Shaping Magic (Mistakes Return)

by Michael Dalrymple

  With the beating that Lindon had taken today, he could barely eat the meal that Grams had prepared. It seemed every muscle was strained and sore. He had bruises on top of bruises; there wasn't a place on his body that didn't hurt.

  Lindon was about to go to bed when Arden suddenly said, “Before you go to sleep, clean your weapon. I know it is a wood sword, but get in the practice of cleaning and sharpening; do whatever you have to do to make sure it's ready at all times.”

  With a groan from his aching body, he picked up the wooden sword, sat down on the rock, and proceeded to wipe it off with a cloth. After he was done, he learned it up against the rock he was sitting on, picked up his real sword, and took it to his bed laying it down beside him within easy access, he started to go to sleep but found that he couldn't. His mind was racing with the fight, every blow, and how he reacted to them. Slowly, he started to think of ways that he could have blocked or avoided if he moved this way instead of that way. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would do better, maybe even get a shot in and give Arden a taste of what he felt today.

  The next weeks turned out to be pretty much the same, with Arden systematically beating Lindon from head to toe. His body just didn't want to move as fast as he wanted it to, and as a result piled up more bruises. His hands were blistered so badly that there were times when blood would ooze out. Lindon never once complained about it. Every night, his grandmother would rub ointment on his hands and the numerous cuts or scrapes he was accumulating.

  Over the weeks, the sound of wood on wood replaced the sound of wood on flesh. Exactly one month from when they had started Lindon heard the most satisfying sound: landing a solid blow to the ribs of Arden and hearing the crunch of wood on flesh that wasn't his. He was smiling from ear to ear, but had learned the hard way not to let his guard down. Thinking that Arden might not share his enthusiasm for landing one on the teacher, Lindon consequently prepared for the attack he was sure to come. Arden just broke out in laughter. “Well done, Lindon, that was an excellent counter. I didn't expect it, and that’s what made it perfect.”

  Lindon turned to Grams, thinking that the fight was at an end, but got a strange feeling and without a thought, brought his practice sword up to block the blow that was coming. For the next ten minutes, the two were evenly matched; Arden's skill matched Lindon's speed and the battle ended in a draw with no blows being landed.

  Feeling quite pleased with himself, Lindon sat down and started to clean his practice sword. Arden came up to him asked to see the sword. Handing it to him, Lindon wondered what he wanted it for and was surprised to see him throw it into the fire along with his own.

  Arden walked over to Lindon's bed bent and picked up the real sword, then returned to where he was sitting. Still not sure what was going on, Lindon accepted the sword from Arden.

  “It is probably too soon for this, but we cannot stay here forever. Tomorrow we will be using real blades, because when we leave here you will be fighting for your life, and you have to be ready. If all you have used are wooden swords, you will not be in the right state of mind when we are attacked.” The tone in Arden's voice did not encourage argument. “Understand?”

  Looking down at the sword, then up to Arden, “Yes” was all Lindon could say.

  Lindon realized how much he had learned in the past month. He had been hoping to learn more about who was after them, but training had taken all their time and being tired and sore didn't leave them much time for chatting.

  Grams had spent most of her time maintaining the barrier that seemed to limit any sound or smoke being seen from beyond their camp. When she wasn't doing that, she spent her time in meditation. Lindon was quite surprised to find that she no longer looked old; she had transformed into appearing middle aged. It didn't happen overnight, but every day she would meditate, shedding years from her face and body.

  She had shown no sign that she had any problems with Arden's plan to start training with real swords tomorrow. Lindon found that the strangest part of the whole thing, especially after all the years she had spent being overprotective of him. He had always been watched rather closely, and had rarely been allowed to be out of her sight.

  Lindon wasn't sure of what to make of Arden either; he had been training with him for a month and still didn't know any more about him then he did before. Every time he would try to talk to him, Arden would simply start a new training session and would never talk about anything other than battle. There was sadness about him; something in his past that threatened to overwhelm him if he let his guard down.

  Being no closer to understanding anything new about the situation, Lindon decided the best thing he could do was to go to sleep knowing that tomorrow was going to be a tough day . He was not only worried about getting hurt (or worse), but what if he got lucky again and accidentally killed Arden—where would they be then? Seeing no way out of it, he drifted off to sleep.

  Once Lindon had gone to sleep, Arden and his grandmother checked on him to make sure he was sleeping before they started talking, knowing that he was a sharp lad but didn't want him to know too much about what he would have to face when they finally left their little sanctuary.

  “Do you think it’s wise to use real swords?” she asked, with a concerned look.

  “I don't really know if it's wise, but it is necessary; I have never come across anyone like Lindon. It’s only been a month of practice, and already he is nearly as good as I am,” Arden answered, shaking his head. “It is truly amazing. He shouldn't be able to come anywhere close to being able to hit me, and yet the move he made today not only scored a hit on me, but if it had been a sword, my guts would be all over the ground.”

  “And you want to use real blades!” she stated with disbelief. “Isn't that a little dangerous?”

  Arden gave a rueful chuckle “Not as much as going out into the world unprepared. If he doesn't practice with the real thing, he might make a mistake that would cost him his life. The only way to make sure he is ready to face the challenge is to train with steel.”

  “What about the other thing? Have you figured out what he did to the protective barrier?” Arden asked in a hushed tone.

  “No I haven't; by rights I shouldn't have to renew it every day, but whatever he did it’s draining. I even tried to dissolve it and start again at night when everyone should be sleeping to minimize the chance anyone is looking. However, it doesn't make a difference. Everyday I have to put power back into it.” She looked thoughtfully at Lindon's sleeping form.

  “We will just have to wait and see what all he can do. He has shown no signs of having power nor has he in all the time we have lived here. The prophecy doesn't say much about it either, only that when the time is right he will meet his destiny.”

  Cora and Arden didn't say any more.

  Chapter 5

  Lindon was standing before Arden ready to practice with real swords. He had mixed feelings. On one hand, he was happy that Arden thought he was ready, but on the other, he was scared almost to the point of panic. It was one thing to get hit with a wooden sword and receive a bruise or two, but if he took a blow with real swords, he could lose a limb or worse, his life.

  “Alright, Lindon, draw your weapon like your life depended on it, because it does.” The menacing way in which he said it almost made Lindon hesitate, but after a month of constant training and conditioning, he pulled his sword like he would for battle.

  “Hold,” Arden commanded. “Do you see how your blade is angled?”

  Lindon looked at the blade and realized that when he grabbed hold of the blade and pulled it out, he turned his hand a little and as a result, the edge was facing slightly upward. In a battle, he would not be in the right position to deflect a strike.

  “I want you to pull and sheath your weapon a thousand times. Every time your blade is in the wrong position, start the count at one again. Got it?” Arden's tone weighted the situation.

  Lindon didn't speak but instead stood there and pulled and sheathed his sword
repeatedly. At first, he could only get a few correct in a row before he would have to start over.

  By the end of the day, Lindon had hardly any feeling in his arm. The most he had been able to get up to was seven hundred before he made a small mistake and had to start over. He wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to lift his arm to start again in the morning.

  Arden brought some liniment over to him. “Rub this into your shoulder.”

  The next morning, Lindon had come up with a plan to get around the fact that his arm felt like mush. With a few adjustments to the sheath, he could use his other hand today for the exercise.

  Arden watched Lindon's progress with obvious amazement. In less than half a day, Lindon had managed to pull his weapon a thousand times—with his left hand—while only having to start over twice. Lindon would learn later that the potential for him to be a two-handed fighter had never crossed Arden’s mind. There were very few swordsmen that could use two weapons and with his speed and two swords. Lindon could be one of the best.

  After Lindon had done the exercise with his left hand, he undid the changes to the sheath so that he could practice with his right hand. On his first attempt, pulled one thousand times without a mistake. His weapon felt like it just appeared in either hand without effort.

  Not quite ready to stop and rest, Lindon transferred the sword back into his left hand and tried some of the routines that he'd been taught. They were clumsy at first, but before long they would flow together almost like a dance. Still not satisfied and feeling like something was missing, he went back to the woodpile looking for another piece of wood that was close to sword shape and length. Finding a suitable stick, he took it over to the rock that he had made his first wooden practice sword and started shaping another.

  Cora and Arden simply watched, not speaking.

  Satisfied that the wooden sword was the right shape and angle to his real one, he stood and moved to the open space that they had been using for practice. Lindon walked though one of the routines at first, slowly to get the feel for the second weapon and where it belonged. Bit by bit, he increased the speed of the blades. As he grew in comfort having the second sword, the more complex his movements became. Before long, he was flowing from one routine to another with no problem. From the outside, it appeared that he was involved in a complex dance; the moving and twisting were so fluid it was awe-inspiring to behold.

  When he had finished, Lindon stood there panting, out of breath from the practice. He looked over at his grandmother and Arden and was surprised to see the look of wonder on their faces.

  Arden was the first to move; he rose from his seat and walked around the fire. Thinking that he was coming over to praise him, Lindon was momentarily stunned and nearly missed his opportunity to block the sword as Arden pulled his weapon and swung directly at Lindon's head.

  As Lindon looked at Arden, he saw the red glow in his eyes the same as the day in the market when he had killed the six men. Fearing that this wasn't just a practice, Lindon fought with everything he had. He held nothing back but he couldn't get by Arden’s guard, and neither could his opponent. They fought like this for nearly half an hour, both fighters not giving ground, their weapons a blur. In the end, it was the wooden sword that betrayed Lindon. With a final swipe and a block of the wooden sword, the wood splintered, and Arden's sword stopped a hairsbreadth from Lindon's eye. Not moving for fear of getting stabbed in the face, Lindon lowered his weapon in surrender. As he did, the fire in Arden's eyes went out.

  “Well done, Lindon,” Arden praised. “If it weren’t for the wooden sword, you would not have been defeated, but let that also be a lesson: Sometimes swords can break; be ready if it does.” Having delivered another lesson, he walked back to the fire sat down and commenced to care for his weapon.

  Shaking from fear and exhaustion, Lindon walked over to the fire, threw his broken practice sword into the flames, sat down, and began to clean his weapon. When he was satisfied it was clean and sharp, he sheathed it, went to his bedroll, and fell into a deep sleep.

  Arden and Cora were quietly talking when Lindon suddenly screamed. They rushed to his side, seeing he was in the midst of a nightmare. Unsure of whether they should try and wake him, they watched as he screamed out in a language that neither of them had ever heard before. Both of them could speak or have heard all the languages of man and even the subraces of the world, and they had never heard the language that was coming from Lindon.

  “Has he ever had nightmares like this before?” Arden asked.

  “No, he hasn't. This is the first one that I know of.” She answered with concern.

  “Should we wake him?”

  “I don't know,” she said. “Let me try a sleeping spell; I don't know if waking him is a good idea. The spell might calm him.”

  “Do you think that's wise? I mean, after what happened with magic of the ward.”

  “As I said, I don't know, but we should do something. I hate seeing him suffer like this.”

  “Let me try to wake him first; I think it would be safer.”

  “Okay, try and wake him, but be gentle.”

  Arden tried to gently shake Lindon's shoulder, but there was no effect. The boy still writhed in his sleep. Arden shook his shoulder harder, but still no response. “Lindon, wake up!” he bellowed, but the lad would not wake. Nothing Arden tried could wake him from his tormented sleep.

  “It looks like we have no choice but to try your way,” Arden said.

  Cora knelt over Lindon, trying to discern if any outside source was causing Lindon's nightmares. Seeing nothing, she decided to attempt her sleeping spell; hopefully he would calm into a restful sleep.

  The spell began like it should, but as soon as she laid it on him, he screamed in pain, arched his back, and with a flash of light, the spell was broken. Lindon calmed, but that was not what was supposed to happen. Normally, a person would simply ease into a quiet sleep, and the spell should have had no manifestation of light.

  Turning to Arden with a worried look, Cora said, “I don't know what just happened, but for now he seems calm. Please watch over him. I need to rest. Wake me if there is any change.”

  For such a simple spell, she felt like she had been casting spells all day with no rest. Her body ached all over, and she could barely make her way to her bedroll. When she reached it, she collapsed and was asleep instantly.

  Arden kept a close watch on Lindon but there was no change. Glancing over at Cora's sleeping, he noticed that she looked older again, like the sleeping spell took something out of her. There was nothing for him to do but just watch and wait; he didn't know all the ways of magic, only the little he was born with that allowed him to be such a deadly warrior.

  When morning came, Lindon sat up feeling completely refreshed. All his aches and pains were gone, even his arms didn't feel like mush. He wasn’t sure how or why he felt so good, but he was not going to complain about it. Lindon started to stoke up the fire when he noticed Arden was already up but was just staring at him.

  “Morning,” Lindon grunted.

  “Good morning, Lindon. How did you sleep?” asked Arden warily.

  “I slept great; I feel completely rested and ready for the day.”

  “That's good to hear,” Grams spoke up from her bed.

  As she got up, Arden noticed that she looked like she did before the wayward spell. Seeing the concerned look from Arden, she gave a little shake of her head that prevented Lindon from knowing what had happened. He had no intention of saying anything but just gave a little nod to indicate he wouldn't.

  Lindon noticed the looks his grandmother and Arden were giving each other out of the corner of his eye and thought something must have happened during the night that he somehow slept through. They clearly didn't want him to know about it, whatever it was. Feeling as good as he did this morning, he wasn't going to worry about it; he figured if he needed to know about it, he would be told.

  After breakfast, Lindon started packing up his meager
belongings and as he finished, Grams asked, “Are we going somewhere?”

  Not realizing why he had packed, he turned to her and said, “I don't know…I just felt that we would be leaving.”

  “It’s okay. Where do you think that we should be going?” she asked.

  Feeling embarrassed now that all attention was on him for his weird behavior, he sheepishly muttered, “I don't know.” He paused. “I feel like we should be going south; I don't know why, I don't even know what is down that way, I only feel that's where we have to go.

  “South is as good as a direction to go as any, and if we think of a different way to go later, we can always change direction then.”

  Feeling better now that they would be leaving, Lindon couldn't explain it to them or even to himself, but something was drawing him south. It didn't seem evil or anything, but someone or something down there needed his help, and he felt like he had to go.

  He was more than a little surprised but glad that they were leaving. He couldn't explain they were ready to go in short order.

  “I think that is everything,” Lindon said after taking one last look around.

  “One last thing, Arden, please wear this.” Grams handed one of the stones she had removed from the dead attackers.

  Thinking that he was next to get one Lindon, moved up beside Arden.

  “You won't need one,” Grams said. “I have given it to Arden because of the fight in the town. They won't be looking for you.” Lindon had the feeling that there was more to it than that.

  Grams moved close to the reddish barrier that she had created when they had first come, and with a wave of her hand, the telltale glow of magic of the barrier came down.

  “Okay, let’s go.” Arden took the lead them back up the narrow ledge. Lindon had thought that they would be going down, but was surprised to see that there actually wasn't any ledge past the cave; he was sure when they came that there was one. And didn't Grams say that anyone following would have just carried on past the cave entrance—wouldn't that mean that they would have fallen to their deaths? Lindon gave a little shiver at the thought.