by Curtis, Greg
Which left him, alone and suffering.
Really though, if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t suffering that greatly. Except for the running. Why a wizard had to run he didn’t know, but it was expected, actually demanded of him. On the other hand, maybe it wasn’t the running itself that was so bad, as the fact that he was so poor at it.
He’d always considered himself a fit, healthy man, especially for a wizard, and he’d wandered all over the Allyssian forests without trouble, but he’d never run them, and the difference was surprising, and even worse when they made him do it in armour. Especially when they’d taken away the remains of his forester’s leathers, which admittedly were little more than rags by then, and replaced it with mithril chain. It was good armour, shiny and pretty as well, it had a much better defensive value than leather, could turn aside spells, and it was very light, for metal, but it was still heavier than the leather and hotter as well. Much hotter.
Of course there were also his quarters, another sore point with him. While Master Silas, Dimeter and Ferris now called his house theirs, they hadn’t asked or even thanked him for it, just moved in while he’d been laid up in the infirmary, he had been assigned quarters in the Great Oak, a ranger barracks, actually the barracks for the Wild Sage Rangers, under the command of Captain Saul, who still carried that accursed spear with him everywhere. Several times during weapons training, another indignity he had to suffer through without any obvious reason for it, he’d found that spear rammed hard into various soft parts of his anatomy, and he was beginning to actively dislike it. In truth he was well beyond beginning.
His room was small, there was no other word for it unless it was tiny, and there was barely enough room for his bed, a desk, a set of shelves now overflowing with what he still retained of his tomes of magic and various scrolls, and a wardrobe with his few pieces of clothing. It was a challenge some days just finding the room simply to dress, although the view from his shuttered window was quite tolerable as he looked out over the emerald green glade that was the heart of the town.
Add to that a bed that was both narrow and hard, it seemed the elves had a different concept of comfort to him, quarters that swayed in the wind, or at least creaked alarmingly while he tried to sleep, a shoulder that still ached in the cold, the elven healers had done good work but complete recovery would take time, a schedule of physical activity that left him exhausted every day while his actual magical skills were no longer required, Master Silas was now the one who spoke with the council while his two students, (and when had Ferris become his student anyway?), - did the enchanting, and his life was a pitiful shadow of what it had once been.
Of course it was probably better than sharing quarters with Dimeter, the boy hated him with a passion, though in truth he was absolutely horrid to everyone else, sneering at the elves in their own town. Marjan didn’t envy Ferris, as he had to spend his days in close company with him, though at least he got to flee each evening for his own family home. The elder mage had taken to referring to him as one of Qua’thor’s horrible fleas, a reference to the dark wizard’s blood sucking acolytes, behind his back of course, which was probably a good description. He wasn’t yet very powerful, but his nature was truly rank almost as though he drank from the dark wizard’s poisoned blood. Marjan probably got off lightly with him as the boy derided him every time he saw him, but usually knew enough to steer clear. He might not respect him or anyone else, but he knew better than to tangle with a battle mage, if in truth he was such.
Maybe things would have been more tolerable if he understood why he was being treated like this, why he’d been apparently drafted into the rangers. After all he was a wizard, maybe even an eldritch battle-blade, he still wasn’t clear on whether he’d passed the sylph’s tests or not and no one was telling him anything, he should be out practicing his magic, helping to set up the defences of the village, not playing soldier. But they didn’t think so. The elders, Master Silas and even Master Argus before he’d left, had all said the same thing, join the rangers, and as they hadn’t left him with much choice other than to leave the town and head for parts unknown, he’d done just that.
He couldn’t leave. Not that he particularly feared the enemy, it might be overconfidence but he knew with the magic flowing through him sharper and cleaner than ever before, he could take on their armies, at least one at a time with some planning. That had already been put to the test just after his being discharged from the infirmary, when the enemy had attacked again, and despite still being bandaged and in pain, he’d found his magic flowing stronger than ever before. But he couldn’t leave the village undefended, especially not the children or Essaline, and so he suffered the indignity in relative silence, and maybe gained a little respect for it. These days the villagers seemed a little more accepting of him, though that could have been the elven armour.
It helped perhaps that he wasn’t alone. He might be the only wizard undergoing such unfair training, but there were half a dozen humans, all of them former guards from the various towns and cities of Gunderland, suffering beside him, and he had an unexpected advantage over them. His skill with the longbow, the rangers first choice of weapon, even when they took away the enchantments by making him use a standard longbow and regular arrows, was much greater than theirs. In fact some days the trainers almost admitted that his archery was of an elven standard, not that they would ever actually say such a thing. Pride wasn’t just a human failing he had discovered.
The food wasn’t so terrible either. Gone were the root vegetables and meat stews he was used to, with the warmer weather of this southern realm, the elves grew more rice, grains, nuts and fruits, and they preferred fish and fowl to red meat, both of which they farmed. It was strange however, sitting down to a meal with up to a hundred other rangers, nearly all of them elves speaking their own tongue and speaking too fast for him to understand, though hunger from the all the exercise he was being forced to do, would be sure to keep him coming back.
Of course there was one other blessing in his newly unturned life he realised as he saw Petras breaking into an awkward run to greet him, Essaline. She had visited him daily while he was in the infirmary, and they had been a painful and boring five days except for her visits, and in the three tendays since then she had kept visiting, in fact they had been out on at least half a dozen walks together.
He still wasn’t quite sure what their walks were, if they were anything, or why he was suddenly allowed to escort her unattended around the fields and gardens that surrounded the city, or if indeed it was anything he should or shouldn’t have been allowed to do normally. Essaline typically wouldn’t explain such things to him, the elves of his troop simply coughed discreetly and turned away when he tried to ask them, and of course the other humans didn’t know, but in the end it didn’t matter. It was pure pleasure.
An hour or so, walking out in the sunshine and among the gardens, with the most beautiful woman in all the realms, sometimes allowing him to hold her hand, and occasionally even granting him a chaste kiss on the cheek at the end, that was paradise. And it all began with a messenger inviting him to meet her somewhere, usually outside the grove of the Goddess. A messenger like Petras.
Suddenly his pulse started hurrying and he couldn’t wait till the lad reached him.
“Petras, you’re looking well.” He was too, the young dwarf was laughing a lot of late and running everywhere, something that he suspected didn’t come particularly easily to his people, but then he understood, the lad had received word from his family only a tenday before, who were all well if not nearby, and the village now had some other dwarven children for him to play with. That had to be a reason to smile.
“Thank you Mage Marjan.”
“Its just Marjan Petras, you know that.” He went down on one knee and clapped a hand on the lad’s shoulder in greeting, glad to see him, if not at being greeted by his new title. Yet everyone seemed to address him as mage of late, and while it was somewhat embarrassing he couldn
’t seem to stop them doing it. But then the rest of the troop were also greeted as ‘Rangers’ and Harvas, the other spellcaster for the Wild Sage Troop was greeted as ‘Druid’ wherever he went. The elves seemed to like titles of late, maybe they always had.
“You’re looking happy, studies going well?” Of course the children had not been excused their studies just because the Academy had been lost and Essaline and the other teachers were continuing with their education along with that of all the other children. Elves he had discovered, took such matters very seriously and their schools had no truancy problems. Any child caught out of class during school hours would promptly be escorted back by the nearest adult, and though the masters never punished them, very few would try it a second time. That was one of the reasons he suspected the Goran Academy had had so many elven teachers.
“They’re teaching us arithmetic.” His face curled up a little at the thought and Marjan gathered it wasn’t his favourite subject even as he stifled his smile. But then it hadn’t been his either as he recalled and wizards needed to know their numbers too if only to work out how much of everything to stick in their potions.
“You’ll do well enough. Its just a question of practice.”
“The elders want to see you.”
Marjan groaned a little, though very quietly. His visits to the elders of late had been few and far between, mainly because his duties had been usurped by Master Silas, and he’d enjoyed the little bit of free time that gave him, that and the relief as he didn’t have to worry so much about saying something foolish in front of such respected elves. But on the other hand if they wanted to see him, it was probably important, and it would be best not to keep them waiting.
He left Petras to finish grooming Willow, something the lad enjoyed despite his people’s natural dislike of riding, as he gathered his weapons to him and made his way towards the council chambers.
It was a short walk, the Great Oak was barely five hundred paces from the chambers and the stables just underneath, and for once he enjoyed it instead of running it as he no doubt should have. But then summer had come and gone, fall was underway and it was nice to have the morning sun still shining on him. Soon, too soon, winter would be upon them once again, and when that finally passed, he would have been away from his home for a full year, far longer than he had expected when he’d first started out on this exodus. But for now, it was enough to enjoy the moment.
Perhaps too, his enjoyment stemmed in part from his learning of the local forest. It was different to the Allyssian Forest, different trees, different creatures, different seasons even, and yet he was finally coming to feel its moods and ways moving in his own blood, the beat of its heart echoing in his own. It had taken a long time, too long, but now the land at least, was starting to feel like home.
Harvas had said to him, several times, that he had the makings of a druid, and though it wasn’t his greatest affinity, or his most useful, he had felt pleased each time he’d been told it. Maybe in time, when he was fully at one with these lands, he might consider staying in the village, though of course that wasn’t purely his decision, and he suspected that if he did choose to, the elves would have some conditions for him. He was after all not just a human, he was a wizard, an eldritch battle blade maybe, and despite Essaline’s kind words, a maverick. For now while the war threatened them all, he was tolerated, but afterwards he wasn’t so sure of. Besides, he’d want to build himself a house, somewhere nearby if he was expected to continue with the rangers, with some room for him to move about in and a workspace as well, but most especially on the ground.
Yet if he had to leave, he knew he’d have to leave more than just the town and the lands, he’d have to leave Essaline, and that, despite nothing of any great importance having been done or said yet, would be hard. She had a way of ruling his world whenever she was near and dominating his thoughts even when she wasn’t there. Especially when she wasn’t there.
In time he reached the council chambers and as always stopped for a moment to stare at it. The structure was a dream given form, but not a dream that any human might have.
The elves had grown a tree, a massive oak, specifically for the purpose of supporting the chamber, and unlike the rest of the town where platforms were suspended on great ropes hanging between the trees or coiled around their trunks, this one lay within the arms of the tree itself. Early in its life the oak had somehow been made to split into four trunks, something he’d never seen before, and as each trunk ran away from the others in a perfect fan like the fingers of an outstretched hand, a platform had been formed between them, a massive circular platform surely fifty or more paces across and dipped slightly in the middle like a bowl.
On top of that platform, dozens of columns still with the bark attached even though they had been carved or perhaps shaped as they grew, extended high above like trees, put in place to support the enormous roof, a great cone of overlapping timbers that seemed to spiral up towards the heavens. But the strangest thing of all, and perhaps the most wondrous, was that all of those columns were somehow alive, as was the roof itself. Small branches with twigs and leaves shot out from their intricately carved trunks, bringing a touch of green to all around them, and that green then continued up the roof in an intricate tapestry of threads all the way to the point at the top where they came together to form a living spire.
They weren’t alone and though the floor and the benches were all made of beautifully polished and crafted timber, here and there he could see the odd branch extending from them, adding a touch of living green to the chamber. Then, in a final magical twist, the outer walls were actually hedges extending to waist height along a trellis of wood, and though they weren’t the type of plants to flower, gorgeous blooms of all shapes and sizes formed their top, almost like a multicoloured handrail.
In all his life Marjan had never imagined let alone seen such a structure, and each time he’d been sent for, he’d spent many a long moment simply admiring the magic and artistry of the chambers, wondering who and how many had been involved in their creation, and how they kept it alive. Did they water them? One day, when he had the chance, he hoped to be able to speak with the druids who looked after the chambers, and ask them their secrets, impertinent as that might be.
This was clearly not to be that day however, and as he saw the full council of elders already seated and clearly discussing important matters in the centre of the chamber, while guests were seated all around them on the rows of pews, Marjan knew he was late. He scurried quietly down the aisle, passing row after row of empty benches, this apparently wasn’t a full council session, even many of the chairs set out for the councillors were empty, and then when he reached the middle and caught the eye of Elder Sparrel, he nodded quickly to him before finding a seat just behind some of the other guests. Having been seen he knew he would be called as and when his input was required, it was enough for the moment just to sit and try to take in some of what was being discussed.
It was an unexpected assortment of people gathered around the elders, elves, humans and dwarves much as he’d expected though some he didn’t recognise and from the looks of their robes they’d travelled a ways to be here, especially the man in the gold armour speaking to the council, but that was only the start. There were also gnomes with their distinctive bald patches on their heads, halflings with their sharp pointed features and surprisingly fast movements, a couple of sylph who made him nervous as they reminded him of Master Argus, and a fairy, definitely not locals. He wondered what that meant, even as he let himself be distracted by the sight of the fairy in the chamber.
She wasn’t the first fairy he’d ever seen, a few used to come to Gunder and stayed at the Guild when they did, but that had been a long time ago, and he remembered even then always being amazed at how their gossamer wings extended from just inside their shoulder blades to reflect the light of the sun in a glorious rainbow of colour. Small as they were, and the tallest fairy were only three feet tall, short enough to make
dwarves look like giants, and tiny as well, they couldn’t fly. Their wings were mainly for show as far as he could tell, though they were intimately connected to their magic as well, somehow acting as conduits for the fantastic magical strength they were supposedly able to draw on. There was also a story told around the inns that once the fairy had been able to fly, - that they had lost that ability when they’d failed their goddess somehow, and ever since then had been perpetually earthbound. Whether that was in any way true or not, he didn’t know, but looking at her, he decided she was almost small enough to be able to be lifted by those translucent wings, if they flapped fast enough.
Fairies reminded him most of little children, as perhaps they reminded everyone else, but Marjan knew that the fairy aged even more slowly than the elves. The one in front of him could be many centuries old, maybe even older, but then that was in keeping with all the magical races and those who carried the spark, and the fairy were powerful spellcasters, probably the most powerful in the chamber even with the elders and Master Silas present.