A Touch of Magic

by Gregory Mahan

  Randall learned that Shawncy was going by the name “Taggart” here, and was ostensibly a minor merchant from the larger continent of Salianca. While this guise exposed Shawncy to a bit of scrutiny, it was as good a ruse as any to explain a new face in town with a little bit of wealth.

  The cover allowed the Mage to travel freely around the capital, whereas Randall was forced to stay home. He just couldn’t get used to calling the man by his new name. Try as he might, Shawncy was the only name that came to mind when he thought of the wily Mage. And so, Randall had to stay behind when the man traveled into the city, lest he slip up and blow the Mage’s cover.

  Shawncy had used his connections to go so far as to have his new cover added to an incoming ship’s manifest, so that if anyone asked around, the story would check out. He was ostensibly in Ninove to make arrangements to buy bulk iron from a merchant who had connections with the mining colony in the Ironpike Mountains. In turn, he had arranged to sell the iron to another merchant in Salianca, who would, in turn sell it to a distributor. Eventually, the metal was supposed to end up in the hands of the weapon smiths for some minor noble on Salianca who was involved in a land dispute. It made Randall’s head spin to think of all of the middlemen between the source of the iron and its final destination, each one shaving a bit of profit for themselves off of the top. It was no wonder that everything seemed to cost a fortune in big cities!

  Shawncy’s ruse was of limited usefulness, however. He didn’t actually have the kind of money it would take to buy iron in bulk, and eventually, the merchants he was dealing with would grow weary of the delays. But for now, the subterfuge granted him easy access to the upper levels of middle-class society. And there was nothing the middle-class seemed to love more than to gossip about court intrigue.

  While rubbing elbows and trading rumors with merchants may have been Shawncy’s idea of excitement, Randall quickly grew bored with the stories. He was stuck at the safe house, unable to take part in the drama unfolding around him. When the Mage was away, Berry could come out of hiding, but even then, they didn’t have the kinds of freedom they’d had while wandering the countryside by themselves. They couldn’t play with magic, as they were accustomed to, and any kind of game they did manage to come up with quickly grew trite and stale.

  Things finally came to a head one night after Randall was forced to endure another dull story about how some merchant had overheard some customer tell another customer that they had heard from someone’s sister that that their cousin so-and-so was working for the Rooks. Halfway through the banal tale, Randall exploded.

  “Who cares?” he spat. “If I have to hear one more story about how someone’s friend heard some secret from someone’s uncle, I think I’m going to scream!”

  Shawncy seemed genuinely taken aback by the outburst. “I thought you were actually interested in how the war is coming along.” he said, stunned. “I thought you wanted to be part of things.”

  “But it doesn’t mean anything!” he shouted. “It’s just dull rumor-mongering from dull people! I’m not doing anything. I just sit here every day and listen to you gossip like some kind of old woman!”

  Shawncy sighed. “Look, Randall. I realize that you’re young and hot for action, but gathering intelligence is how wars are won. Without intelligence, any action we took would be premature and wasted. We need to know who our enemies are, and where they are gathered.”

  “But nothing’s happening! You just go out every day and listen to these old fishwife’s rumors!” Randall protested.

  “What else can I do, Randall?” Shawncy snapped, impatiently. “Our people are still making their way to the city. They have to do it slowly, or they will arouse suspicion. Without everyone here, we cannot win. I’m not certain we can win in any case. But until then, all we can do is wait, and fish for knowledge.”

  “But I’m bored!” Randall cried.

  Shawncy sighed. “All right, all right. I’ll see if I can get Edwin or one of the others to come by a couple of times a week to tutor you on your knowledge of magic. You really should be prepared in case you have to fight. Will that make you happy?”

  Randall brightened instantly. “Oh yes! That would be wonderful,” he beamed. It had been an eternity since he had been given any formal training, and as boring as it seemed at the time, he jumped at the chance. His time on the road had made its mark on him. He was much more confident in his abilities now, and he was eager to see how far he could take them. As he daydreamed about the things he would learn, a thought suddenly struck him.

  “But...” Randall started.

  “But what?” Shawncy asked testily.

  “Does it have to be Edwin?” Randall asked plaintively.

  Shawncy laughed and pounded his fist on his thigh. “What, you don’t like the old coot?” he guffawed. He let Randall’s sullen expression speak for itself.

  “Sure, the man seems to enjoy being a cobbler more than he ever enjoyed being a Mage, but you’ll find no one more qualified.”

  “Really?” Randall asked, a hint of doubt in his voice. “He’s just so rude!”

  “Maybe so,” Shawncy said. “But before magic was outlawed on Tallia, Edwin was known by another name. And he was one of the most powerful Mages in the kingdom. It’s a blessing to have him on our side.”

  “Oh.” Randall said, mollified. “Uhm, can I ask another favor?” he asked, meekly. He wasn’t sure how the older man would take his request, but he suspected that he wouldn’t take it well at all. It would be best to come at the subject humbly.

  “What is it?” Shawncy asked, arching one eyebrow cynically.

  “If it’s not too much trouble, can I leave the city when I’m not studying?” Randall asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

  “What? Are you crazy?” Shawncy exploded. “Aiden has the word out about you, boy! Why the devil would you want to go out and risk everything?”

  “I have to practice some time!” Randall shot back, just as hotly. “Listening to lectures about magic won’t teach me anything! I need to figure out how to use what I learn. If I can’t make it work, it’s completely useless! And to do that, I need to be far enough away from the city that nobody will notice when I gather magic. Besides, if I’m not here, there’s less chance of someone spotting me. You wouldn’t want people to start asking why you have a young boy in your house that you’ve never talked about, would you?” Randall ended on a wheedling note that had the barest hint of a threat in it.

  “Why you little,” Shawncy started, knowing he’d been backed into a corner. He caught himself mid-sentence and started anew, “All right, boy. You have a point. Much as I’d like you to just sit here until everything is over with, I know that there’s a fat chance of that actually happening. You look so young for your age that I can’t help but think of you as a little boy. But I know you can take care of yourself out there in the countryside. Just promise me you’ll stay away from people. Anyone you happen to run across out there is a potential enemy.”

  “I promise!” Randall swore enthusiastically.

  I’m going to be training again! Randall thought to himself excitedly. Learning real magic! His mind began filling with so many possibilities that he barely even noticed when Shawncy returned to his stories of rumors and intrigue, nodding absentmindedly whenever it seemed that Shawncy was expecting a response. Who could keep their mind on such nonsense when the future held the promise of magic?

  * * *

  True to his word, Shawncy brought Edwin by the house a couple of days later. The old cobbler looked even more sour than he had before, if that was even possible. The Mage looked down at the young boy disdainfully, and Randall got the distinct impression that the old Mage didn’t want anything to do with him. That suited Randall just fine. The man’s judgmental attitude reminded him, in some ways, of his old master, Erliand, though Erliand had at least tempered his acerbic nature with a sprinkling of humor.

  After Shawncy left, Edwin broke the ice with a gruff pronoun
cement. “Well, might as well get on with it. I don’t want to be here all day. Got shoes to fix.” Randall nodded and sat down on the floor at Edwin’s feet as man settled himself on the sofa.

  “So, then,” Edwin said, “Let’s find out what you don’t know. What are the five kinds of magic?”

  “Five?” Randall asked. “I only know four. Runes, spells, will and summoning. And elemental magic, but Master Erliand said that really wasn’t any kind of magic at all.”

  “Ah, Erliand always was a traditionalist,” Edwin said, matter-of-factly. “Some Mages don’t consider elemental magic a true Art at all, since by itself, it does nothing. But then again, neither do bindrunes. It’s a controversial topic. So, what can you do, then? What practical knowledge do you have? How much did you have time to learn before Erliand was killed?”

  The mention of Erliand’s death made Randall’s throat tighten. Much had happened between that day and now, but he still found the memory to be painful. After taking a moment to compose himself so he could speak without his voice giving away his discomfort, he answered. “I can make a few runes. Buk and Eoin, plus some bindrunes. But I’m not very good at them.”

  Edwin snorted. “A rank beginner then.”

  Randall flushed. “I’m better with Words. I can call down lightning, confuse men’s thoughts, call forth flames, that kind of thing,” Randall bragged with false nonchalance. He was reluctant to say the actual words out loud, though. Even though the words needed a connection to Llandra to make them work, it felt unsafe to utter them aloud, lest he accidentally call forth the magic.

  Edwin snorted disdainfully. “Those are master-level powers, pup, and you are no master. Don’t think your lies will impress me any. “

  “It’s true!” Randall protested. “Those spells are what kept me alive while I was on the run!”

  “Issat so? So you can call forth flames, then? Say the word, then!” Edwin taunted. Randall hesitated, still feeling uncertain about saying the word out loud.

  Edwin leaned back chortling. “That’s about what I figured. Full of a braggart’s talk, until it’s time to pay the piper his...”

  “Arkala!” Randall spat, interrupting the old codger. Edwin’s head snapped back and his hands flew up to shield his face, as if he expected to be engulfed in flames.

  “Where did you learn that word?” Edwin asked breathlessly, eyes wide.

  “Aiden used it when he tried to kill me,” Randall said, flatly, taking a small measure of pleasure in the fear he had caused the older Mage.

  “And you picked it up, just like that,” Edwin said, sarcastically, snapping his fingers on the last word.

  Randall nodded. “Well sure. It took me a few tries, but he was right in front of me when I heard him say it. How hard can it be to repeat a word?”

  “How hard can it be? How hard can it be?” Edwin repeated to himself, incredulously. “Boy, that’s a demonic word! Mages spend years learning the intricacies of the demonic tongue before they can successfully speak that kind of magic into existence. Many of us can’t even make our throats make those kinds of sounds. And yet, you have the inflection down perfectly. The sub-harmonics in the second syllable were sublime. The overtones across the entire word were impeccable. You mean to tell me that you could reproduce all of that just by hearing the word a couple of times?”

  Randall was confused. “Overtones? Sub-harmonics?”

  Edwin was in a state of extreme agitation. “You can’t be serious! You don’t know what I’m talking about?” Seeing Randall’s brows knitted in confusion, he continued. “Look, the demonic language sounds crude, but that’s misleading. It’s a subtle, hidden language. What most people would hear as a guttural grunt is often times a complete thought. It’s a complete description of an idea. Besides the raw syllables we hear, there are overtones, and other sounds that an untrained person would never hear, and each of those shape and describe the idea. Saying a demonic word is the equivalent of trying to say a half-dozen words in your own tongue, all at the same time. And you could hear all of that while running for your life?”

  “I don’t know what overtones and that other stuff you said is,” Randall explained. “But yeah. I heard him say the word, and I practiced with it until I could say it too. It didn’t seem like that big of a deal.”

  Edwin just shook his head. “Trust me. It’s a very big deal. You said you could call the lightning. Tell me the word,” he ordered.

  “Grd’zx’kan,” Randall said, and Edwin flinched.

  “Again,” the Mage commanded with a tiny quaver in his voice.

  Randall repeated the word, feeling his throat beginning to ache. This word has always been particularly rough on his vocal chords, and he usually only said it once or twice a day when he was practicing.

  “Again,” Edwin demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Randall barked the word out again, and broke into a spasm of coughing. The taste of iron in his mouth compelled him to bring his fingertips to his tongue. They came away bloody.

  Edwin nodded. “Aye, that’s a hard one on the throat. It’s demonic, too. Three times? Incredible! How many times did you have to hear it before you picked it up?”

  “Just once,” Randall croaked, his voice raw.

  “Once? Incredible.” Edwin breathed. “You’re a prodigy. An idiot savant. You can parrot back words, sounding like a master, and you have no idea what you’re doing. What am I going to do with you?”

  Randall’s heart swelled with pride. Finally, he had open confirmation that he was special, that he wasn’t doomed to be a second-rate failure. Not only was he a Mage, one of a rare and unique breed, but even among them he had an extraordinary gift. Edwin had said so! Randall’s mind swam with visions of a future where he was feared and respected by all as a great and powerful Mage. But that would be far in the future. As long as the Rooks were in power, he would have to remain in hiding, keeping his abilities hidden. The realization brought Randall’s mind back to the present.

  “Well,” Randall croaked, his voice a painful rasp. “You could teach me some spells. I can fight.” A tiny trickle of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

  Edwin’s eyebrows knitted together in concentration. After a moment, he came to a decision. “I could, at that. You’re barely a young man, and it’s not right of us to ask you to take that risk. But we are going to need every able-bodied Mage we can get if we are to have any hope of winning. Let’s start out by cataloguing all of the spells you know.”

  Randall nodded and tried to clear is throat. “I only know a couple more,” he said. “I know ‘tsan’laran’ and ‘vinn’.” The last word made Randall’s already abused throat close in a painful spasm. He broke out in a fresh round of coughing before he could mention the word ‘yaosheen’.

  “Vinn? Hmm. Vinn,” Edwin repeated, trying to get the inflection correct. “It’s demonic, but it’s a word I’ve never heard. If I am translating it correctly, it means ‘to turn the flesh’ or ‘twisting the body’, I think. Something along those lines. What does it do?”

  “It kind of...well, it kind of makes someone explode from the inside out, sort of,” Randall answered after a moment, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

  Edwin’s eyebrows shot up, and he repeated the word again to himself, but Randall could tell that he didn’t have it quite right. After a couple of tries, he looked back toward Randall.

  “Where did you hear that word? It’s not one of Erliand’s. Or at least it wasn’t the last time we met.” Edwin stated with a hint of accusation in his tone.

  “Aidan,” Randall lied after a brief hesitation. The name was a barely audible wheeze. There was no other way Randall could explain how he knew the spell without letting the cat out of the bag about Berry, and luckily, with his voice failing, he didn’t have to try to explain further.

  Edwin nodded. “Then this fight is going to be a lot tougher than we thought,” he declared, with a tone of foreboding.

  “Why?” Randall asked. T
he word trailed off into a kind of high-pitched squeak as his voice gave out completely.

  “This word of yours is a new demonic spell, unknown on Tallia. It’s a good bet that Aiden has made a pact with something sinister from Llandra. Something powerful.”

  * * *

  When Shawncy returned that afternoon, he and Edwin got into a large argument about Randall’s role in the upcoming war. Shawncy had hoped to keep the young man away from the fighting, at all costs. In his eyes, Randall was still a boy, to be protected from the atrocities of war. Edwin countered that if Randall was to be believed, he had already killed more men then the both of them had put together, and didn’t need any protecting. The two men ended up shouting at each other, both stubbornly clinging to their own point of view.

  Edwin won out, after making it clear that Aidan had learned at least one new demonic spell, pointing to a pact with an unknown and powerful denizen of Llandra. Randall’s special gift with Words made him invaluable for turning the tide of battle against the Rooks. In the end, it was decided that he would learn some magic that would be practical in the upcoming conflict, and would spend the majority of his time practicing in the open country outside of Ninove.

  The argument left Randall with mixed feelings. He wasn’t proud of the fact that he had been forced to kill in order to survive. And the men that he had killed were bandits and small-town militiamen. He had never had to stand up in a battle against an experienced Mage. Plus, he felt bad about lying about the origin of the Word ‘vinn’. He knew Berry wasn’t some great powerful demon from Llandra, bent on the enslavement of mankind. But where did Berry learn the Word, and why was it such a big deal? It was a puzzle that Randall could not resolve on his own.

  He decided to ask Edwin about it. Though the man was a grouch, he seemed to take a more practical view of things than Shawncy did. Randall felt like he was more likely to get a straight answer from him, even if he gave it only to get Randall out of his hair.