Bond of Magic

by Trip Ellington

  The farmhouse had an extra room, and the mattress wasn’t too lumpy. In addition to a roof over his head—a rarity over the past eight months—Mithris had eaten a satisfying dinner and a hearty breakfast. He felt like it was worth sweating a few hours out in the gardens for a fully belly.

  Depths says if you try to become a farmer, you really will go hungry, Vapor retorted.

  The other foundation crystal could not make itself heard directly in the young man’s thoughts the way Vapor could. Mithris did not know why that was, and Vapor never offered any thoughts on the subject.

  “You tell Depths…” Mithris began, but the crystal cut him off.

  What do you think Master Deinre would say if you were to tell him that beet-growing was your destiny?

  “If he’d eaten one of Goody Cowan’s steak pies, I think he’d be all for it,” said Mithris, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the room’s wash-stand. One leg was short, and the wooden stand tipped back under his weight. The basin and pitcher, undecorated clay, wobbled and rattled together.

  Oh yes, said Vapor. Because when Deinre contemplated his ambitions, steak pie featured quite prominently.

  “Actually, I think it did.” Mithris scowled and stood up straight. The pitcher and basin wobbled again and the pitcher tipped over, spilling cold wash water down the back of Mithris’ borrowed pants. He yelped, jumping forward and swatting at his wet backside. “Oh, great,” he muttered.

  You might have a point, Vapor admitted. Mithris was so surprised he stopped worrying at the pants and stared at the foundation crystal open-mouthed. The old guy did love a steak-and-kidney. But it was magic steak-and-kidney pie, Mithris. Magic. Deinre wasn’t a farmer, and neither are you.

  Mithris sighed. Deep down, he knew the crystal was right. Helping out for a day or two at someone else’s farm was one thing. Trying to start up one of your own was something else. But that didn’t mean Mithris wanted to let magic back into his life. He’d avoided magic and everything about it as much as he could in the weeks since Avington.

  Whenever Mithris thought back to that day, all he could see was Ileera’s panicked gaze as she was forcibly drowned by mermaids he had summoned. The memory flared up any time he thought about practicing magic.

  You don’t even set your wards at night anymore, said Vapor, guessing the direction of Mithris’ thoughts.

  “You would warn me if anything threatening was chasing me.” Mithris shrugged. “I know you would. And that’s the first ward I’d set anyway, one to alert me to danger. So, I don’t need that. And once I know something’s coming for me, I can run away.”

  Farmers have to stay in one place, generally.

  Mithris grumbled something under his breath.

  What?

  “Nothing.”

  I was speaking to Depths. Depths wants me to remind you how grateful it is to you for rescuing it from Ileera.

  Mithris blinked at the change of subject. “Uh,” he said. “Depths is welcome, of course.”

  Why did you want Depths?

  “What? Look, I went looking for it because you told me to. You said it wanted us to find it.”

  Yes, that’s true. But why did you listen to me?

  “When one of the most powerful magic artifacts in all the five…er, seven foundations tells you to do something, I think you’re supposed to listen.”

  Couldn’t have put it better myself, Mithris. Vapor sounded extremely satisfied. Mithris grumbled again.

  “You tricked me into that,” he accused. Mithris raised one finger, holding off any reply. “But this isn’t the same thing. Depths was being held by Ileera against its will.”

  How very noble of you to notice that. You do know there are four other foundation crystals, don’t you? One of them is only a few hours’ walk from this place.

  “And you’re telling me that one’s unhappy with its lot as well, are you?” Mithris shook his head. “No, don’t answer. Of course you are.”

  Mithris suspected the foundation crystals were up to something. For some reason, the six legendary gemstones wanted to gather together. Vapor had not said as much, not outright, but Mithris had learned in recent months to read between the lines.

  You are becoming quite the suspicious, almost paranoid, young man, said Vapor.

  “That’s what comes from spending time with wizards,” Mithris answered bitterly, thinking back over the past year. His Master had been struck down, murdered by a rival wizard who wanted his tower and secrets. He’d met an ancient wizardess who kept herself young and beautiful by stealing the life force of her own apprentices, and that evil sorceress had tried selling him to the very wizard who had slain Master Deinre. Wizards were not to be trusted.

  “Look,” said Mithris, holding out his hands to forestall any further argument from Vapor. “Dinner’s on the table by now. Farming is hungry work. We’ll talk about this later.”

  But, as he went out of the room with his mind on supper, Mithris already knew that in the morning he would bid Goody Cowan and her boys farewell.

  Chapter 26

  Through with Wizarding

  “You said four hours,” griped Mithris. “Tell me the truth this time. How much further is it?”

  We have only been walking for three hours, said Vapor.

  “No,” argued Mithris. “We haven’t been doing anything. I’ve been walking three hours, and I’m the one with the sore feet.”

  Mithris shook his head. He had begun to pick up Vapor’s habit of referring to their mismatched group in the plural. Just this morning, he caught himself doing it with Goody Cowan. The stout farm-wife had given him a long, searching look when he told her, “We have to be on our way.”

  “Is this how wizards all go crazy?” he asked suddenly. He looked up at the intertwined arch of pine boughs above the narrow country road he’d been walking along. There hadn’t been a break in the trees for hours. Mithris hadn’t seen anything to indicate civilization except the road itself, which was barely more than a widened out trail of packed earth.

  Mithris felt like he was trudging an endless path to nowhere. That made him worry even more about going mad.

  You are not going mad, Mithris. Vapor chuckled, but there was a fondness in the laughter. And we are nearly there.

  Grumbling to himself, Mithris nodded shortly. “Fine,” he said. “First thing I’m doing, though, when this is over; I’m going to learn a good traveling spell. There must be one in Deinre’s spellbook. I can’t imagine he ever went traipsing about the untamed wilderness.”

  Master Deinre traveled the world, Mithris, long before you were born. I think there is not a city man has built the streets of which Deinre did not walk. Nor a forest untouched by man which Deinre did not explore. Do not forget you knew him only a fraction of his life, nine years out of half a thousand. And besides, I thought you were “through with wizarding.”

  Mithris opened his mouth to reply hotly, then closed it when he realized Vapor was right. He’d never thought about it before, but the crystal must’ve spent quite a bit of time with Deinre—certainly longer than Mithris had been around. He wondered if the crystal missed Deinre as well.

  Lowering his head, he kept walking. The crystal said they were nearly there. There would be a town soon, there must be. Wizards always lived near towns or cities, often right in the center of them as Ileera had done. He would find civilization soon, and when he did Mithris promised himself a long sit-down and a hot mug of mulled cider.

  “That will be wonderful,” he mused aloud to himself, already imagining the weariness fading from his legs as the cider’s warmth spread out from his belly. “Wonderful, indeed.”

  “What would truly be wondrous,” spoke an unfamiliar voice behind Mithris, “would be for you to remove that coin purse from your belt there and drop it to the dirt without turning around. Can you do that for me, friend?”

  Mithris whirled instantly around, and found himself facing a slender man in rough-stitched leather. The highwayma
n had lank, greasy hair the color of soot. A thin, curving scar ran down his temple, just beside the left eye and halfway down the length of his nose. Twin daggers, slim and rather delicate in appearance, glittered threateningly in his hands.

  “Now, I did ask you not to turn around,” said the brigand, clucking his tongue in mock disappointment.

  “What do you want?” asked Mithris, more puzzled than fearful. His head drew back, brows drawn down skeptically. He looked at the robber with incredulity. “You want my coins, man?”

  “Yeah, that’s the size and shape of it.” The highwayman twirled the daggers in his hand twice and took a menacing step closer.

  Mithris laughed out loud. In the same breath, he drew his wand and jumped back from the thief. With three quickly uttered words of magic, he cast a shimmering yellow ward between them. The hissing energy field flickered and faded from view as it finished resolving. Invisible, but still there.

  The thief scowled in consternation. That pulled his scar tighter, creasing his face deeply around the eye. He spat in the dirt, twirling his daggers once more. Cautiously, he approached the ward he could not see. One arm stretched out until the tip of his silvery dagger touched the ward. Sparks burst from the empty air at the end of his blade, which could go no further.

  Mithris sneered at the highwayman. “Can’t you see I’m a wizard?” he asked.

  “Actually, no,” said the highwayman. “Not from behind.” He gestured. Looking down, Mithris realized he was still wearing the farm clothes he’d borrowed from Cryst Cowan. His robes, which Goody Cowan had laundered, were rolled up in the small pack he carried over his shoulder.

  “Oh.” Shaking his head, Mithris looked back up at the highwayman. “Well that’s no excuse. What do you mean, lurking about and robbing travelers?”

  The soot-haired man returned the sneer, and stabbed at the invisible ward again with his dagger. Mithris felt the magical barrier beginning to weaken ever-so-slightly.

  “Listen,” he told the highwayman. “You can see now that I’m a wizard, and please understand that I’m a very powerful one indeed.”

  Oh, really? Vapor sounded intrigued. Have I been asleep? How many years has it been?

  “Shut up,” said Mithris under his breath.

  “You don’t look so very powerful,” the highwayman said, though he did lower his blades. Scratching his stubbly chin with one, he studied Mithris. “Nah, you don’t look much at all. I’m not sure you’re even a wizard. Apprentice, maybe.”

  “If you don’t leave me alone,” said Mithris, trying to think of the worst curse he could imagine. “I’ll turn you into a frog!”

  The bandit laughed scornfully, and attacked the ward. His daggers flashed in the thin sunlight. Again and again they scored the barrier, striking sparks with each flurried blow. Mithris could feel those blows. He could feel his ward failing under the assault.

  Feeling more confident, the bandit began beating on the barrier until it finally cracked into a million tiny sparks. With a wry smile, the bandit caught Mithris by his shirt and poked the dagger to his chest.

  “You’re not even an apprentice, I’d reckon, just a boy who knows some cheap tricks,” said the bandit. “A boy should be punished for lying about being a wizard.”

  Mithris gasped as the bandit’s blade pushed into his ribs. “Please don’t do this,” Mithris said, “Don’t make me hurt you.”

  The bandit merely smiled and pushed his blade harder, piercing Mithris’ skin. As he pushed the blade, the bandit met Mithris’ gaze and sneered.

  Instinctively, Mithris barked the short incantation for one of his dueling cantrips. These were the simple spells he could cast from memory; he had spent many weeks learning the most dangerous of them before he’d decided to rid his life of magic.

  You’ll never be rid of magic, Vapor whispered to Mithris as his cantrip resolved. The ground at the bandit’s feet seemed to split and open up and Mithris jumped backward. Crimson light flickered darkly from the cracks. Tongues of flame leaped up, catching the highwayman’s leather garments. Smoke rose as the bandit yelped, beating at his arms and legs where tiny flames had sprung to life.

  The fire spread quickly. Mithris’ eyes widened as he realized the full extent of the spell he’d just cast. The thief howled in torment, and then in a flash he was gone. Ashes fell heavily, and were absorbed by the cracks in the earth. Then the darkly glowing crevices sealed themselves, and the forest road was still.

  That was, perhaps, overkill, opined Vapor.

  “This is why I’m through with wizarding,” said Mithris, genuinely taken aback by the disapproval in the crystal’s projected voice. “Even when I try to defend myself, I kill instead. What would you have me do?”

  Mithris, you have to accept that you are a wizard. You cannot be “through with wizarding.” Magic is in you, but you can’t use it this way. You must practice the art so that you know how to wield the power you’ve been given. Why do you think wizards stay close to normal people, but always keep their distance?

  Mithris shook his head. Most of the time, Vapor was condescending and sarcastic. But at times like these, the crystal took on a lecturing tone that reminded him far too much of Master Deinre. Deinre had always been disappointed in him.

  If Deinre was disappointed, said Vapor, it was because of a promising apprentice squandering his potential.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Mithris demanded. But Vapor did not answer, and after a few minutes Mithris shouldered his pack and continued on along the path.

  Chapter 27

  Erbear

  There was no town. There was no village, not even a farmhouse. There was no civilization, no hot mulled cider. The forest trail wound out into a small clearing beside a placid lake at the foot of an impassable mountain. Mithris stared at the mountain and hated it.

  A narrow bank circled the lake to the base of the stone, and Mithris could see an even narrower trail leading up to the gaping maw of a dark cave in the mountain-face. He just knew he was going to have to go in that cave.

  Yes, agreed Vapor. Yes, I do believe you’re right. For once.

  “You’re sure it’s in there, then?” Mithris sighed. “Why would one of the foundation crystals, the rarest and most precious of all magical artifacts, be in a scary looking cave ten leagues from nowhere?”

  What, that doesn’t seem appropriate to you?

  “You and Depths both came from wizard’s towers,” Mithris argued.

  Depths and I “came” from the first foundation, of which we are part. We did not begin our existence possessed by wizards, Mithris. Where do you think Master Deinre found me?

  “Where did he find you?” Mithris was genuinely intrigued. He thought back on the crystal’s words earlier. Deinre had traveled extensively. What adventures had he gone on? What sights had he seen?

  A tale I may tell you at a later time, said Vapor.

  “It was probably just miserable trudging through the woods,” Mithris said, more disappointed than he wanted to show. “Sore feet, and every so often a monster from another plane showing up to try and devour him. Some magical dueling, and then more traipsing. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s all there is to traveling.”

  You are much like an artifact of the first foundation, yourself, said Vapor. We are infinite and endless, as is your capacity for complaint.

  Mithris blinked, chewing on the words until he teased out their meaning. When he had done so, he frowned deeply. “You’re a jerk sometimes,” he said.

  Not waiting for a reply, Mithris set out along the narrow bank. The edge crumbled beneath his foot on the third step, and for several minutes after that he concentrated just on his footing. Everything else faded from his awareness. Then he was on the rocky slope, the trail narrowing further. He concentrated on that until he reached the mouth of the cave.

  You have admirable concentration when you care to use it, Vapor said.

  Mithris did not answer. Steeling himself, he moved into the cave’s shadowy dep
ths. The path angle downward sharply, taking him into the belly of the mountain. The stone walls were rough and uneven, but the cave floor was more or less flat and even, if steep.

  He waved his wand, and a tiny glowing ball winked into existence over his head. It was the size of a walnut and burned with a faintly yellow, ghostly light. Mithris continued on down into the cave.

  “Tell me something,” he asked Vapor as he picked his way carefully down the sloping throat of the cave. “If I did leave wizarding behind, what would you and Depths want me to do with you?”

  Do with us?

  “Yes. If I swore off magic completely and lived the simple, short life of a farmer…wouldn’t that get boring for a couple of eternal, multiplanar foundation crystals like you?”

  Time in your dimension doesn’t mean much to us, Mithris.

  There wasn’t anything to say to that, so Mithris kept going in silence.

  Do you really think you could live the rest of your life without ever once using magic?

  “Of course I could.”

  Your first instinct with the bandit on the road was magic.

  “My life was in danger.” Mithris drew up short, crossing his arms. “Now, look…”

  Do you imagine a life without magic has no dangers? I know you think wizards spend all their time double-crossing and stabbing each other in the back, but Mithris…the average wizard lives two dozen times the lifetime of a normal man. So tell me, whose life is more endangered?

  Mithris frowned. There was something wrong with that argument, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Muttering to himself, he continued deeper into the cave.

  Have you considered pursuing Deinre’s work? His experiments with shaping magical energy? That seems fitting for an apprentice when his master is slain.

  “I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” protested Mithris. He did not mention it, but Master Deinre’s work was the most likely motive behind Eaganar’s attack. Mithris knew little of his former Master’s research. It didn’t matter that Eaganar would kill for the knowledge; Mithris didn’t have it.