A Touch of Magic

by Gregory Mahan

  The next morning, Randall woke up to the sounds of activity in the common room. The clank of dishes and silverware carried throughout the inn, and he could smell coffee being brewed. Coffee! He hadn’t smelled coffee since he began his apprenticeship; Master Erliand didn’t drink it himself.

  Randall had no idea when his companions had come to bed, but Tobsen was stretched out on the room’s remaining cot while Declan was fast asleep in his bedroll. There was no sign of Brody. He felt a momentary pang of guilt when he realized that he had selfishly taken a cot for himself, even though the only reason he had a room at all was due to the generosity of the three men. He vowed that the next time, he’d take a bedroll for himself and leave a cot for one of the others.

  Randall got up as quietly as he could, and made his way to the common room. He didn’t have any money to pay for breakfast, but there was no use lying in bed waiting for the other men to wake up. At this time of day, Randall saw that the common room was mostly empty. There was only one patron in the inn, quietly eating breakfast and keeping to himself. The streets were equally devoid of traffic, with only a few vendors out selling their wares.

  City folk must not get up that early, Randall thought to himself as he navigated the alley which led behind the inn.

  Once in back of the inn, he had no trouble spotting the wagon he had arrived in. It sat underneath a canvas canopy, unhitched. Most of the group’s belongings had been stowed away and locked up, but Randall wasn’t really concerned about theft; he had other things on his mind.

  “Berry!” Randall whispered loudly as he approached the wagon. “Are you in there? Berry!”

  As Randall pushed back the curtain that separated the driver’s section from the rear of the wagon, he felt something hard thump him in the middle of the chest, causing him to stagger backward. As he gained his bearings, he looked down to spy an agitated Berry clinging to the front of his tunic, chittering and scolding.

  “Yes, yes! I missed you too!” he laughed, feeling guilty for leaving his friend alone for so long. As Randall spoke, Berry clambered all over his shirt, thoroughly inspecting each crease and crevice.

  “Oh, are you hungry?” Randall asked. He had just assumed that Berry could take care of himself, feeding on night insects or something.

  “I don’t have any money,” he said. “But maybe I can take you with me into town and find you some scraps or something. But you have to promise to stay hidden!” He stressed the last two words carefully.

  As he hoped, Berry looked alert at the last words, and immediately faded into transparency. Randall had missed it the first time Berry had performed the trick, but this time, it had happened directly in front of his eyes. And this time, he noticed the tell-tale pulse that signaled when someone was drawing power from Llandra.

  “That’s amazing!” he cheered, clapping. “You’d think turning invisible would make a big noise, but I hardly felt anything at all!”

  With Berry sitting unseen on his shoulder, Randall made his way back through the alley and down the road toward the market that he vaguely remembered seeing on his way into town. The sun was still low in the sky, and the air was brisk. High in spirits, he found himself humming snatches of a tune he had heard the night before as he made his way down the street.

  Randall walked for nearly half an hour before he made it to the market. By that time, the streets had started to fill up with people. Soon, the streets were alive with the sounds of the hustle and bustle of city life. While walking around the market, his attention was pulled in a hundred directions at once as he tried to take in all of the different wares in the shops. The market was so crowded that some vendors hawked their wares from pushcarts parked right along the thoroughfare.

  Randall was so absorbed by the sights and sounds that it took him several moments to realize that he smelled fresh fruit. The growling in his stomach reminded him, ruefully, that he hadn’t had breakfast yet. He looked around, turning this way and that, to find the source of the odor, but every time he turned around, the odor vanished. So, he stood very still, trying to catch a whiff of the fruit again.

  That’s when he heard the tiny slurping sounds coming from his shoulder. Glancing over, he saw a small puddle of some kind of red juice, staining his shirt. He tried not to stare overtly, but he thought if he narrowed his eyes a bit, he could just make out a transparent outline of Berry eating some kind of tiny fruit.

  “Berry!” Randall hissed. “You’re not supposed to steal!”

  Still, he was pleased to see that his friend had found himself a meal, even if he did feel guilty about the theft. He was even more pleased to see that Berry had somehow made his meal transparent as well. If people were to see Randall walking down the street with a small fruit floating over his shoulder, he wasn’t sure what would happen. But he was pretty sure that it wouldn’t be pleasant!

  “Well, I guess we should get back before everyone starts waking up,” Randall said. Even though he knew Berry really didn’t understand him, he had missed talking to the little sprite.

  Walking back to the inn was a much larger challenge than walking to the market had been. Now that the roads were so full, it took Randall nearly half an hour just to walk a few blocks. Randall was jostled and shoved as people pushed and elbowed past him. Randall couldn’t believe how rude everyone seemed to be here!

  And then, Randall felt a tugging sensation on his dagger, where it was still strapped to his waist. He thought it might be Berry fooling around, and so he attempted to brush the little sprite away from the weapon. Instead, his hand closed around a diminutive but very human-sized wrist. Spinning around quickly, Randall found the wrist attached to a young boy, no more than nine or ten years old.

  “Hey, that’s mine!” Randall protested. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The boy loosed his hold on the dagger and wiggled free of Randall’s grasp. Quick as a flash and without a word, the boy sprinted away and into a narrow alleyway. No one made any effort at all to stop the little thief, leaving Randall aghast. He couldn’t understand why everyone on the road completely ignored the boy’s behavior. In Geldorn, someone would have snatched that boy up by the ear and taken him to his mother for a stern scolding. Since no one seemed to care, the job appeared to be up to him.

  “Come back here, you little hoodlum!” Randall called, racing after the retreating figure.

  The young scamp had the advantage, despite Randall’s longer legs. As Randall chased the boy through back alleys and behind storefronts, it was obvious that the boy was well familiar with the area as he took sudden turns to squeeze through fences or slip under laundry lines, slowing Randall down. Randall lost him entirely when the boy slipped through a break in a tall rock wall that was too narrow for him to squeeze through, and that was too tall to climb.

  Randall slapped his palm against the wall in frustration. He paced back and forth, trying to catch his breath, cursing at losing the boy. Agitated by Randall’s mood, Berry chittered and hissed at the wall angrily. The little sprite mimicked Randall by jumping to the ground and slapping the wall before scampering back up his leg to take his customary place. Randall smirked at Berry’s antics and blew out the last of his frustration in a long breath.

  Looking around, he realized that he had no idea where he was. He hadn’t given a second thought to chasing after the young cutpurse, but now he wished he’d let the boy go instead. It wasn’t as if he managed to get away with the dagger, after all.

  Randall took another deep breath and began trying to make his way back to more familiar territory. Soon, he was lost in the maze of back alleys and narrow streets. And Paranol was just so big! There was no way to even know which way to walk to even come close to the inn or the market.

  Frustrated by his lack of progress, and on the verge of tears, Randall stopped altogether and closed his eyes to calm himself and gather his bearings. In that moment, when he had shut out all outside distractions, he felt the tell-tale pulse of someone using magic! The feeling was quick
and faint, and he nearly dismissed it as a flight of fancy when he felt it again. Someone was using magic!

  Randall let his focus expand outward. It was hard to pinpoint exactly where the Mage was. Whoever it was, it seemed like they were doing their best to not be noticed. Randall could feel them drawing power—but only miniscule amounts that registered only on the very edges of his perception. And once they had gathered some magic, they let it go quickly, causing barely a ripple in his mind.

  Each time Randall felt a pulse, he quickly strode off in the direction he thought it was coming from. Sometimes, there were long pauses, leaving him standing awkwardly in the street waiting for the next. Sometimes, he wandered down blind alleyways and cul-de-sacs, and was forced to turn around and try a different approach. Sometimes, the roads twisted and turned, taking him in the wrong direction. Randall didn’t give any thought to where his feelings were leading him. He was already hopelessly lost. Now, he would just have to trust fate to guide him.

  Eventually, he found himself standing outside of an apothecary shop. After waiting and listening for several long moments, he was sure the pulses were coming from within. Screwing up his courage, he turned the handle to the front door, and strode into the store.

  The walls inside the shop were lined with dozens of shelves, each holding innumerable jars of herbs and plants. Along one wall were pegs from which hung sachets of medicinal herbs. Randall’s mother made this same kind of thing herself from time to time. He knew that lavender would help you sleep, and that crushed peppermint leaves were good for a stuffy nose, for instance. On another wall were tinctures, salves, and teas, all meant to ease pains or ward off illness. Randall sneezed involuntarily as his nostrils filled with the potent aroma of hundreds of dried flowers and herbs.

  In one corner of the shop, sitting at a small table, was a wiry old man with wispy white hair. He was poking a handful of fresh flowers into a cloth pouch with his long bony fingers. He looked up when Randall entered the shop, smiled, and put the packet down and stood up uneasily from his chair.

  “Well, young fella, how can I help you?” the man asked cheerfully. “Need something for a head cold? That’s going around this time of year. I’m just now packing a sachet of camphor laurel and peppermint that should help.”

  Randall wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but this wasn’t really it. Now he wasn’t even sure he was in the right shop.

  “Uhm,” he stammered. “Uh. Not really. I’m looking for..uhm..”

  “Oh, I understand! Spring is in the air, after all,” the shopkeeper said, with a knowing wink. “I was a boy your age once, too, you know. I have just the thing! Rose and cinnamon tea, for love!” the shopkeeper cackled, mistaking Randall’s uncertainty for embarrassment.

  Randall blushed, causing the shopkeeper to snigger under his breath as he hobbled toward the shelf containing the teas.

  “No!” Randall blurted out. “That’s not it. It’s…” He stopped mid-sentence, not knowing how to how to mention the pulses he had been following.

  “Well, spit it out, boy!” the shopkeeper snapped, growing exasperated at the boy’s failure to articulate what he wanted.

  Randall took a deep breath and tried again as the shopkeeper looked on impatiently. “Look,” he started, when a flash of inspiration suddenly hit him.

  Randall closed his eyes, and focused on drawing magic from Llandra. He would only draw a little, and if the shopkeeper was the Mage he was looking for, he would feel it. If not, the chemist would only find himself a little uneasy, but wouldn’t be able to put his finger on the cause. Randall could excuse himself and continue looking. But he was sure that this was the place he had felt the power coming from.

  It took a brief moment, and then the power came. It had been so long since Randall had touched Llandra, and he was woefully out of practice. Rather than drawing in only a little magic, the power rushed into him like a flood. With the essence of Llandra coursing through him, all of Randall’s fears and worries fled. Confidence and strength filled him, as a wicked smile broke across his face. This is what he was meant to be: a powerful Mage. Not the sniveling, powerless child everyone thought he was.

  The shopkeeper’s eyes widened in horror, shrinking back. “Stop!” he cried, batting his hands toward Randall, as if he could shoo the power away. “Stop it! Do you want to get us killed?”

  For a brief moment, Randall reveled in the man’s fear. But then the man’s words sunk in and he realized the danger he was putting them both in. Reluctantly, he let go of the power he had drawn, letting it drain away. He felt useless and impotent after the last of it passed out of him. A deep melancholy settled over him, as always happened when he drew such power and put it to no purpose.

  “Look boy,” the shopkeeper snarled, grabbing ahold of Randall’s collar. “That little stunt of yours just put us both in grave danger. I can only hope there aren’t any Rooks about. If there are, I’ll kill you myself.” His grip was strong, and he had moved far faster than Randall had imagined he could. The man’s voice was like a whip-crack, having lost all semblance of the quavering gaiety that it had held before.

  “Rooks?” Randall asked, not understanding.

  “Secret police, you idiot!” the shop keeper snapped. “King Priess’ secret police! Mage hunters!”

  Comprehension dawned on Randall’s face as he began putting some of the events of the last few weeks together.

  “Aidan!” he blurted out, remembering how the herald had come for him and had known he was using magic.

  The shopkeeper flinched at the name, and yanked Randall’s collar, dragging him toward the back door.

  “Come with me, boy. You and I have things to discuss, and we can’t do it here. Honestly, we’ll be lucky to make it out of the neighborhood alive.”

  Beyond the back door lay an alleyway that led to a small side street. Glancing furtively around him, the shopkeeper drug Randall behind him, his hand still firmly wrapped in his captive’s collar.

  “Where are we going?” Randall started to ask before being interrupted by the old man.

  “Shut your mouth!” the chemist snarled, pulling Randall so close that their noses touched. “Utter another sound and I’ll slit your throat right here and leave you to bleed out in the gutter.”

  Randall believed he would do it.

  Whatever fate the shopkeeper feared, it turned out that they were lucky after all. They only saw a few people as the shopkeeper followed a twisting path of ever more dilapidated buildings and warehouses. If any were curious about why the old man was dragging Randall along by his collar, all kept their questions to themselves. Eventually the man stopped at a run-down hovel and looked up both sides of the street. The broken-down home fit right in with its neglected neighbors, in the middle of an equally squalid neighborhood. There were a couple of grimy men drinking from a bottle in the small yard across the street, but they neither waved nor smiled when Randall passed by. It was clear that people here minded their own business.

  “Get inside,” the old man ordered. “We’ll probably be safe here for a while.”

  Once inside the house, the man pushed Randall into a wooden chair, and pulled up another chair to sit directly in front of him. His expression was still hard and angry.

  “Okay, boy, I spent nine years building up that cover. Nine years!” the man growled as he poked Randall in the chest with one hard finger. “Nine years of work, which you’ve just tossed into the gutter like yesterday’s chamber pot.”

  “I have a half a mind to slit your throat right now,” the man ground out menacingly. “Only thing keeping you alive is curiosity. So spill it. You tell me how you know the name of the head of King Priess’ secret police? I’ll decide if it’s a good enough story to let you live.”

  Randall swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure how much to trust this man, but he was certain the man was capable of carrying out his threat.

  “Do you mean Aiden? Aiden was the name my master called him,” Randall stammered.

&nb
sp; The man’s face grew even harder, if that was possible, and he reached for a short dagger at his belt. “So, your master is in cahoots with Aiden, then? What is his name!”

  “No, no!” Randall cried, panic rising in his chest. “Master Erliand fought with him! I barely got away.”

  At the mention of Erliand’s name, the man’s eyebrows shot up, and he leaned back in his chair. “Erliand? You’re Erliand’s apprentice?”

  Randall nodded, not knowing what else to say.

  “Erliand hasn’t taken an apprentice in close to twenty years, boy,” The man said, in disbelief. “Most of us thought he left the continent altogether. Can’t say as I believe you, but if you know that name, then it’s best I keep you alive until I figure out what’s going on.

  Randall didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he let whoosh out of him in sudden relief.

  “Don’t get your hopes up, boy. Might kill you yet,” The man declared. “What’s your name?”

  “Randall”, he replied. “Randall Miller.”

  “Well, Randall, you might as well call me Shawncy. My other name’s compromised now anyway,” the man said with resignation.

  “What do you mean ‘compromised’?” Randall asked.

  “How do you think the Rooks find us?” Shawncy asked. “They have Seers in every big city. Might even have a few in some of the small towns. Traitors!” he spat. “Turning on their own kind. For money!

  “With you lighting up like a bonfire at midnight, someone was certain to notice. They’ll track it back, and eventually find my shop. They’ll find the work I’ve been doing. Roger the Apothecary is as good as dead,” Shawncy finished.

  “What kind of work?” Randall asked. “It’s legal to be an herbalist! Nothin’ devil touched about it.”

  “Devil touched?” he barked, and Randall cringed as he remembered Master Erliand’s reaction to the phrase. “Are you sure you’re Erliand’s apprentice? You sound more like a back-woods hick to me,” he sneered. “Devil touched. Sounds like you were apprenticed to some country hack who decided to puff himself up with a big name he had no right to. Probably taught you just enough to get you killed. Probably didn’t know anything about real magic.”