fact, in terms of raw Talent, I believe you have more than bo
th my apprentices put together.”

  My chest swelled with pride even as my heart sank. “So I’m to be a mage, then?”

  “Just like that?” he laughed. “That remains to be seen. Any idiot can be born with the Talent, Minalan. Talent is just the beginning of magic. If you have not the intelligence, the discipline, the focus to master the Talent, the Talent will master you. And wisdom. Always wisdom. The most powerful mage in the world falters if his wisdom fails him. I think you might have the wits to learn, but I detect a tinge of foolishness in you that could prove deadly in a mage,” he added warningly.

  “I am but thirteen, Master,” I said somberly, fibbing my age up a bit. I would be thirteen, come autumn, at least. “I am prone to foolishness.”

  He laughed, sending thick clouds of smoke billowing out of his nose. “So you are. Can you read?”

  “Only a bit, Master. Not well.”

  “Hmmph. We will need to fix that, and soon. Minalan, we have established you have Talent; let us see what we can make of it.”

  For the next three days I went to the castle at dawn and did not return home until long after dark. My days were spent in lessons on the very basics of recognizing my Talent and learning how to feel its utility and power.

  Sometimes it was just Master Tilo and I, and sometimes his apprentices helped. The court mage asked me thousands of seemingly simple questions and wrote the answers on a long piece of parchment. I was worried at first that I might get them wrong, but he threw them at me so fast that I didn’t have time to worry about one before the next one arrived. We would take a break every hour or so, then back to the testing and the lessons. I had no idea what the tests were about, but later I realized that my Talent was impressive enough so that Master Tilo was considering sending me elsewhere, where it could be more properly developed.

  In the meantime, everyone at home was in a tizzy about my display of Talent. Mama was not happy, of course; I was her baby. But my eldest sister was about to make her a grandmother, and that deadened the pain a bit.

  My sisters were, in general, loathe to see me develop the Talent, Urah especially. Only two years older than me, most of my chores would fall to her until she found a man stupid enough to marry her. My sisters all began to dote on me even more than usual, as if I were sick and would never get well. All but Urah.

  When Dad told the story about how I started a fire because I was so upset with her, she began keeping her distance from me. Mama tried to act like nothing was wrong, and Dad put on his most patient expression when I was around. He spent a lot of time in his workroom.

  On the fourth day Master Tilo visited the bakery before I could come to the castle. He and my parents sat me down at the kitchen table, where Mama had set a healthy-sized snack and our best glassware, and he unrolled that long piece of parchment. The results were finished, he announced with a stone face. I was not only extremely Talented, but Master Tilo had determined that I had more brains than the average peasant. I could very easily become a spellmonger. Perhaps even more. I was proud, and felt quite the man.

  “Minalan, I was lucky enough to be trained at the Inarion Imperial Academy of Magic,” Master Tilo finally said. “I didn’t serve a normal apprenticeship, like most magi; I was taught in the classical manner, just like the Archmagi of the Magocracy. While I could take you to apprentice here in Talry, I already have two apprentices – taking another would be unfair to all of you.” My heart fell.

  “Now I could likely arrange for an apprenticeship with one of my colleagues in Cury or even in Dretsel, but I really believe that you would benefit the most from a more classical education. You have that much potential.”

  “Uh, yes Master,” I said, my mind spinning out of control.

  “I had a copy of your test results made and sent to Inarion yesterday, with a letter introducing you to the Rector. It will be weeks before we hear back, but you may actually have a chance to attend. That is a chance few common-born magi ever have, I hope you understand. A certificate from Inarion will guarantee you a position in a court somewhere.”

  “L-leave Talry? Leave Mama and Dad?” I squeaked. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so manly anymore.

  Master Tilo nodded sagely. “It will be a great adventure, lad, long and hard study, and twice as hard as you are not of noble birth. But the rewards are worth it, my boy. Pursuing the Art Arcane is well worth the price.”

  “But the choice is up to you,” Mama blurted out.

  “There’s no guarantee you will even be accepted, son,” Dad said. I knew in his heart he didn’t want me to be. They were both trying to be brave and think about my future, not their dashed dreams of a baking dynasty.

  “Can I think about it?” I said in a small voice.

  “Certainly!” Master Tilo said with a kindly laugh. “We have time. But think well and hard on it, and use what little wisdom you have to aid you.”

  A week before, I would have run away and hidden in the ash heap until he was gone. It had been a busy week, though, and I was no longer the boy I was when I stacked that firewood on that fateful morning. I felt the enormous pressure of abandoning the only life I knew, all of my Dad’s plans for leaving me his bakery, for the chance at something almost completely unknown to me. I solemnly agreed to think about it and then went outside to play.

  In the days that followed I noticed that the change in attitude went beyond my family, as my mates were starting to treat me differently. Muli, one of my best friends, would hardly even talk to me, and Tiko was scared I would turn him into something unnatural if I got angry.

  While I kind of resented their distance, I also reveled in the importance my nascent Talent had granted me. I actually used it to win them back as friends again, by showing them the two or three of the simple cantrips Master Tilo had shown me already. The ability to light a candle with my finger, for instance, made me powerful among the boys of Talry. Soon they were all vying for a position as my best friend, and if I took unreasonable advantage of the situation I can only plead immaturity as my excuse.

  One area that did not suffer because of my Talent was my relation with the girls of the village. I had started noticing them a year back, but had not impressed them overmuch with my strength, speed, or prowess at games and races, and therefore hadn’t garnered much attention.

  Now they showed significant interest. A spellmonger’s wife was at least as high an aspiration as a baker’s wife, and the thought of being the wife of a court mage with all of its supposed luxury was hard to resist to the village girls thinking about their futures. A few became ardent admirers, though they shyly kept their distance from me.

  But one girl, Hedi the Miller’s daughter, was so intrigued by my magical reputation that she was willing to overcome her typical village girl shyness. She was two years my senior, and while not the prettiest girl between river and hill, she was handsomely built and had pretty eyes and soft brown hair that smelled really good.

  She was a curvaceous fourteen-year-old vixen I’d always had a crush on, and she finally took enough interest in me to relieve me of my virginity behind her father’s warehouse. I was, if you’ll excuse the expression, enchanted by girls after that.

  By the end of the summer I had convinced four other village girls and two farm girls to “steal” my innocence from me in various ways. And I began to see that there were definitely some benefits to the trade of magic.

  Master Tilo continued our daily lessons, which included teaching me to read and figure, as well as schooling me in some of the more basic magical exercises every mage needs to know. But for one solid summer, I was the boy every other boy wanted to be friends with, and the boy every girl wanted to pick flowers for.

  As the leaves began to turn color at the end of that glorious summer, a message arrived from downriver. I had, indeed, been accepted to the Academy, and I was to report six weeks hence to the Master of Novices in Inarion Academy for introductory training.

  I was shocked. I never expected to get in; after all, I was a peasant,
or at least a commoner, and the Inarion Academy was built for the magically inclined nobility — Old Imperial nobility at that. Ignorant Narasi commoners became hedgemagi or village spellmongers, they didn’t go to one of the finest schools in the Five Duchies to learn the arcane arts. At the time, I figured that I was just so especially Talented that they couldn’t ignore me.

  What actually happened was more political than magical in nature.

  Baron Lithar was a vassal of Count Andro, who in turn swore fealty directly to His Grace, the Duke of Castal. While Inarion Academy was technically within the Duchy, by tradition and inheritance the local lord of that land had always sworn allegiance to the Duke of Remere.

  But since Inarion would starve without the upriver traffic from the rest of Castal, a sophisticated compromise was reached between the two royal houses in which the Lord of Inarion (who actually lived seven miles upriver of the town) swore fealty and military allegiance to Remere, with the understanding that Inarion domain would be neutral in any conflict between the two, and paid a tribute to the Duke of Castal in the name of good relations and low tariffs. Included in the negotiations was the right of the Duke of Castal to name eighteen qualified appointees to the Inarion Academy every two years.

  That year, sixteen of those appointments had already been made. The Duke wisely deferred the actual selection to his Court Mage, of course, who had found sixteen noble’s sons from across Alshar who had at least a lick of Talent in them. My scores were better than most of them, so including me in the applications was not a problem. On parchment.

  And it was politically astute, as well: by admitting me under his auspices the Count was able to gain favor from Baron Lithar, who had a vote on the County Council and was respected and influential among the petty nobility of the region.

  When Master Tilo explained all of this to me, I was anxious that I somehow owed His Excellency for the boon, but the court mage waved away my objections. It was all part of the complex exchange of favors, goods, services, rents, rights, and fealties that made up the feudal economy of the Five Duchies, he explained.

 

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