To Cast The First Spell (The Maestro Chronicles)

by John Buttrick

  A large man dressed in a brown wool suit stepped forward blocking the way. “We do not serve your kind here,” he stated, flatly, as if he was being insulted by just having to speak to an Aakacarn.

  Samuel looked up at the man, who had greater height and yet could not possibility know how unimpressive his actions were. At least a score of unpleasant spells came to mind, any of which would prove who should be the one feeling intimidated. Seeking the source of the High Power spell held priority, there simply was not any reason to stay where he was not wanted, and this was not the time to teach respect for an Aakacarn to the Ducaunans. Samuel turned and walked out.

  “Well, where do we stable the horses? Around back I presume,” Jerremy said, asking and answering his own question, taking for granted the rooms were available.

  “They won’t rent us a room,” Samuel replied, softly. He swung up in the saddle and took the reins from Sherree’s outstretched hand.

  “Can’t you do anything right?” Jerremy chided, frowning, he dismounted in a huff. “I’ll go talk to the proprietor,” he added, and then went inside the Haven as if everyone in there would suddenly bow down upon his arrival.

  “What happened?” Sherree inquired, while people passed by.

  “We are Aakacarns and the Ducaunans don’t want us here,” Samuel replied, noticing several pedestrians cross the street so as to avoid being near Talenteds, assuming these people even knew the different classifications of Aakacarns. Despite their obvious prejudice, he held no animosity towards them. “I think they’re frightened of us and resent being frightened.”

  Sherree nodded agreement and then adjusted the hood of her cloak forward until even her green eyes were shaded and difficult to see, unless she chose to use them to glare at someone. Unlike many of the female Talenteds, she constantly worked at hiding her beauty. Come to think of it, he had never seen her wearing make-up; not that she needed to.

  Jerremy suddenly pushed through the double doors and scowled as though he had faced Instructor Harmon Gram in a bad mood. “The peasants have no concept of civilized behavior,” he blurted, and then a truly wicked smile appeared on his face. “Well, the fellow in the brown suit may have an idea now.”

  Samuel was not sure he wanted to know all of the details. Obviously, the Serinian had not resisted the urge to teach a lesson. “Apparently, you were not successful either. I hope you didn’t do anything to embarrass Aakadon.”

  To great surprise, Jerremy suddenly stood shame-faced. He mumbled something under his breath and swung up in the saddle. “We’ll have to find another inn.” he said, meekly, a rare tone from him.

  Samuel guided Salsa up the street, the other Talenteds followed without argument. Stone and brick buildings gave way to those made of wood. The Wayside Inn stood three buildings ahead on the left hand side of the narrower street. The blond structure had four floors and a large porch. The patrons, many of whom were wearing buckskins of varying colors and in some cases simple linen shirts and wool trousers, moved through the single door made of pine. These were common folk, who seemed no more happy about having Aakacarns in their midst than were the nobles.

  Sherree dismounted, handed the reins to Samuel, and then went inside. One would think she could at least discuss the matter instead of taking the decision upon herself. He fought off the sudden urge to follow and tell her so.

  “Maybe she’ll have better luck,” Jerremy said. He seemed to be a little on the humble side, for the moment. Whatever he did must have been bad indeed.

  “She couldn’t do worse,” Samuel admitted, while dismounting. He tied Salsa to a hitching post and did the same with Misty.

  Sherree returned smiling brightly, apparently successful. “Hurry up, we have two rooms and dinner is being served,” she said. Maybe she should have been the one to inquire at the Haven; the woman could be persuasive at times.

  Jerremy tied off Banner’s reins to the hitching post and started inside. “I could use some food about now,” he said, and rubbed his belly.

  “An attendant will take the horses to the stable behind the inn while we’re eating,” Sherree informed, with no trace of smugness, and not mentioning it was her efforts that got the rooms.

  “I think we should have worn different clothing. The people here don’t want to have anything to do with us,” Samuel said, and then stepped up onto the porch and opened the door. “These clothes practically shout Aakacarn.”

  “We hide our identities from no one,” Jerremy said, without a trace of humility, the humbling did not last long. “I for one am proud to be a Talented.”

  “I’ve no intention of dressing to please the locals,” Sherree stated, and then entered the establishment.

  Samuel found himself in agreement with his companions; he just wished they would be wrong a little more often than him. He walked in ahead of Jerremy, letting the door go free, producing a mild grumble from the Serinian.

  A young woman wearing a light blue blouse and skirt guided the way to an isolated table in the far back of the dinning room. Not a soul was seated nearby, yet the other tables were pushed closer together and crowded with people.

  The redwood floor had a good polish despite the heavy foot traffic. Samuel wondered how the proprietor managed to keep the place so clean; it isn’t like the man could cast a simple spell as is done in Aakadon. He waited for the other Talenteds to be seated and then sat down.

  A stout man wearing a white shirt and gray trousers brought out three plates piled high with meat and potatoes. Apparently, the decision of what to eat had also been made without consultation. Well, the food did smell good and Samuel had to admit he probably would have made the same choice. What was the point in arguing? He picked up the knife and fork and began eating.

  “You would think we carried a plague,” Sherree remarked, after taking a bite of food and swallowing.

  Jerremy nodded his head and chewed faster, apparently wanting to hurry so he could add his opinion to the conversation. “They’re uneducated, ignorant, and ill mannered people who don’t know enough to treat individuals such as ourselves with proper respect,” he finally managed to say.

  The remark was surprising, although the attitude was not. Samuel was amazed to have been included as one deserving of respect. He glanced at the patrons and drew a different conclusion. “The Ducaunans fear what they don’t understand.”

  Sherree’s mouth was full but she nodded her head in agreement. Jerremy stiffened up, no doubt feeling his assessment to be the more accurate.

  The Lobenian finished her meal and laid the fork on the table, then wiped her mouth daintily with the napkin. “I’m going up to take a bath and go to bed,” she announced, and then added, “The room number is four-twenty-one.”

  She stood and headed up the staircase with more than a score pairs of eyes watching her exit. Some of the looks were roguish, but most showed fear, caution, or distrust, a snake would probably have been more welcome.

  Samuel could feel his cheeks heating up, part of him wanted to follow her up immediately. The Accomplished inside decided to stay and eat awhile longer. Aakacarns are celibate, he reminded himself, seeing her bathe would definitely weaken his resolve.

  “I can’t believe your good fortune,” Jerremy said, while leaning back in his chair. “I almost wish there were no coins in my pocket,” he added, and then took a sip of wine.

  “You know what they say, the Teki have all the luck,” Samuel replied, although the saying never mentioned if it would be good or bad.

  He finished his meal and then watched Jerremy eat for a while longer. The Serinian ordered a peach pie for desert and Samuel decided it was time to go. He headed up the plain wood stairs, each step creaking as he ascended to the fourth floor. He located the room and knocked. “Sherree, can I come in?” he asked, and heard a shuffling sound coming from within.

  The door swung open as a soft amber glow illuminated the room. Samuel entered nervously and watched the door close behind him and the glow coming from the femal
e Aakacarn vanished. Sherree reclined back on her bed, still wearing her clothes, except for the cloak which lay draped neatly over a chair. Clearly, she had bathed, cast a laundering spell on her garments, and then put them back on having nothing else to sleep in. Her yellow-gold hair, a rare sight, hung down to her slim waist. He tried not to dwell on how pretty she was and instead focused his attention on the furnishings. The room did have some comforts, a bathtub filled with soapy water and an oil lamp on the nightstand beside the bed. A mattress lay on the floor over near the back wall, under the window,

  “I had the innkeeper bring it up,” Sherree said. Her mouth gaped open in a yawn. “Oh, excuse me. You can sleep there,” she added, and then closed her eyes.

  What a relief, this was no ordinary woman. Sherree was equally trained in spell casting. Actually, her grades were better. Getting on her bad side would not be prudent. More than a few male Talenteds had learned the hard way how seriously she took her privacy.

  Samuel stretched out on the mattress and closed his eyes. Yes, many Talenteds learned not to bother the Lobenian. “What would you have done if I had come up sooner?” he asked, knowing it was a dangerous question.

  Even in the dark he could see a wicked smile forming on her face. “You don’t want to know,” she said, and then closed her eyes.

  Samuel stared up at the ceiling. She would not actually do him harm, would she? He fell asleep wondering what his fate might have been.

  Chapter Five: The Serpents Stir

  The vast cavern stood fifty cubits high and had a mirrored ceiling, hanging down from which was a diamond chandelier. The home of the Serpent Guild was illuminated evenly by a glowing orb within each diamond. Six Accomplisheds stood before the crystal throne awaiting word from their leader. Balen Tamm glanced at the fabulous golden baton in his possession. The crescendo was in the shape of a snake with ruby eyes and a large sparkling diamond in its mouth. The baton of Tarin Conn, one of the three most powerful potential enhancers in the world, belonged to him. It looked positively exquisite in his hands, along with the jewels encrusted on his white cuffs, and the elaborate gold braid on his black silk cloak. The ring on the middle finger of his right hand had the shape of a silver serpent with its mouth open as if ready to strike.

  The figures before him, two of which were female, stood anxiously awaiting his attention; they seemed to grow more nervous the longer he stared at them in silence. All of them were wearing black silk and each of them had a serpent ring on their middle finger. Two of the Accomplisheds had three golden lightning bolts on their shoulders. The tallest female had two bolts and the remaining Aakacarns had two bolts each.

  “Maestro, my spies are in place,” Serin Gell said, in a scratchy voice that grated on the nerves. He kept the pale features of his gaunt face well hidden under the hood of his cloak. A pointed nose and a crooked smile were all that were visible. “Queen Cleona cannot sneeze without me knowing about it,” he added without a trace of humility.

  “Then she’ll be dancing to my tune soon enough,” Balen replied, happy to know his plans were well on their way to realization.

  The world needed to be prepared for the glorious return of Tarin Conn and there was much yet to be done. More of the Aakacarns would have to be brought under his influence, willingly or as Condemneds. Balen fumed under his breath. His greatest obstacle to date was the Eagle Guild, whose vigorous efforts slowed but could not stop his success. Each move was like a game of strategy, he acted and the toads of Efferin Tames reacted. Unfortunately, a new element has been added to the game.

  Balen frowned, and watched as perspiration formed on the faces of those standing before him. A great deal of time and effort went into placing loyal followers throughout Ducaun, a kingdom bordering on Aakadon. After all the planning, even still, his spies were surprised by the ripple affect of a High Power spell cast from Cleona’s realm. Could the occurrence mean a change in the Eagle Guild’s tactics? It was possible but Balen was aggravated at not knowing for sure. The event took place over a hundred spans away, a spell so powerful even the followers in Cret were able to feel the harmonic ripples, or so they reported.

  He focused his attention back on the six figures before him. They flinched back from his cold stare, all except Serin Gell. A close eye would have to be kept on that one.

  “Everyone leaves,” Balen commanded, in a voice that echoed throughout the cavern and probably well back into the tunnels. “Except you, Cenni Quen,” he added. The little man had been the first to move toward the exit.

  The Accomplished turned and walked back before the crystal throne and smiled weakly, his brow glistening with perspiration. The hood of his silk cloak lay sagging down his back like an old sack. Two lightning bolts on his right shoulder and one on his left marked the level of potential at his command. He wielded a great deal of power, had an impressive repertoire, and was eager to show how well he could serve Tarin Conn. It was best to let the man wait, a little sweat would work wonders on his attitude.

  “How may I serve?” the stout little man asked, after dropping to one knee with a painful grunt.

  “What have you done about the incident on Tannakonna?” Balen asked, struggling to keep from slapping the fool for making him ask the obvious question.

  Cenni Quen moaned and straightened up, wiping his brow. “I’ve been gathering yetis,” he said, as though this was all that had been required of him. He winced, apparently realizing more needed to be said and quick. “We will be setting out for Bashierwood tomorrow,” he added, hastily.

  Slackness, Balen detested slackness. “Why has it taken you days to prepare? The person or persons responsible for the spell could be gone by now. Pray to Tarin Conn the Aakacarn is still there,” he said, and then gave his most forceful stare. “Have you at least discovered the type of spell cast?”

  Cenni Quen began to tremble, evidently he had not. The sniveling fool was probably trying to come up with a quick answer, knowing the wrong one would bring wrath down upon him. He took a deep breath and let it out quickly. “I revived all of the yetis between here and Mount Cormin, there were many. I also spoke with the followers in Cret. They were unable to determine the type of spell being used. As you know, newly recruited Potentials are limited in their abilities,” he said, and then wiped his brow again.

  “I understand,” Balen said. Understand this, worm. “Take the yetis to Bashierwood and bring whoever is responsible for the spell back here to me. The mountain folk are simple people so you should have little difficulty overcoming any opposition; I doubt there will be much. Most likely, they will flee in terror at their first sighting of a yeti. I’m sure whomever you capture will not hesitate to tell you all they know.”

  Cenni Quen had a look of relief on his pathetic face. “As you command, great Maestro, so will I do,” he said, and then smiled.

  Does the man intend to stand grinning like an idiot all night? Balen felt anger boiling in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps a gentle nudge would prod the fool into action and give him stronger incentive. “Before you embark on your mission, which had better be soon, remember what I hate more than Efferin Tames,” he said, and then raised the baton, pointing the serpent-shaped crescendo straight at the trembling Accomplished.

  “Yes, Great Maestro. I shall not fail,” Cenni Quen replied, in a quivering voice. The man was worse than a weasel and had as much back bone as a jellyfish. It was a good thing for him his skill as a spell caster was well above that of his peers.

  “See that you don’t,” Balen shouted, mostly for effect.

  Cenni Quen bowed deeply and exited with as much speed as his bow legs could manage. There was little doubt he would find the Aakacarn responsible for the High Power spell.

  Balen shifted himself on the throne until finding the most comfortable position, knowing more of his minions would be entering the chamber for audience soon enough. Most of his plans were complete and ready to be executed. He glanced at his five lightning bolts; those combined with the baton of Tarin Conn
made him the most powerful Accomplished in the world. Efferin Tames could not even be considered a match for him.

  He stared into the ruby eyes of the golden snake. The crescendo was well over a thousand years old and had been the personal property of the Supreme Maestro himself. Power still throbbed in the baton, causing Balen to wonder what great and awesome spells must have been conducted and enhanced through the magnificent crescendo. The residual power was tremendous. He could feel the energy waiting to be used and focused according to his will. The many lesson taught to him over the years by the Supreme Maestro came to mind and took him back to the early days spent on Mount Kelgotha. He fell asleep.

  Balen stood in a courtroom staring up thirteen marble steps toward the crystal throne, a setting identical to the cavern he occupied. The difference between the two locations was the person in the seat of power. Tarin Conn had the military bearing of a commanding general and the shrewdness of the cleverest king. A handsome man, rugged and battle ready, wearing a diamond encrusted crown regally upon his dark black hair. A neatly trimmed mustache served to highlight a face that appeared to be chiseled in stone and his purple silk garments gave him the look of royalty.

  “Supreme Maestro of the faithful guild, how may I serve?” Balen asked, feeling small in the presence of such greatness. He bowed low, filled with awe.

  “Rise Maestro and face your monarch,” Tarin Conn replied, in a deep voice and staring with eyes black as coal.

  Balen stood up facing his master. Every audience before the Supreme Maestro was an honor and a moment of his attention a thing to be cherished.

  “I have entered the dreams of Serin Gell. He has a sharp mind and doesn’t let fear bring him to inactivity. Give him more responsibilities,” Tarin Conn instructed, which was not an unusual way for him to begin an audience.