by C. Night
He felt something press into his back, and with a startled yelp he swung around. It was Cinnamon pushing her great head against him. She widened her nostrils at the sound and blinked curiously at her rider. Rheyn hadn’t heard her walk up, although her hooves must have made a loud clatter against the packed earth. Rhyen gave a sheepish chuckle before scratching her ears. He saw that Brefen was nodding his way over as well.
“I see you’re up, and making enough noise to raise an army,” came a dry voice behind him. Cazing was rubbing his eyes and squinting grumpily against the watery sunrise. “Gods, it’s practically still nighttime.”
“Sorry, Master Cazing,” Rhyen apologized hastily. “I was taken by surprise.”
“Yeah, me too, when I found myself awake at this hour.”
“Should I get a fire going?” Rhyen asked quickly.
Cazing stretched. “No, that’s all right. Since we’re already up—” he looked accusingly at his apprentice—“we might as well get a move on. Avernade is still a long way away.”
They ate a cold breakfast. Rhyen copied Cazing and followed his lead on saddling the horses. It took him longer to saddle his Cinnamon and Lezo than it did for Cazing to do the other horses, but Rhyen felt a feeing of satisfaction when he finished. He then rolled his blankets and pillow up tightly and strapped them to Cinnamon’s saddle. That reminded him of Cazing’s blankets. Rhyen turned around just in time to see his master dropping his bedding into the small satchel he wore looped across his shoulder.
Rhyen’s jaw dropped open. By all rights and reason, that bag should only have been able to fit a few small things. But Rhyen saw clearly the mass of blankets and pillow slide into the bag as though there was room to spare. He had never heard of this kind of magic. “Master!” he exclaimed, “How did you do that?”
Cazing grinned at Rhyen’s astonishment. “Magic, of course. I am a sorcerer, you know.”
Rhyen was still spluttering. “Yeah, but—but that bag—you can’t possibly fit—”
“Almost anything is possible with magic, Rhyen, as long as the wielder is strong enough.” Rhyen’s eyes shone with admiration. Cazing chuckled. “But I admit I didn’t make this. I was given this bag by my teacher, a very long time ago. I have practically everything I own in here—my books, my clothes, maps, pipes, and so on. As far as I know, it has a limitless capacity. Or at least, I haven’t yet reached the limit.
“But here’s the best part: it only opens if you have magic. So if someone who isn’t a wielder opens the bag, they will see nothing inside. And even wielders need the, well, for lack of better word, the password.”
“What is the password, sir?” Rhyen asked, enthralled.
Cazing laughed. “I’ll give it to you someday, Rhyen. Until you know how to use magic anyway, it won’t do you any good!”
“What do you mean?” he asked quickly. He was so interested to learn magic, and he leaned forward eagerly.
But Cazing only shook his head. Still smiling, he said, “Nice try, Rhyen, but not until we get to Avernade. Travelling is enough for now, and you don’t need to be learning magic on top of it.” He clapped his apprentice on the shoulder.
Rhyen smiled at his master, but then his smile vanished as he thought about learning magic.
“Something on your mind?” Cazing asked when he caught sight of his apprentice’s expression.
“No,” Rhyen looked down, thinking. “Yes,” he said, changing his mind. There had been one question that had dominated his thoughts since his Naming ceremony. “Were you the teacher who thought I would become a sorcerer?”
Cazing nodded. “I was.”
“Do you really think I will?”
Cazing grinned. “I know you will. But not until we get to Avernade! I promise, you’ll have plenty of time to learn all I can teach you when we get there, and I have no doubt that someday you’ll be a much greater sorcerer than I am. But for now, it’s time to saddle up.”
* * *
They travelled for many days before they first saw the Village Fayer sprawled on the banks of the Waine. They had journeyed without incident, and even the rain they continued to run into in the afternoons didn’t dampen Rhyen’s excitement or sense of adventure. Rhyen had become very skilled at taking care of the horses, and Cazing happily passed over all duties surrounding them to his eager apprentice. Rhyen tried craftily to get his master to teach him magic, but Cazing always caught on and smilingly shook his head, telling Rhyen to wait until they got to Avernade. They never spoke much during the day, and their rests and meals were quiet as well, but Cazing occasionally told stories or dropped juicy tidbits about wielding that roused Rhyen’s curiosity, and he would beg for more information until the inevitable reminder to wait until Avernade. It had become almost a game between them, the master dropping tantalizing bits of magic wielding, Rhyen countering with clever questions to get his master to reveal more. All in all, Rhyen was having the time of his life, and he forgot all about his reservations of working under a powerful sorcerer. He even forgot about the dark rider.
Chapter 6
The afternoon they trotted into Fayer was, for once, sunny, the rain having passed them by earlier. Rhyen looked around him with interest. He knew they would be arriving around Harvest, and to his delight Cazing called over his shoulder, “Looks like we’re here in time for the festival.”
Rhyen saw his master was right. Strings of lanterns were being draped across the city streets, hung between the rooftops. Flowers were potted on every corner, or strewn colorfully through the streets. Rhyen could see that people were dressed in their finest, the pretty village girls giggling at him from behind their bright fans. Everywhere was the feeling of excitement, and Rhyen caught many villagers talking with enthusiasm about a fair that had arrived in town sometime earlier that day. He followed Cazing, both packhorses tied now behind his saddle instead of the master’s, through the town to a cheerful looking inn called The Lucky Lizard.
They dismounted at the door and almost at once a gangly boy bustled importantly from inside. “Happy Harvest! May I take your horses, sirs?”
“That depends,” Cazing said, amused. “Do you have any rooms left?”
The boy puffed out his chest. “There’s always room at The Lucky Lizard, sir!”
Cazing raised his eyebrows. “Even during Harvest, I wonder?”
The boy flushed pink. “Well, I mean, there’s always room, as long as you don’t mind sharing one.”
Cazing snorted. “That better reflect in the price. We’ll take it, but before you take our horses, go and fetch Lucille for me.”
The boy blinked curiously but bowed his head before dashing back indoors.
“Lucille is an old friend of mine,” Cazing muttered to Rhyen. “She—”
Before he could finish an enormous woman burst out of the inn. She had wisps of orange hair spouting out of the checkered kerchief tied about her head, and her apron was bursting over her wide frame and splattered with stains. Her face was shiny and red and lined with age, but her sparkling brown eyes were lively and youthful.
“Who is asking for me, now? It couldn’t be the mighty Cazing of Avernade, who’s finally come back after all these years?” Her cheeks were pink and she strode up to Cazing, pulling merrily on his arm until he dismounted, chortling. He bent over her hand and she giggled.
“I see you’re doing a roaring trade, Lucy, my love! You have hardly any room for a poor fellow like me to stay the night.”
She waggled a fat finger in front of his face. “Oh, pish posh, Cazing! You know I always have a private room for you. What brings you all this way, then? Asking me to marry you, are you?”
“Will you?” Cazing asked in mock seriousness, and Lucille convulsed into helpless laughter, patting his cheek.
“Of course not, you villain! You can’t stay in one place long enough for a wife. But you haven’t answered my question.�
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Cazing gestured to Rhyen. “This is my apprentice, Rhyen Hyldhem. We’re on our way to Avernade.”
Her mouth opened into a perfect ‘O’ as she stared at Rhyen. “An apprentice! Maybe you are growing up. I might have to consider that offer for marriage after all!”
Rhyen slid from the saddle to the ground and bowed to her. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, ma’am,” he said.
She put her stubby fingers under his chin and raised his face to hers. She must have been at least fifty or more, but she surprised Rhyen with a powerful strength of a much younger person.
“Let me see you, Rhyen Hyldhem.” She frowned, looking into his eyes for a long moment. At last her face broke into a smile and she released his chin. “What a kind soul you have, Rhyen, dear! Don’t let this old scoundrel corrupt it.”
“Thank you,” Rhyen said, unsure of what else to say.
“Well, come in, come in!” Lucille said, beaming and pulling on both Cazing and Rhyen’s elbows, dragging them into the inn.
Rhyen had thought the streets of Fayer were crowded and noisy, but that was nothing compared to The Lucky Lizard. People were crammed in shoulder to shoulder, and everyone was yelling to be heard over the din. Rhyen stayed close behind Cazing, and they made way through the crowd with relative ease because Lucille was pushing her considerable bulk between people with surprising force. They made their way through the common area, filled with long tables and matching benches. The room was bordered on one side by an enormous fireplace, which was pouring heat into the already hot room. Rhyen was sweating by the time they shoved their way through to the staircase, which looked to be creaky but it was impossible to tell over the noise.
They went down a long hallway, Cazing still being dragged by a merry Lucille, until they came to the last door on the left. She opened the door and scooted them inside.
It was a nice room, with dark wood floors and furniture and whitewashed walls, and a single lone window high up, so that light spilled into a puddle in the middle of the floor. There was a small fireplace in the center of one wall, and, on top of a blue rag rug were two chairs and a sofa, with a spindly looking table. There were blue cushions on the chairs and couch. On the wall opposite the fireplace was a bed. A quilt in blues and yellows was draped across it.
“This is one of my private parlors, Cazing, but you and your young apprentice can use it. I keep a bed in the corner for special guests, and I think you’ll be comfortable there. The sofa, I think, should be long enough even for you, Rhyen…” she trailed off, glancing up at his height with appraising eyes.
“Many thanks, Lucy, my love. I admit I had hoped you wouldn’t condemn me to sleeping on the floor in a room with a dozen strangers, but I figured you’d be full up, what with the Harvest Festival and the fair,” Cazing said, winking slyly at her.
“You’re always welcome here. My father never closed his doors to you, and neither will I! Although I have to ask that if you’re going to gamble, do it outdoors.” Her smile was replaced suddenly with a stern expression. She glared at him in mock seriousness until, hands raised, he consented. Lucille turned to Rhyen, rolled her eyes, and in an iron voice sniffed, “Last time he was here he swindled a bunch of men out of their gold. There followed such a fight that I had to completely redo the common room. You don’t gamble, do you, Rhyen?”
Even if he had, Rhyen wouldn’t have admitted it to Lucille, who seemed most heartily against it. Rhyen shook his head no.
“He means ‘not yet’,” Cazing amended from across the room. “I’m relying on you, Rhyen, I need a partner for Dice’s Slice. We’ll do it outside!” he added hastily as Lucille swelled before him.
With a weary shake of her head that didn’t quite disguise her smile, Lucille hefted herself out the door. “Let me know if you need anything, boys,” she called over her shoulder, closing it behind her.
“What’s Dice’s Slice?” Rhyen asked immediately.
“It’s a game that the locals take very seriously. It’s not hard, but they pride themselves on it, so they bid high. With any luck, we’ll win back the money I wasted at Rode’s.”
Cazing was pulling fistfuls of coins from his bag, as well as several decks of cards, piles of matchsticks, and a cup with dice. Rhyen found himself wondering, once again, where his belongings had been placed. No sooner had he thought this than there was a knock at the door. It was the gangly boy who had seen to their horses. He stumbled into the room, weighted down by all the saddlebags and packs. An equally scrawny boy who might have been his brother staggered in behind, carrying the rest.
“Thanks, boys.” Cazing flipped them each a coin. “Where are the games?”
The two boys grinned as they caught their Depas. “Down by the fair, sir,” said the one importantly.
“Next to the river by the platform,” piped the other. They clutched their money and ran happily from the room.
Cazing smirked. “I know the place. Ready, Rhyen?”
The best that Rhyen could say for Dice’s Slice was that it was fun watching the expressions of the players. He himself had no idea how to play, or what was going on. All he knew was that he was Cazing’s partner and there were six other players, all partnered up. But Cazing didn’t seem to expect him to do much, and so Rhyen vaguely copied his master, trying to remember the rules Cazing had quickly rattled off as they walked down to the games. Whatever he was doing seemed to be working just fine, though, because Cazing was grinning and the pile of coins in front of him steadily grew with each passing round.
They were seated in a circle under a few very tall trees whose roots were growing even beyond the river bank and into the stream. The sound of rushing water, the happy cries of fair-goers, the delicious smells wafting from the tented stalls—Rhyen was enjoying himself. He thought it must be the best Harvest Festival he’d ever attended, and it hadn’t truly started yet—and wouldn’t until sundown, when the dancing, stories, and drinking really began.
They played for several hours, and the dice game was only the first of many. Cazing won quite a bit of money, which he promptly squandered on drinks for everyone. Rhyen thought this a very wise move, because some of the men had started glaring murderously in their direction. But after a few ales, all was forgiven, and the money Cazing won from then on went directly into his pocket. Rhyen played games when Cazing needed a partner, and he started to pick up some of the rules. He especially liked the cards, but apparently his hand was splayed on his face as though tattooed there, and he fooled no one on those occasions when he held a winning hand.
Dusk began to fall, and Rhyen’s stomach started growling. Cazing was in a great mood, and he handed Rhyen a generous handful of money, telling him to go enjoy himself. Rhyen murmured his thanks, but his master had already turned back to the games.
Rhyen wandered around, taking in all the booths. There were strange wares being peddled every which way he turned, and singing landed on his ears. He watched the groups of people his age, girls giggling, boys shoving each other good naturedly, and Rhyen felt his enjoyment droop somewhat. All of his friends from the Academy had moved on and away with their own apprenticeships, and he hadn’t seen his childhood friends since leaving for Ikha. He realized he was lonely, although standing in the middle of a packed crowd was as far from aloneness as possible. Still, Rhyen wished that he had a friend there with him—maybe another apprentice to share in his journey.
Rhyen pushed those moody thoughts to the back of his mind. Cazing was apparently going to gamble all night, so Rhyen started on dinner alone. He bought a huge amount of smoked chicken pressed between two slices of deliciously salty dark bread. He also got a small wheel of white cheese he’d never had before, a few apples, and a chocolate cake, which he polished off with relish. He was drinking spiced mead that wasn’t nearly as strong as the elven rum, so he quenched his thirst without hesitation. His stomach was pleasantly stuffed, and as night fell complete
ly, he followed the crowd that had started making its way to the raised platform at the river.
When it seemed to Rhyen like the whole village had gathered beneath the stars and leaves, and all eyes were focused on the platform, brightly lit by a string of lanterns hung from the boughs of the trees, an old man made his way up the steps and turned, a mischievous smile just visible behind his bushy white beard. The crowd roared with applause. Rhyen joined in, although he didn’t know why.
The old man held up his hands, and eventually silence fell through the crowd, along with an air of anticipation. “My friends,” said the man, and Rhyen was taken aback by the youthful quality of his voice, “I am Komil the Bard!” The crowd burst into raucous cheers again. Rhyen grinned. A bard! Traditionally, the Harvest Festival was kicked off by a storytelling. In Yla, the elders of the council took turns telling the tales, but Rhyen remembered one year when a travelling bard had been in town during their festival, and the stories, instead of being just stories, had come to life under the spell of the bard’s words. Rhyen hoped for a similar experience tonight.
Komil held up his hand again, his wicked eyes pleased with the reception. “And so, on the Harvest, it is only fitting that we hear a story—but which shall it be?” Komil turned his ear theatrically toward the audience, who began at once to shout suggestions to the stage.
“The Giant Wars!”
“The Making of the World!”
“The Dragons of Arth!”
“Elio and the Sphinx!”
“The Breaking of the Stone!”
Komil’s face lit up. “Of course! ‘The Breaking of the Stone.’” Members of the crowd turned to each other and smirked. It was one of the most popular tales in history, because it was the story of the rise and fall of human magic. It was a tragedy, and always a crowd pleaser at Harvest. Komil gestured, and two burly men lugged his harp on the stage. Another brought a stool. Komil seated himself and plucked the first note. The audience was silent once more. The old storyteller played an eerie few notes, and began, in a mysterious voice, his tale.