by Sigrid Kraft
But the troop leader was not open to that kind of proposal and replied: “The Prince will inform me about such matters himself, if that is indeed his intent. And as long as he doesn’t communicate with me, you will obey my orders, recruit Eryn.”
So the case was settled and everything remained as it was.
Dealings with Ravenor were at best coldly aloof. The few talks they had were peppered with teasing and insults. On a number of occasions, they set on each other and came to blows. Fortunately, Deren and Farat were the only witnesses to those scraps, and drew the two brawlers quickly apart.
The day Eryn managed to heal his own small wounds did not gain him any sympathy among his roommates, because at first he could only cure himself and wasn’t able to help the others. They had to suffer their blisters, scrapes and bruises in the conventional manner, enduring the pain while the body underwent its slow healing process.
9. The Hand
Eryn had pestered Master Lionas endlessly about the 18th volume of the Oranium, begging the healing mage to provide it for him. Only higher scholars were allowed free access to the library, while everyone else received their reading assignments from their instructors. To own books yourself, you usually had to transcribe them. More advanced students in the art of magic used a spell to copy books, but Eryn had not reached that level yet.
On the other hand, transcribing was an excellent method of learning the countless symbols and of committing the various processes to one’s memory. Simple spells had only one action but even the healing of little scratches involved carrying out four to five consecutive actions. It became even more complicated if spells had to be held while others were added and then ran parallel. The connecting of several veins had to be done in the right doses, and increased in difficulty the more veins were involved. Magic could be compared with the creation of a piece of art. A painter was also not able to splash colors randomly on the canvas in the hope of creating a beautiful landscape. Magic was similarly complex, and it took countless repetitions to achieve even the most modest skill in casting spells.
Spells of relief and curing small wounds was the topic of the first book of the Oranium. You couldn’t just go ‘flimflam, I heal you’. It was far more a process that involved choosing from various possibilities such as cooling, heating up, thickening, liquefaction, growing, numbing and much, much more. Mostly there was more than one suitable way of curing a particular complaint, which only added to Eryn’s confusion. The hope of getting his hand back in the foreseeable future by healing himself receded further into the distance the more he grasped the true extent of the art of magic. Even more depressing was the reading of the 18th book. Spell symbols were strung out in long rows over several pages.
The passage about the growing of a new hand included up to five parallel spell-lines. Added to this, Eryn was not in possession of even the most rudimentary knowledge concerning the meaning of most symbols.
With great care he transcribed the pages, because Master Lionas intended to take the book away again soon.
In the normal magic lesson, the mage showed him the scan spell: Topic discovery and identification spells. By scanning, you could find out about the magical nature of a thing, for example, how many circles someone had and which spells lay upon him.
Next, he learned to hold veins open so that a second mage could use them. At first Eryn didn’t understand why he should master this spell because it had rather less to do with the Oranium. It became instantly clear however, when Master Lionas sent him to Harkon, a scholar of magic. Eryn was supposed to help him to bewitch equipment with permanent spells. But for this, the vein of gold was required, which only Eryn possessed.
Eryn himself was not capable of casting the spell, so he only acted as an assistant. What they were doing was called tandem-weaving. After the magical contact to Harkon was established, which involved nothing more than Eryn allowing it, his role was simply to hold his vein of gold open like a tunnel. The rest was up to Harkon. It sounded a lot simpler than it really was. They were supposed to bewitch shields, and the tunnel had to be held open continuously for about twenty minutes for each shield. If Eryn lost his concentration, the whole procedure was for nothing and they had to start all over again. At first, they didn’t managed to bewitch more than a measly two shields in three hours, and unfortunately, all the shields of the entire garrison were waiting for treatment.
It will take years, Eryn thought. And the task is barely better than cleaning a pit latrine. Also, it gives me less time for real learning, which really slows down my progress.
A fact that troubled the impatient Eryn much more than Master Lionas. The only good thing about it was that Eryn could ask Harkon questions about magic. The scholar wasn’t a very communicative man, but he was more than happy to provide information and he also showed Eryn some extra spells, which would have been very useful, if only they hadn’t been so busy bewitching shields.
One day in their quarters, Eryn was yet again brooding over the spell to rebuild his hand.
The easiest way would be to reconnect my own severed hand. But there was nothing left of it.
Eryn didn’t know for sure, but he remembered the burned smell in Prince Raiden’s study.
Even if there were still a remnant of my hand left, the thought that the Prince would have kept it for me is absolutely absurd. I could also use the hands of dead people, but I would have to do extra spells and probably consider more eventualities than I am aware of. Besides, I don’t know if Master Lionas would be willing to obtain such a hand for me. Eryn thought it rather unlikely. This left growing a hand of his own as the only option open to him, but it was also by far the most difficult.
Harkon had explained some of the unknown symbols to him and slowly the whole spell made some sense.
You numb this part and here is where bone grows and there skin. Blood vessels and nerves... how on earth are you supposed to know where they belong? The spell for connection appears several times. Transforming material? Where do I get the substance for that? Creating material out of nothing is impossible. The components always have to come from somewhere else, where they would then be missing. Mostly this is done with a broad range of material so that what goes missing in the surroundings is of no importance.
Eryn was thus brooding over possibilities when Ravenor walked in.
Deren and Farat weren’t there, a bad situation, as it transpired. Neither of the recruits greeted the other. Why would they? As Ravenor passed the table, he happened to bumped against it – and the ink bottle tipped over.
The contents poured over Eryn’s notes, instantly staining large parts of them pitch black. Eryn tried to save what he could, while he heard Ravenor say with false friendliness: “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
It was not the fact that Ravenor was once again needling him, but that his precious notes had become unreadable.
That drove Eryn mad. “You stupid bastard. You did that on purpose!” Of course he did. It goes without saying. Now just you wait!
Without warning, Eryn took a swipe at Ravenor and struck him hard. After Ravenor had overcome his surprise, he hit back, and almost instantly, they were embroiled in a fistfight, which soon developed into them grappling with each other, so that it wasn’t long before they ended up crashing to the ground. Wrestling with each other, they rolled over the floor. Ravenor managed to shove Eryn down and straddle him. He then punched him repeatedly with clenched fists. The whole fight was accompanied by loud shouting and the clattering of falling chairs. An armor stand tumbled over and punctuated the brawl with an almighty clash.
Ravenor must have forgotten to shut the door. At any rate, they didn’t notice Sir Galden entering the room. “Get away from each other, recruits!”
Ravenor and Eryn froze mid-movement and turned their heads towards the commander.
They both scrambled up off the floor, and Ravenor was the first to explain himself: “He attacked me, Sir.”
“He destroyed my notes on purpose! Hours of work...�
�
Sir Galden interrupted them gruffly: “I don’t want to hear another word from either of you. Follow me at once to my office!”
Having arrived at the office, Sir Galden seated himself behind his immaculately tidy desk. He gave them a piercing stare with his steel-blue eyes. Then he summoned Ravenor to give his version of the story first. Afterward, Eryn had his turn. Sir Galden remained calm and matter-of-fact, but there was an unmistakable edge to his voice.
“What is your problem with each other? Do you think I haven’t noticed it yet? Recruit Ravenor!”
Ravenor, who never knew when it was better to keep his mouth shut, felt obliged to say something:
“Sir, with due respect, why is that crippled mage doing service in our Company, anyway?”
Eryn, who for once found himself agreeing with Ravenor, added: “Surely it would be better if I were assigned to the mages’ Company? It’d be of much more use than doing duty here.”
With a wave of his hand Sir Galden silenced them both. “Where do you think you are? At the annual fair’s make-a-wish stall for children? If so, you are sorely mistaken. Now, I’m going to try one final time to explain your situation to you clearly enough for you to understand. You, recruit Ravenor, don’t even know what the word respect means. So you’d better stop talking about it. Who you are, or rather, who your father is, we all know very well. After all, V Company earned its name thanks to people like you. But you aren’t better than any other common man. Blood doesn’t count here. You have skills to become a good swordsman, but a single person never wins a war, and in a fight you have to rely on your comrades if you don’t want to end up a dead swordsman before you know it. So stop being a dirty rat! Your behavior has a bad effect on the whole troop, including me.
Yes, on the whole Company, in fact. Do you really think I am happy about that? You could leave the service in the Guard at any time and creep back to the slums you came from. If it is that what you want – just tell me.”
In a very meek tone Ravenor answered: “No, Sir.”
Ravenor had been given his well-earned dressing down, but Eryn wasn’t able to enjoy the moment as much as he might, for Sir Galden now turned towards him:
“And as for you, recruit Eryn. You are the only one who isn’t here of his own free will and who isn’t able to appreciate the honor of serving in the Black Guard. As it happens, you have been just as little assigned to the mages in Sir Heime’s IV as recruit Ravenor was assigned to III Company to lick Sir Haerkin’s boots.
It is true, of course, that for service in the V, you are practically useless with that missing hand. You didn’t choose this, but neither did I. The Prince commands and we obey. And if the Prince orders you to do service in my platoon without a hand till the end of your days, then that is the way it is. I’m not interested whether you have enough time for your studies or not. I will treat you the same as anyone else. Unless I receive orders from above.” A brief silence followed, then Sir Galden added:
“In I Company, the talk about you is that you fought bravely up there in the mountains. In that fight, however, some comrades also lost their lives. Now we are forced to be on the same side and I haven’t made up my mind yet if that circumstance suits me or not.” Sir Galden let the words settle and watched both men as they stood before him with a growing sense of unease.
“So, now that I have talked to you as though you were intelligent people, we have arrived at the regulation reprimand. Or did you really believe you could brawl in my platoon and get off with a few friendly words?”
“No, Sir.” Not believe – but hope.
“Well, I’m glad you at least see the necessity for ensuring discipline.”
If Sir Galden says so...
“I will report the occurrence as ‘behavior unworthy of a soldier’ and sentence you to five lashes and six hours at the pole. For this, you can thank me, because normally a brawl inflicts a far worse penalty than that. At the same time, I warn you both: Give me the slightest cause again and I’ll take more drastic measures. For now you are confined to your quarters until the punishment has been carried out. Dismissed!”
They both gave their best salutes so as not to provoke Sir Galden any further: “Yes, Sir!”
Back in their quarters, Eryn collected his notes. During the brawl these had fallen to the floor and were scattered everywhere. It pained him to see his precious papers stained with ink, torn and crumpled.
Meanwhile, Ravenor stood at the window and looked outside. Not that there was anything to see – he was merely deep in thought. Suddenly he asked Eryn:
“You lost your hand during the fight, did you?”
Now there was no mocking tone in his voice, so Eryn replied tersely:
“No, your father cut it off while I was pinned to a table. There in the citadel.” He pointed out the direction.
Ravenor remarked sadly, more to himself: “My father is a hardhearted man.”
Somehow Sir Galden’s words seemed to have changed Ravenor, and a question which he’d intended to ask for a long time now arose in Eryn’s mind.
“Why are you here anyway if you are the son of the Prince? I mean, doesn’t your blood raise you to a higher rank here in Ardeen?”
There was bitterness in Ravenor’s voice: “I’ll tell you something about the Prince of Ardeen, as it is hardly a secret. Only to you, who come from deep in the woods and seem to know nothing about the world. So listen: The Prince has a wife and two legitimate children. But as a man of leisure, he has also had – and continues to have - hundreds of liaisons. He has got various ladies with child, and the common people make a lot of jokes about that, saying for instance, that Ardeen only has such a dense population because the Prince of Ardeen worked so hard for it. To continue with his life of pleasure, though, he doesn’t acknowledge even one of his bastards officially.
This avoids political problems. Of course, the Prince can’t give up his pleasure.” The words were dripping in sarcasm. “But I shouldn’t be so hard on him. At least he makes sure his offspring are fed so that none of us has to starve. The best that we of ‘low birth’ can hope for is an apprenticeship as a craftsman. Oh, and we shouldn’t forget that the Prince in his generosity has given us at last a tiny chance to make our fortune. As his bastard sons, we can join the Black Guard without doing the selection test. Now you know why the best, the noblest and the bastards serve in the Guard.”
The silence hung depressingly in the room, but the quiet was interrupted when five men of II Company came barging in. Their leader thought the whole situation amusing, making jokes about it: “The two sinners ready for flaying? Bare your chests to the caresses of the glittering fairy.”
A knot tightened in Eryn’s stomach and suddenly all bad memories from the time in the citadel dungeon flashed into his mind.
“Your first time, you pups? Don’t worry. By the time you are grown up, you’ll have got used to it.”
Such talk seemed completely out of place to Eryn and he immediately begged: Please act in accordance with the regulations and spare me your drivel. But Eryn’s wish was not granted.
The entire way to the pole, they had to endure the jokes of the soldiers. Finally, they reached the place that Deren had warned Eryn of on his first day.
Eryn watched as they first chained Ravenor’s wrists together and then yanked on a chain so that his arms were stretched upwards.
How is that mechanism supposed to work with my stump? Eryn was still wondering this when they came for him. The manacles snapped on to his wrists and at once Eryn’s access to magic was completely blocked. His arms, too, were drawn up, but the stump didn’t slide out.
Magic, what else? How could I have thought that these were simple chains?
“One!” The loud counting broke into Eryn’s thoughts, and the lash that followed left a burning stripe of pain across his back. Happily, the five lashes were quickly over. Then Eryn was turned around. Chains clattered in their grooves to bind him tight to the pole. The next six hours didn�
��t pass so rapidly, and it was deepest night before they were freed again. The first steps they took were rather uncertain, the cramped muscles reluctant to do their work. Shattered and weary, the two recruits staggered back to their barracks.
Eryn’s precious notes on the 18th volume were illegible, but he didn’t want to bother Master Lionas with the matter. He feared that the master would refuse to help him and express his unwillingness with words of accusation. Instead, he looked for an opportunity to ask Harkon for help. The scholar took a look at the notes, and Eryn thought he detected an amused grin on the man’s face, which normally never showed any expression.
“To bring this in order again isn’t difficult, and I’ll also teach you a very useful spell so that you no longer need to turn the letters into such a feeble scribble. It is the copy spell.”
Eryn had seen other students weaving this spell, which really was very useful. An open book on the one side and a blank sheet of paper on the other. They swept a hand over the note, and by magic the letters appeared on the blank sheet. It meant that books were copied really fast.
Master Lionas had made a point of not showing Eryn this spell too soon, so Harkon’s offer came as a surprise and was very tempting.
“You would really do that?”
“Yes, but not at once. I’ll show it to you if we manage to do five shields in the normal time. Besides, you shouldn’t shout it from the rooftops. The mages purposely teach this spell only after a while so that the students first learn endurance and patience. On the other hand, if that spurs you on, it’ll also help me. I don’t want to be bewitching shields for the rest of my life.”
“After we have finished the shields, they’ll probably give us the helmets,” Eryn said, deflated.