A Touch of Magic

by Gregory Mahan

  Randall was in awe. These three men practically traveled the entire island of Tallia, back and forth, several times a year! Visions of exotic locations dancing in his head, Randall vowed that if they did not meet up with Master Erliand in Paranol, he would beg the caravaners to take him on as an apprentice, and he would leave the world of magic behind forever, along with all of its dangers and heartaches.

  Chapter 10

  Time passed quickly traveling with the three men. As they traveled, Brody kept Randall entertained with stories about the various places the trio traded in. He explained that Tallia had close to twenty towns and cities officially on the tax rolls. In addition to those, there were probably dozens of little hamlets and farmsteads that had a population so small that they didn’t really matter to anyone, except of course the people that lived there.

  “That’s not counting the elves,” Brody said with a wink. “Can’t tell how many communities they actually have. But I wouldn’t be surprised if they were all throughout Shaderest Forest.” He punctuated his sentence by jerking his thumb northward, deeper into the forest.

  “So, it takes you about six months to travel from one end of Tallia to the other?” Randall asked, trying to get a feel for the caravanning lifestyle.

  Brody laughed. “Not really. We could make the whole circuit in about eight or nine months if we didn’t stop for rest and relaxation. But we really don’t travel the island from tip to tip, you know.”

  “What do you mean?” Randall asked. Living in a small town hadn’t really given him much of an idea of the island geography. He knew about the three large communities surrounding Geldorn, and the marsh, of course. For most people in his town, that would be as big of a world as they would ever need to know.

  “Well, most of the big cities are on the eastern plains,” Brody explained. “Much of Tallia to the north and west are either mountains or forest. Pretty rough places to try to scratch out a living. Honestly, the only reason we ever come this far west is to treat with the elves. If it weren’t for them, we wouldn’t ever bother traveling further than Paranol. Ain’t no cities of any account past there anyway.”

  “That’s not true,” Randall protested, offended that his hometown would just be brushed aside as if it were completely inconsequential. “There’s plenty of towns down there! People come from all over to come to our job fair!”

  “Think so, boy?” Brody asked derisively. “So you tell me, then. What’s a good day’s pay in your town?”

  Randall considered carefully. “Well, we might make six or seven ringets. Depending on how much flour people need.”

  “And you make that bounty every day, do you?” Brody asked condescendingly.

  “Of course not! Some days, nobody needs flour. Other days, like if there’s a wedding, we can make ton’s more!” Randall shot back defensively. “You don’t get paid every day either!”

  “True that. But you have to look at the big picture. Six or seven ringets a day. That’s, what, twenty or so quartos a month? And I’d bet a lot of that money goes right back out nearly as fast as it comes in. It’d probably take your pa what, eight, ten years to save up a talen’s-worth of coin?”

  Randall tried to keep up with the math as Brody spoke. It was true that his family usually had very little spending money, even though they had a fairly successful business—by Geldorn standards. In the end he had to give a grudging nod at Brody’s assessment.

  “Now, would you rather waste a month scratching for a handful of ringets in a backwater hick town, or would you rather spend a week in Varna on the Lake, trading elven trinkets for zigs? And three weeks later be doing the same in Troyan?”

  The ziggur was the highest monetary piece that Randall had heard of, though he had never seen one. Most people just called them ‘zigs’. In Geldorn, they were mostly the subject of children’s fantasies. When Randall was younger, he and Bobby would often sit and stare at the clouds, playing “If I had a zig.” They would take turns saying “If I had a zig,” followed by all of the things they would buy.

  Randall recalled how his heart had thumped in his chest when Master Erliand had pulled only two talens and a few florn from his pouch. That money was several years’ earnings for the elder Miller. A zig was worth so much more, it was impossible for Randall to fathom actually owning one, much less several. He was forced to admit to himself that Geldorn was a backwater hick town, and that these caravaners would probably see more wealth in one season than anyone from his home town would see in a lifetime. And if Randall was lucky, so would he!

  “Yeah, you don’t gotta answer, boy. I can see the greed in your face,” Brody said, satisfied. “So, we go west-to-east, starting with the elves all the way to Port Medlin, hitting the big cities in between, and pretty much ignoring the boondocks and the cities that are too far out of our way. Tallia’s taller than it is wide, so, we really only cross the island the short way across.”

  “Oh,” Randall said. “Then, you only visit the same cities every trip? You don’t see everything?” Randall was learning that the reality of caravanning didn’t quite match up to his romantic notions about the nature of the work.

  “Don’t sound so disappointed!” Brody said, chuckling. “We see everything worth seeing! There’s plenty of adventure to be had, not to mention plenty of pretty girls looking for a fella who has a coin or two to spend on them.”

  Brody waggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing Randall to blush furiously. “Haw,” the elder caravaner chortled. “You blush like a schoolgirl! I swear, I can’t imagine what possessed Old Earl to travel all the way to some place like Geldorn to find an apprentice. We’ll make a man out of you yet! Soon, you’ll be drinking liquor and swaggering with the best of them!”

  Randall looked down. He knew why Master Erliand had chosen him for an apprentice, though it wouldn’t be wise to share that with this man. If caravaners never traveled to the southern towns much, it would explain why Master Erliand’s house was between Geldorn and Paranol. Close enough to Paranol to get back into the caravanning circuit to keep up his cover story, but far enough away to afford him a bit of privacy.

  Later that day, the group stopped for lunch near a stream. Randall jumped down from the wagon with his travel sack, under the pretense of getting some water for cooking. When he got to the water’s edge, he opened the sack and peered within, only to be confronted by a very unhappy sprite.

  “Look, Berry, I have to keep you hidden,” he started, apologetically as the imp chittered angrily at him.

  “I know, I know! I’m sorry,” Randall continued as Berry continued to harangue him. “I don’t know if you can understand me, but I’ll let you out of the bag if you just stay hidden. I’ll save some lunch for you and smuggle it to you later. Promise! Just stay hidden!”

  Berry cocked his head sideways and looked at Randall as if he was considering what Randall had said. Then, in a flash, he clambered up Randall’s arm to his customary spot on his shoulder.

  “No, Berry! I can’t keep you up there!” Randall protested quietly, turning his head to get a good look at the sprite so he could pluck it off of his shoulder.

  “Berry?” Randall hissed, confused. The little sprite wasn’t there!

  Randall spun around, and began patting down his clothes, frantically looking for his friend. He couldn’t just walk back to camp and risk Berry being seen. There was no telling where the little sprite was hiding!

  “Hey, boy, what’s the matter with you?” Randall heard from behind him. Tobsen had come to see what was taking Randall so long.

  “Oh, uh…I got a bug in my shirt! A big ol’ tree roach!” Randall exclaimed while continuing to pat around on his chest.

  Tobsen pulled a face at the news. “Ugh!” he said as he said as he shivered in sympathy. “I wondered what all of the hullabaloo was about. I could hear your tomfoolery over my lute practice!”

  Randall patted himself a couple of times and said “Well, I think it’s gone.” Tobsen shivered again in sympathy, closin
g his eyes and making a thoroughly disgusted face.

  Randall would just have to look for Berry later. He couldn’t do a thorough examination of himself looking for the little man without it being obvious that he was looking for something other than a bug.

  He scooped up a pot full of water and followed Tobsen back to the camp, his heart pounding in his chest. He just knew that Berry was going to turn up at the worst possible moment, and then Randall would be on the run again.

  He briefly considered mentioning the little sprite to the caravaners. They did deal with the elves, after all. But something held him back. Though they skirted the law by dealing with the elves, they seemed to only do so out of a profit motive. Randall suspected that they wouldn’t be nearly so keen to have one of the fae as a traveling companion. Plus, Berry didn’t seem to trust them; he stayed hidden whenever the other men were around. So, Randall vowed to keep his friend a secret, at least for now.

  When he got back to camp, he put the cook-pot on the fire. Declan and Brody announced that they were going to try to find some small game to add to their meal, and headed off into the forest, crossbows slung over their shoulders. While Randall worked on making some soup, Tobsen sat far away, plucking his lute and muttering to himself. As far as Randall could tell, the foppish man never did anything to help out when it came to camp chores. All he ever seemed to do was to play his lute and complain.

  That suited Randall just fine. If Berry was near, he was sure to make a scene when the soup was done, and Randall didn’t need anyone around when that happened! He didn’t have much in the way of herbs to add to the soup, but the traveling men did have some potatoes and salt in the wagon, which he helped himself to. By the time he put the soup on the fire, he could hear Berry’s familiar chittering, though it was faint, and Randall couldn’t pin down where it was coming from. Glancing up surreptitiously, he saw Tobsen absorbed in his practice, taking no notice of the goings-on at the campfire.

  Randall was going to have to do something about Berry. No matter how deep in concentration Tobsen was, he was bound to notice Berry’s angry tirade at the cook-pot when Randall took it off of the fire and waited for it to cool. So, while the soup was still on the fire, Randall went to the wagon, and rummaged around, trying to come up with an idea.

  Luckily, the traveling men had some basic wooden dinnerware and serving utensils. With the soup still on the fire, Randall scooped up a small portion in a large ladle. He quickly blew on it, touching it with his tongue occasionally until it was just cool enough to drink. Then he made a great show of tasting the soup and then pretending to drink the entire ladleful.

  Randall didn’t think Tobsen was watching him that closely, but still, he went through the motions. These men seemed to treat him with an easy acceptance, but in reality, they were virtual strangers. He couldn’t be sure if the troubadour was truly ignoring him, or if he had stayed behind to keep watch out for the wagon’s valuable cargo.

  When Randall was satisfied with his charade, he set the ladle to the side, carefully balancing it on a log so that it wouldn’t spill. Almost immediately, he heard the sound of Berry greedily slurping up the soup.

  Randall stared at the ladle. Berry wasn’t even there! Randall looked closer, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise, but all he saw was soup fast disappearing from the ladle. It wasn’t until Berry finished drinking and stood upright that Randall finally noticed him. Berry wasn’t invisible after all, but he had become so transparent that might as well have been. When he stood perfectly still, it was practically impossible to see him if you didn’t know what to look for.

  “Good job, Berry!” Randall whispered. “That’s amazing!”

  Berry gave a little slurp as he licked the dripping soup from his chin, and then curled up on the grass, for his afternoon nap, still mostly transparent. Randall scooped him up in the ladle and carried him back to the wagon. He placed the little sprite in the back and covered him with a scrap of cloth, under the pretense of rummaging for some bowls to serve the soup in.

  “Stay hidden for me, all right?” Randall whispered, as the sprite began purring softly.

  “I take it the soup is ready?” Tobsen called from his lute practice. “I am quite famished and ready for my repast.” Tobsen had been paying at least some attention to Randall after all.

  Randall grumbled while grabbing a couple of bowls from the wagon. He wasn’t really making the soup for Tobsen or the other men. He had assumed they could look after themselves as they had been doing, and he would do the same. The last thing he wanted was to play fetch-and-carry for this overstuffed peacock.

  Still, the men were taking him to Paranol, and Randall should probably show them some appreciation by sharing his soup if they wanted it. Besides, he really didn’t want to get into an argument that could turn ugly. The men seemed jovial enough now, but it was clear that they were a little on the shady side. Trading with the elves wasn’t legal, and if they were willing to skirt the law that far, there was no telling how far outside of those boundaries they were willing to go. Besides, Randall had nicked a couple of their potatoes.

  So, even though it stuck in his craw to do it, Randall made a bowl of soup for himself and Tobsen both. The added potatoes helped stretch the meal out, and Randall gave them both small portions. If it was assumed he would share his soup with the others, he wanted to be sure there was enough for everyone.

  As Randall ate in silence, Tobsen slurped soup between composing lyrics for a song. After a few false starts, Tobsen began singing about a boy of legendary cowardice, who once ran away from a fight so quickly that he went completely around the world and ran into himself from behind. Even though Randall knew Tobsen was making fun of him, he couldn’t help but giggle at the imagery.

  Tobsen looked up from his playing. “I’m glad you’re amused,” he said with arched eyebrows. “If I can’t give the elves an epic drama, at least I can give them comedy. Perhaps that will tickle their fancy. Doubtful, though.”

  Every time Randall felt like he could learn to tolerate Tobsen’s company, the man’s insufferable snobbishness would drive away any feeling of goodwill. He vowed to talk to the man as little as possible for the rest of the trip. He was finishing the last of his soup in silence when Declan and Brody returned. Brody had a large grouse slung over one shoulder.

  “Well, we got us a bird, but missed the rabbit.” Brody declared. “I don’t think this fella will quite feed us all, though.”

  “I’ve got some soup, too,” Randall offered.

  “Smells good,” Declan grunted as he sat down next to the fire and started the task of plucking the bird and preparing it for dinner.

  “It is surprisingly refreshing,” Tobsen added, aggravating Randall with the backhanded compliment.

  While Declan prepared the bird, Randall wiped out the wooden bowls and served up the rest of the soup to the two hunters. Both dug in with gusto, though Randall wished that Declan would have washed the bird’s entrails off of his hands before eating.

  “This is good,” Declan declared as he drank the eel and potato soup from the bowl. “What’s in it?”

  “Eel, potatoes, salt, and some wild thyme I saw near the river,” Randall started.

  At the first word, Declan’s face became very still and he stopped chewing. His face grew pale and slightly green, and he leaned forward and carefully spit the mouthful he was working on back into the bowl.

  “Eel?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm.

  “Well, yeah,” Randall said. “The marsh is full of them this time of year. Mom makes this soup every spring. We used to catch them as they came upriver to spawn. They were even easier to catch in the marsh.”

  Declan looked panicked as he tried furiously to wipe his tongue off with the top of his tunic. “You mean you let me eat some two day old slimy eel that you’ve been carrying around with you?” he accused between scrubs.

  “Of course not,” Randall laughed, digging in his travel sack. “I actually caug
ht them last week.” He pulled out a rock-hard plank of dried eel, and banged it on his knee a couple times. It sounded exactly like an old plank of wood might.

  The sight of the dried, flaky sea snake body was too much for Declan, and he bolted to his feet and raced toward the stream. He only made it a few feet before the sound of retching carried back toward the others.

  Brody couldn’t contain himself. He grabbed his sides and roared with great peals of laughter. Finally, getting control of himself, he wiped the tears from his eyes and slapped Randall on the back, while the sounds of Declan’s abdominal distress still carried across the campground.

  “Wow,” he said, still wiping tears. “I’ve traveled a lot of years with Declan, and I ain’t never seen anything turn his stomach like that. You got him good, boy, that’s for sure.”

  Randall was amused, but mostly, he was unsure of what had just happened. Why would Declan have a problem with eel soup? He said it was delicious! He just nodded and gave Brody an uncertain smile.

  “The soup is good, though,” Brody continued. “What’s really in it?”

  “Eel!” Randall said, exasperated. “I caught and smoked them last week! There’s nothing wrong with them.”

  Randall tossed the fragment of dried eel to Brody so the man could see for himself. Brody caught the eel, and made a curious burping sound at the back of his throat as he examined it. He pushed his unfinished bowl of soup to the side, and stood up unsteadily.

  “I…I think I’m just going to get me a bit of water to wash this down with,” he said.

  He made it all the way to the side of the wagon before he too started disgorging his dinner. Tobsen shook his head at the backs of the two hunched over men, and without a word, picked up Declan’s soup bowl and slurped down the last of the soup, smacking his lips.