Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web - Volume 1

by Prestopnik, Thomas J.

  “You’ll enjoy a few fine meals compliments of the King’s kitchen and consider yourself well compensated.” She patted Leo’s knee and smiled. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Wholeheartedly!” he said.

  Megan leaned close, giving Leo a quick hug. “Oh, that was the perfect answer. Now I know why I like you so much.”

  “See that, Leo, you’re a quick learner,” Nicholas joked. “This should be a much more pleasant trip than the one to Boros.”

  After everyone laughed, Nicholas settled back into silence, his thoughts automatically drifting to Ivy and where she might be. It didn’t seem proper that he should enjoy even a fleeting moment of camaraderie among friends while she silently endured her trials, but he knew that life would go on while he planned a way to find her. Yet a part of him feared to acknowledge that one day he might accept the idea that Ivy was gone forever. As empty as he felt after leaving Kanesbury, he knew that abandoning Ivy in his thoughts and to those who had kidnapped her would be far worse, carving out another piece of his soul that could never be replaced.

  They spent the night alongside River Road as it gradually turned southwest, the Pine River flowing silently to their left under a blanket of stars. The Fox Moon, now a mere sliver, had already dipped below the western horizon as they sat around a small fire and talked. Leo asked Megan about life in the Blue Citadel.

  “Though my opinion is somewhat prejudiced, you won’t find a more magnificent structure in all of Arrondale,” she said, honored to have lived there all her life.

  “The Blue Citadel is a beautiful place,” Nicholas agreed, “though I’ve only seen it from the outside when I made my deliveries for Ned Adams. However, the storage cellars are first-rate!”

  “I look forward to a grand tour,” Leo said, noting the smile on Megan’s face in the dancing firelight. He was happy that she seemed content and relaxed in his presence and hoped he felt the same when meeting her father and the King.

  A gray morning dawned the next day and the smell of rain lingered in the air as they made an early start. By midmorning they turned west onto King’s Road, leaving behind River Road that continued southwest to Bridgewater County and the southern border of Arrondale. Small forests of pine grew on each side of King’s Road along its first few miles. Nicholas and Megan recognized this as the place where they first met and had shared a campfire in the Darden Wood to their right.

  “Who knows where we’d be now if I had continued on to Morrenwood alone while you evaded Samuel in the wilderness,” Nicholas said, recalling their distrustful first encounter. “But it seems I’ll get to make that journey after all.”

  “And you’ll get to spend more time in these woods again,” Leo said, quickly guiding the team of horses through the narrow strip of field on the right leading to the border of the Darden.

  In the distance, a swath of dark gray clouds suddenly let loose a pounding rainfall that rapidly sailed eastward. Sheets of cold droplets swept across the area. Nicholas, Megan and Leo had just time enough to seek shelter under the trees before the storm hit with a fury. In time the breezes calmed down, yet the rain steadily fell, halting their progress for several hours. They cheerfully endured the delay, building a fire and enjoying a leisurely lunch under the treetops. Not until mid-afternoon did the rain cease and they once again took to the waterlogged road, slowly making their way westward through an occasional village or passing by a tract of tired farmland. Leo stayed on the road as long as he could to make up for lost time, but as the waning daylight dissolved into shadowy darkness, they were forced to call it a day. They pulled off to the side of King’s Road and spent a chilly night under the cover of the low, dreary clouds.

  Their glum demeanors disappeared at midmorning the following day when the clouds broke and a freshening wind sweetened the air. Warm and glorious sunshine dried the roads and revived the travelers’ spirits, making the next leg of the journey tolerable despite a lingering chill. The sight of deer feeding in nearby fields or a rafter of wild turkeys gobbling and strutting on a grassy hillside served as occasional diversions to the monotony of the long stretch of road. A fleeting shadow of a soaring hawk or crow sped across the dirt road from time to time as Leo held the reins, leading them steadily westward through the passing hours. But what finally caught the trio’s attention most was a colorfully painted wagon sitting on the side of the road under a thicket of maple trees up ahead, a nearby campfire sending swirls of blue-gray smoke into the mid-afternoon air. A solitary figure in a hooded cloak stooped over the fire, adding pieces of wood to the blaze.

  “I can’t believe it!” Megan softly said. “It’s her.”

  “Who?” Nicholas asked.

  “Slow down, Leo.” Megan excitedly patted his wrist as he brought the wagon to a halt near the side of the rode. “I need to speak with her.”

  “Do you know what she’s talking about?” Nicholas asked Leo, who simply returned a shrug and shook his head. Soon the figure by the fire looked up at them, apparently delighted to have some company on the lonely road.

  “A pleasant welcome, travelers!” the woman said, bundled in a cloak splashed with colorful swirls, geometric shapes and images of stars, leaves and comets, all bursting in shades of green, yellow, indigo and tangerine. She flipped back the hood to reveal a slightly unkempt head of light blond hair above a set of lively eyes and a contagious smile. She also wore a pair of thin beige gloves that extended partway up her forearms.

  Leo hopped off the wagon and assisted Megan down while Nicholas jumped off the other side, finding the woman strangely familiar. When he took a closer look at the large wagon under the maple trees, the back section enclosed with wooden panels and painted as vibrantly as the woman’s cloak, he suddenly remembered the story Megan had told them in her room after her attempted kidnapping at the Plum Orchard Inn.

  “You must be–”

  “Carmella!” Megan shouted, walking over to greet the woman who was old enough to be her mother. “It’s Megan. Do you remember allowing me and Samuel to spend the night on the road with you about three weeks ago?”

  “How could I forget such a pretty face?” she said, giving her a hug. “But where did you disappear to, young lady? And who are these fine gentlemen with you?”

  “That’s a long story, and I’ll be happy to tell you all about it,” she said, introducing Leo and Nicholas. “But first I’d like to apologize for sneaking off in the night without thanking you for your hospitality. And second–can you tell me what happened to Samuel?”

  Carmella tossed her arms in the air and laughed. “He abandoned me the very next day, all in a panic when he realized that you had left. We had searched for hours looking for you and then gave up, assuming you were long gone in whichever direction you set out. Samuel quit as my driver, leaving me stranded alone in the wild after he decided to return to Morrenwood, assuming you had probably gone that way, too.” She offered an impish smile. “Apparently he chose the wrong path, seeing as you’re traveling from the opposite direction. Did you ever make it to Boros?”

  “I did,” Megan replied, “with help from my two friends.”

  “Reluctantly at first,” Nicholas said. “But we’ve sorted through all that.”

  “Wonderful! I want to hear every detail.” Carmella invited them to sit on some logs near the fire as she chatted away. In short order, she served hot tea and raisin biscuits which everyone eagerly accepted, enjoying the respite from the weary road with a friendly voice and some warm food.

  “Carmella, you mentioned that Samuel agreed to be your driver before he left you in the wilderness,” Leo said as he munched on a second biscuit.

  “That’s right. I’d been traveling the back roads searching for my cousin, having heard weeks ago that she passed through those parts,” she said, pulling off her long gloves to reveal a pair of pumpkin-colored hands. “Liney did this to me with one of her spells years ago, the wicked girl. And the little magical training that I’ve had isn’t enough to reverse her handiwor
k. I need to find her to get the counter spell and to give her a piece of my mind. But as I haven’t had any success in tracking her down, I’ll be heading back home to the village of Red Fern for the winter. But that’s another story,” she said, putting the gloves back on. “Anyway, Samuel left me and looked for Megan, leaving me without a driver again. And though I drive myself when I absolutely must, I prefer to hire that task out to others so I can concentrate on my magic studies and my pursuit of Liney. I’m a wizard, after all, or nearly one. Or at least on my way to being one–probably closer to the initial steps in that journey rather than the latter. Still, someone of my yet-to-be-attainted status should have her own driver, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Nicholas said, concealing a smile. “So, Carmella, how long have you been studying the magic arts?”

  “About twenty years,” she said matter-of-factly, sipping her tea. “But after my first teacher deserted me, I was left to learn what I could on my own. His loss!”

  “How long ago was that?” Leo asked, as amused as Nicholas was by her story but keeping a straight face out of courtesy to Carmella and for fear of upsetting Megan.

  “Oh, that’d be about twenty years ago, too,” she said, prodding the fire with a large twig. “Minus one month. That’s how long my training lasted back home in Red Fern. And for some strange reason, none of the few wandering wizards I’ve since encountered over the years were eager to take me on as an apprentice after offering me a few lessons. I had to learn most everything on my own with a few spell books I discovered and purchased. In the meantime, I work my small farm in Red Fern to earn a living, going out now and then to sell potions that I brew or tell fortunes for a small fee.” She nodded confidently. “I’m pretty good at reading palm lines and face freckles or consulting river pebbles. Would you like to toss a handful? No charge.”

  “No thank you,” Leo politely replied. “I’m happy to let my future unfold as it will. So far I haven’t been disappointed,” he said, gently nudging Megan who sat next to him.

  “Suit yourself. I guess there’s something to be said for living life as it comes barreling at you. I guess that’s what I’m doing now.”

  “Carmella, we’re on our way to Morrenwood,” Megan informed her. “Since it’s just a stone’s throw from Red Fern, why don’t you join us on the road? I’m sure Nicholas wouldn’t mind serving as your driver.” She leaned forward and glanced at him with a playful gleam in her eyes.

  “It’d be my pleasure,” Nicholas said. “It’s a bit crowded on that other wagon.”

  “I appreciate the offer,” Carmella replied, deeply touched by his kindness. “But at this moment I don’t need a driver.”

  “You enjoy navigating the roads by yourself?” Leo asked. “You seem to have made it back to King’s Road without any trouble from wherever you’d been stranded.”

  Carmella shook her head. “No, it wasn’t me, Leo. As I said, I don’t need a driver right now because one recently found me in the wilderness.”

  Megan and the others glanced around the campsite. “Really? I don’t see anyone.”

  “He’s out gathering firewood,” she said, when suddenly they heard a branch snap nearby as if someone had stepped on a fallen tree branch. “Oh wait, here he comes now.” Carmella pointed to the edge of the maple trees just beyond her wagon as a short, burly figure in a floppy brown hat and an ill-fitting coat emerged from around the corner, an armload of firewood hiding its face. “There you are,” she said, urging him forward. “Come here, Jagga. I have guests I want you to meet.”

  The Enâr suddenly stopped, lowing his arms just enough so that his dark, suspicious eyes could see over the wood and study the new arrivals. Convinced that they weren’t going to attack him, Jagga grunted before setting the pile down near the remaining kindling he had gathered earlier. He sat on the ground several yards away from the crackling flames.

  “Why are you sitting way over there?” Carmella asked, signaling him to join her and the others. “Come here where it’s warm. These are my friends, Jagga. Nothing to be worried about.”

  “I am fine here, Carmella,” he said with a sharp nod, still eyeing Nicholas, Megan and Leo with lingering trepidation.

  Nicholas gazed at him, fascinated by Jagga’s roughly hewn shape and tangled strands of hair peeking out beneath the silly looking hat upon his head. Though he had never seen one of his kind before, after all the stories he had heard growing up in Kanesbury, he knew at once that he was looking at a member of the Enâri race that had attacked his village twenty years ago. He stared dumbfounded at Carmella, wondering how she had met and bonded with such a creature out here in the wild.

  Minutes after Arthur Weeks had been murdered during the Harvest Festival, Jagga raced through the woods in Kanesbury along the Pine River, his fingers clutching the key he had stolen from Dooley Kramer’s house. The Enâr quickly fled the village and the large crowds, heading west. Even though it was his first night awake after a forced twenty-year sleep, Jagga had no desire to celebrate, neither with men nor wizards nor even his own kind. They were all responsible to some extent for killing his freedom, but now he possessed the very key to preserving that freedom forever.

  Jagga walked for several hours through the countryside until he felt safe enough to rest beneath some trees in a field. He drank greedily from a stream and then collapsed on the ground and gazed up at the stars, a sight he hadn’t seen in twenty years. A large crescent Fox Moon was setting in the west, casting faint silvery light upon the tips of the tall grass and weeds. He held up the stolen key and examined it in the gloom, knowing he must get rid of it or destroy it, though reluctant to part with the object for fear that someone else might discover it. If the key was ever used to open the Spirit Box, his life would be over. The formidable entity growing inside for the last twenty years would consume him with the power of a raging fire and turn him into the rock and soil from which he had been created by Vellan so many years ago.

  Jagga couldn’t decide his next step. Returning to Vellan was out of the question. He feared that the mighty wizard would condemn him for running away from Caldurian and disobeying the orders he had communicated through the blue fog inside the caves. Yet even if Vellan did accept him back, he knew his loyalty would always be in question. Though the other Enâri may have had their doubts about serving Caldurian because of his past mistakes, they did so out of devotion to Vellan. But Jagga’s allegiance had diminished while in hibernation, affording him an awareness of his personal freedom that the others lacked. He wondered if he hadn’t been fully asleep during those twenty years which perhaps allowed resentment at being a slave to build up inside him. Or had Vellan created him differently, making a minor mistake he had overlooked? Regardless of the answer, he decided to run until he felt safe.

  After a short rest, Jagga continued his westward trek, staying off the main roads whenever possible. He continually thought about the key, wondering what to do with the cold piece of metal. He somberly recalled how he had obtained the item, plunging a knife into the chest of Arthur Weeks. His mind had been on fire then. Now in the cool autumn night, he reconsidered the act he had rashly committed, a seed of regret growing inside him. He wondered if he deserved his freedom now and considered throwing the key into a nearby pond. But Jagga was unwilling to depart with his treasure just yet in case someone else should find it. He walked the next several days and nights with only the key and his muddled thoughts to keep him company.

  One evening as the grays and purples of twilight cloaked the surrounding fields and hills, Jagga heard a sharp, metallic clank echo across the landscape. He noted the silhouette of a distant farmhouse, its windows awakening with the soft glow of yellow light. A sagging barn stood nearby next to a few smaller buildings, a flicker of firelight visible through the wide open doorway of one of them. He recognized the repeated striking of hammer upon anvil and was suddenly inspired. He hurried across a small tract of land and cautiously approached the building, peering into the
doorway from one side as another hammer blow fell.

  Inside, a tall man worked a red hot piece of metal with a hammer, shaping it across a large anvil next to a glowing brick forge. The heat inside the wooden building flowed out into the cool autumn night like a puff of dragon’s breath. Jagga, seeing no one else around, took a wary step inside and stared at the man framed by a backdrop of fiery red and orange light. The man glanced up, staring at Jagga in perplexed silence, never having seen an individual so unusual looking. He raised the hot piece of metal with a pair of tongs, causing Jagga to flinch before he plunged it into a barrel of cold rainwater, raising a cloud of hissing steam as the metal cooled.

  “Hello, stranger,” the man said, lifting the metal out of the water and setting it down upon a wooden workbench. “Something I can help you with?”

  Jagga rubbed his brow, wondering how he should handle the situation. He felt apprehensive about being here and wondered if he had made a mistake, yet the man didn’t make him fearful in the least as he silently gazed back with curiosity.

  “I need help.” Jagga held up the key. “I need this thing not to exist.”

  “Hmmm, is that so,” the man said as he ambled over to Jagga, holding out his hand. “Let me see it, please.” Jagga looked up into the man’s eyes and slowly handed him the key which he accepted and briefly examined. “It’ll be no trouble melting it down or forming it into something else. What do you want me to do exactly?”

  “I want it gone,” Jagga said with a shrug, as if his first instructions should have been plain enough.

  “Well, I can melt it down and mix it with other metal the next time I make a horseshoe.”

  “No, no!” he nervously insisted. “I need it gone now! Pound it out. Pound it flat. Shape it into something else.” He emitted a gravelly sigh. “I want it not a key, but I still want to keep the metal with me. Understand?”