To Cast the First Spell

by John Buttrick

  Three travelers approached from the south and all wore the traditional white silk clothing of Talenteds. The lead rider, a young man with dark curly hair and thick eyebrows, had a royal blue trumpet case strapped to his saddle. The boy showed good taste in horse flesh for his steed was Battencayan bred. His frowning face betrayed annoyance.

  An equally young woman mounted on a white stallion kept looking around at the birds and squirrels playing in the trees. The breed of her horse was not readily apparent, although it seemed an excellent specimen of equine flesh. She kept the hood of her cloak pulled forward, hiding most of her face in shadow. Attached to her belt was a brown and red flute case. As she drew closer, her facial features became more distinct. Her delicate eyebrows were light, indicating her well hidden hair was in all probability blond. Her skin was fair and smooth, making her an attractive woman who evidently spent more time indoors than out.

  The third rider seemed to be in no hurry what-so-ever, sitting in the saddle with an impressive military bearing. Attached to his saddle was a black and gold vyolin case. He approached with his hood down, revealing neatly trimmed dark hair. His deep tan indicated Serinian ancestry, probably the city of Polen Tare. There was no mistaking the breeding of his powerful equine, a Taracopian warhorse.

  The three riders did not seem to have the slightest inkling of who they were approaching. Worse, they did not seem to care. Inexperienced Talenteds were like innocent lambs wondering into a wolf pack. For all they knew, the man approaching them could be an Accomplished of the Serpent Guild.

  “Greetings, Talenteds,” Terroll called out, while raising his hand.

  The lead rider came to a stop, seemingly as much to give greeting as to wait for his companions, then turned his frown into a half hearted smile. “Good day, traveler,” he said, and then glanced north. “How is the trail up ahead?”

  “Better now then it was last night,” Terroll replied, reining Dusty to a halt.

  The Talenteds seemed even younger up close. Efferin no doubt sent them to find the source of the High Power spell. Why else would three Aakacarns be on a trail in Ducuan that just happened to lead straight to Tannakonna? The Grand Maestro had not sent a Talented into this kingdom for many years and the sudden appearance of three could not be attributed to mere coincidence.

  “Oh, did you run into trouble last night?” the young man asked, sounding as if he were actually concerned. His companions halted beside him with quizzical looks on their faces.

  These children needed to know what they were up against, being caught off guard could result in deadly consequences. Terroll cleared his throat, feeling compelled to give warning. “Most certainly, yetis have been seen in the vicinity of Tannakonna,” he said, and watched each person’s reaction to his statement. They seemed skeptical, exchanging glances as if to see who would be the first to respond to the mad man.

  “Are you sure, stranger?” the Serinian began in a haughty tone. “The mountain folk are uneducated and ignorant. You can’t rely on what they tell you to be factual.”

  Terroll fought off the urge to humble the Talenteds on the spot. “I’ve met a few mountain folk who would surprise you, young man,” you arrogant whelp! He paused, holding his temper in check before continuing. “You need not trust the word of an ignorant and uneducated traveler, just continue on this trail and you will find a dead yeti. If seeing one doesn’t unsettle your nerves enough to make you run back to Aakadon, I suggest extreme caution from that point on.”

  “A real yeti, have you actually seen it,” the young lady asked in a strong Lobenian accent.

  “Quite clearly,” Terroll replied.

  “What killed it?” the Talented with the bushy eyebrows asked.

  Terroll rolled his eyes upward, trying to remain patient. There simply was not enough time to give these children an education. “You are Talenteds, go find the yeti and determine what happened yourself,” he said, then watched as the young man’s face flushed red. The lady stared ahead wonderingly, while the Serinian sniffed loudly and pointed his nose skyward.

  “Thanks for the warning, stranger,” the female Talented said. “Have a pleasant journey,” she added, and then heeled her stallion forward.

  “Don’t worry, stranger, we’ll handle the yetis. You’ll be safe enough. I didn’t see any back where we came from,” the Serinian said, then urged his warhorse to a trot.

  “Have a safe journey and please don’t be offended by his attitude,” said the remaining Talented, formally the lead rider. He smiled and followed after his companions.

  Terroll continued south, wondering about the state of affairs in Aakadon. Sending Talenteds to do the work of Accomplisheds was grossly poor judgment. How could they be so desperate? The city is greatly in need of better qualified Maestros.

  He pressed onward, reaching the Gosian River at twilight and proceeded along the bank, choosing to cross near the city. He made his way to a stone bridge arching up and over to the opposite bank. Fishing boats and cargo vessels of all sorts were passing under, some obviously heading home for the night while others sailed on to their next port of call. From the high point of the bridge he could see glowing lanterns in the many buildings and along the streets and walkways leading into Zoltair.

  He made his way over and headed up the street called Straight. Most of the city is stretched along the thoroughfare while lesser streets led off to the poorer and unseemly parts of Zoltair. Every building had hitching posts and water troths in front of them. Great masses of people moved about, doing there business, seemingly oblivious to the fact that night had come upon them. The activity would likely continue on until shortly before midnight, if memory served correctly, and thanks to Daniel it did.

  Terrell walked on into the heart of the city where an intersection forked in six directions. The prominent citizens lived in this area. He chose the sixth route, urging Dusty by the familiar buildings to his right and left. He had once served as the Accomplished to Zoltair and did so proudly, although very long ago. The city had not changed much in the last fifty years, a little bigger perhaps, certainly more populated.

  Up ahead he spotted an attractive white marble building, the very one he used to call home. Twin lightning bolts carved into the doorpost marked the building to be the dwelling place of an Accomplished. The Stone Guild built the huge house nearly seven centuries ago and made it seem a small palace in comparison to the surrounding estates.

  He dismounted and tethered Dusty to a hitching post with a nearby water troth, from which the gelding began to eagerly drink. He patted the horse on the neck and then turned and stepped onto the porch. Grabbing hold of a thick yellow cord attached to a mechanism in the wall, he pulled hard; sounding a gong, and informing the occupants they had company.

  A tall gaunt-faced man dressed in brown pants and a white cotton shirt opened the door, staring out with unwelcoming eyes. “May I help you?”

  Terroll stepped forward. “Yes, I would like to have a word with the Accomplished.”

  The servant was new and definitely not more then thirty years of age. Buferd Watts had been the butler on the last visit and was fairly old then. He probably retired or died.

  “Please, step into the vestibule,” replied the servant, evenly, without a trace of emotion.

  Terroll entered his former abode and stood waiting on the plush violet carpet. The color scheme included red, violet, and purple, the pearly white walls being the only exception. These were considered the colors of royalty and persons of high stature in the realm. No self respecting noble could possibility live surrounded by the earth tones of the commoners.

  “Who may I say is calling?” asked the servant. A single twitch of his right eye was the only hint of his curiosity.

  “Terroll Barnes. Please inform Randall I am back.”

  The servant turned, opening a pair of crystal doors, and then headed down a long hallway and came to a stop at the fourth door on the left. He knocked and waited for a response from within before entering. Eight
doors lined both sides of the hall and the single door at the end led to the dining room.

  Randall stepped out, exiting from the room on the left. His black and crimson outfit possessed a golden lightning bolt on each sleeve and a pendant hanging from his neck to his chest was studded with diamonds forming the letter, Z. A smile lit up his face. “Terroll, it is good to see you again. How are you?” he said, and covered the distance quickly with his servant following close behind.

  “I’m fine, couldn’t be better,” Terroll replied. “How have you been?” he asked, while taking hold of his friend’s hands and in a warm shake.

  “Oh, I can’t complain,” Randall said, releasing his grip and stepping back. “What brings you hear? Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “I’ve come for my belongings,” Terroll announced, boldly.

  There was little doubt as to how Randall Kamis would react. His facial expressions went from welcoming good humor to profound sobriety. “Only an Accomplished can wear those clothes,” he said, in a careful manner, obviously taking pains not to cause any unnecessary hurt or offense.

  Talk was cheap. Terroll decided a demonstration was in order. He played the tune, Sheet of Air, in his mind, summoning the potential, and focused it on the butler. The man’s eyes widened when he floated into the air and hovered for a ten count before being gently set back down on the carpet.

  Both men stood with mouths open wide. Terroll smiled. “I remember everything,” he declared, with a renewed sense of enthusiasm.

  Randall closed his mouth and rubbed his chin. “But how, the spell used by Gerard DeCamp was meant to be permanent?” he said, as if he was having difficulty believing his own eyes and needed a rational explanation.

  Thoughts of Daniel came to mind. The newly raised Accomplished had not wanted to leave his home, honoring his wish in that respect was part of the gratuity agreed upon, and Terroll had every intention of fulfilling his part, for as long as possible. “Have you felt any harmonic ripples from a High Power spell recently?”

  Randall seemed taken aback, no doubt expecting an answer not a question. “Was that you?” he asked after a long pause. “I have sensed the use of High Power spells quite often of late. They began six or seven days ago and the most recent occurrence was last night.”

  “No, I had nothing to do with those,” Terroll said, not wanting to take credit for the accomplishments of someone else. “However, I was in range of the first spell.”

  “I see, the spell reversed the work of the Maestro,” Randall concluded, he always was quick witted. His left eyebrow arched up questioningly. “Who did the casting?”

  Terroll decided it was time to get back onto the original subject. “I want my clothes back and your support in Aakadon.”

  “My support for what?” Randall replied, and then glanced at his butler, who stood with a blank expression on his face. A wise man did not get involved in Aakacarn affairs.

  “I’m going to challenge Gerard DeCamp.”

  Randall’s eyes widened and the butler blinked. “Challenging the Maestro wouldn’t be prudent. Have you learned nothing over the last seven years?” said the Accomplished of Zoltair. He let out a sigh, staring blankly down the hall. “He may kill you this time. Think it over, stay here as my guest, rest up, and clear your mind of this foolishness.”

  “I was a fool before,” Terroll admitted, as much to himself as to his long time friend. “I know what needs to be done and how to do it. Please, get my clothes.”

  Randall nodded his acquiescence, walked down the hall to the last door on the right, and went inside. His butler stood silently in a dignified stance. The Accomplished returned after a while carrying the requested garments neatly draped over his right arm.

  “Thanks,” Terroll said, taking the silk shirt, and then stripped to the waist.

  Randall’s eyes widened a second time. “You gained another bolt,” he said, as if the fact was not readily apparent.

  Terroll focused on the black cloak and cast a spell, causing a second golden bolt to appear on the left sleeve where previously there had been one.

  “You may finish changing in here,” Randall said while pointing to the first door on the right.

  Terroll entered the small room, small being a relative thing, if a thirty-five square cubic room with a sparkling chandelier hanging from its ceiling can be described as such. A purple velvet couch ran the length of the back wall, in front of which was a handsome maple wood table a cubit and a half high and only several cubits less than the length of the couch. Hanging on wall, the Mandella, a priceless work of Verin Sannz the renowned seventh century artist, was easily the rarest and most valuable painting in all of Ducuan. The timeless portrait is thought to be of the artist’s first wife who died giving birth to their second child.

  Terroll quickly removed the common clothes forced upon him during his period of silence and then donned the honorable apparel of his calling, reinforcing the knowledge that he was once again an Accomplished, filling him with a sense of majesty. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he cast the spell, Ageless, thereby retarding the aging process for another year.

  Opening the door, he stepped out into the hall. “Tell me now, do I have your support?” he asked, skipping the small talk and getting right to business.

  Randall scratched his head, staring for several awkward moments before making up his mind. After all, giving official support to an opponent of a Maestro was not conducive to a long career in spell casting, unless the challenger wins. “I will support you,” he said, firmly and with conviction.

  “Good,” Terroll replied. The affirmation was never in doubt. It was possible he would be refused, human nature being what it is, but not probable in this case. “We should start out for Aakadon immediately.”

  Randall held up a restraining hand. “Not before dinner and a good night of rest,” he insisted, sternly, showing he would brook no argument. In truth, Dusty needed rest and sleeping on a bed did have a certain appeal. It would be wiser to face the Maestro of the Zephyr Guild well rested and alert rather than saddle weary.

  A growling from within strengthened the decision to put off leaving. Terroll nodded his head and rubbed his belly. “You’re correct as always. Tomorrow morning will be soon enough,” he said, and then added, “Will dinner be soon?”

  Randall smiled, gesturing down the hall. “Sheela is preparing supper even as we speak. Jolinde will tend to Dusty’s needs while we eat,” he said, and then glanced at the butler who acknowledge with a nod and walked away.

  Terroll followed his host to the dining room. The large maple wood table was exactly the way he remembered it. Twenty-four people could sit comfortably without feeling cramped or having to rub elbows while trying to eat. Two golden candle stands placed at each end helped to give the setting an eloquent charm, although did little to illuminate the room. Eight oil lamps on tall silver and gold stands provided the necessary lighting. There were only two place settings, one at the head of the table and one just to the right of it. He took the guest chair, enjoying the feel of the velvet cushion and realizing how wonderful it felt not to be in the saddle.

  A middle-aged woman with graying hair entered carrying a golden brown turkey full of stuffing. This meal had been planned well in advance and without him in mind, Terroll realized. Either that or left-overs had been planned or Randall was a bigger eater than his small frame implied.

  Terroll enjoyed every bite of food and the fine wine as well. He ate to satisfaction and graciously retired for the night as Julinde and Sheela were finishing off the succulent bird.

  He awakened before dawn and prepared Dusty for the journey with every intention of being in Aakadon before noon, which meant a quick breakfast and little time for reminiscing. He stood patiently waiting while Randall rattled off a list of instructions to Julinde and Sheela. The Accomplished finally finished giving orders and swung up in the saddle. Briar, his brown and beige stallion, seemed eager to go, a trait apparently not shared
by his rider.

  Terroll heeled Dusty forward, navigating between the slower carriages, wagons, and pedestrians. By the way they moved, one would think punctuality counted for little among the Zoltairans. He led the way to the docks and booked passage to Aakadon on a cargo vessel, after deciding that traveling on the river would be not only faster but easier on the horses.

  Scattered white clouds floated slowly in the sky, Terroll noticed while guiding Dusty over the plank and onto the slightly swaying boat. He watched while Randall led Briar aboard. The sails were slack without wind and before long the captain gave orders and the crew began rowing. Fortunately for them Aakadon was down river and they had the current on their side, coming back would be different but of no concern to Terroll. He was busy trying to calm Dusty who did not seem to care for boating. The gelding faced yetis with less agitation. This was definitely a one way trip. Victory would mean life in Aakadon serving as the Maestro of the Zephyr Guild and defeat meant being silenced, imprisoned, or both for the rest of his natural life.

  Randall stood quietly beside Briar with a face that seemed carved in stone, looking for the entire world like a condemned man facing the gallows, a man willing to stand by his friend for a cause he believed in, even though it seemed doomed to fail.

  Towers of red, green, blue, and many other colors appeared on the horizon looking like polished gems, most of them actually being made of precious stones. The city skyline, vibrant with every color of the rainbow, positively glowed with power under the brilliant sun. The great ruby pyramid rose up like a red hill, possessing a huge diamond at the top in the shape of an eye, a sentinel and guardian of all that is good and right. The pearly white walls surrounding the city stood forty cubits high yet were dwarfed by the massive buildings inside.

  Terroll paid the captain the rest of the fare and then led Dusty across the plank and onto the dock, only then did the gelding return to his usual state of calm. Randall led Briar, who seemed to have no problem with boating, onto the dock. The guards at the gate were dressed entirely in white silk, bowing respectfully and knowing better than to question the arrival of a pair of Accomplisheds entering Aakadon.