Ardeen, Volume 1: The Circle of Magic

by Sigrid Kraft

  Ravenor stood in a corner and pissed against one of the barrels. “Hmm, I don’t think anybody will be happy about what we’re doing here right now. Another bottle?”

  The new cushion landed on the couch and Eryn let himself fall back.

  Just like clouds. He stretched out his arm to catch the new bottle.

  Then he announced: “I’ll make the next bottle fly directly to me.” He concentrated air magic beneath a bottle, then let the magic grow until the bottle rose a hand’s breadth into the air. Unfortunately, it tipped over and fell head first on the stony floor where it shattered into a mess of glass shards and wine.

  “You seem to enjoy that magic stuff.”

  Eryn shrugged his shoulders. “It’s interesting and everyone says that I have great talent.”

  That remark stabbed at Ravenor’s heart. None of the Black Prince’s bastards had any extraordinary skills in magic, indeed not even mediocre skills, and that bothered Ravenor: “I wonder if he would accept us, the old goat, His Highness screw-the-whole-world, if we weren’t so unmagical?”

  What shall I say to that? Eryn deemed it wise to say nothing.

  So he continued to drink while Ravenor proceeded with his invective:

  “He graciously offers us a place in his damned Guard. We fight for his honor and glory and what does he give us in return? Argon, my elder brother, do you know what he said when Argon died? They’d laid his dead body on a bier beside the other fallen soldiers and do you know what the Prince said? My brother, his bastard son, dying before his eyes and he says... nothing. Just that common palaver about brave soldiers who died for Ardeen and so on...” Ravenor talked himself into a fury, and Eryn kept drinking.

  “... not a single word about Argon, not even a gesture of regret. That old bastard has a heart of ice. Ooh I forgot, he is the highborn Lordship and the bastard is me.” Then he looked to Eryn. “Do you know that he spent more time with you than with all his countless children together?”

  Eryn almost choked on his drink and spit out a fountain of red grape juice across the room.

  The envy in Ravenor’s words was unmistakable, and the accusation was so absurd that it made Eryn fly into a rage:

  “Do you really think that I mean more to the Black Prince than you? He tortured and humiliated me. Is that the attention you envy me?”

  Angrily, he showed Ravenor his three-fingered hand. “Not to mention that he chopped off my hand. And if that wasn’t enough – a quick death is probably too good for me – he cast the soulban, making me his slave for all eternity! It is said that the mage of the White Tower ordered this, but I think it was his decision alone...”

  Wrath filled Eryn, and the soulban immediately took effect. Eryn might dare to pay the Prince back, but he couldn’t harm him in any way. Not even bad words could leave his lips unpunished. A sudden nausea overpowered him and he threw up on the floor. Eryn gasped, the taste of vomit still in his mouth. With sadness in his voice he ended his speech:

  “They say the White Tower commands him and he commands me. I’m just a pawn in their great game. A dolt who knows nothing and is incapable of doing anything. I can’t even kill myself! Even that is forbidden by the Master.”

  Ravenor looked at him in confusion, an inane expression on his face.

  “Am I supposed to help you... to kill yourself?”

  Now it was Eryn’s turn to stare, because in his drunken state, Ravenor seemed to mean what he said.

  “Oh, no, it’s all right. In the meantime, I’ve become quite attached to my miserable life again and I want to study and find out about all these mysteries, for nothing is the way it seems. It’s all lies... and miracles.”

  Eryn raised the bottle to his lips but it was already empty. Carelessly, he tossed it aside and the glass shattered where it hit the floor. Ravenor laughed – and there he was again, the fellow with the indomitable will and the cheerful disposition. He whispered mischievously:

  “One secret I can tell you at least... tomorrow they’ll give us a bollocking, but they won’t kill you, ‘cause they need you and they won’t kill me either, because the old goat might ignore his bastards, but he doesn’t want ‘em dead. Another bottle?”

  The bottle, already uncorked, landed in Eryn’s open hand. During the past hours, Eryn had slowly but surely developed into an expert. A wine with a dry note. Though that unsavory smell of vomit masks the bouquet somewhat.

  Spurred on by his latest magical successes, Eryn applied himself to sealing the unpleasant smell with a bowl of air magic without movement. It worked, so he next cast a refreshing spell for his brain to stop the swimming sensation, enabling him to see clearly again.

  Master Lionas would be truly proud of me :-)

  Eryn offered Ravenor a refreshment spell too, but his mate just laughed: “For a start, I can hold my drink much better than you, and I’m not so sure what you’d really do to me in your present state of drunkenness.”

  Eryn hiccoughed: “I’m not s’ shure, either. I’ve ‘ready done lotsa mag-hic... an’ so succesh’fly.” “Well then, how about trying your skills on the door?” Ravenor’s dry comment destroyed Eryn’s sense of delight completely, but only for a moment. Then they continued drinking and began to sing a few songs, though as neither of them knew all the verses, they mostly just repeated the refrain. By this time, they’d ceased caring about being quiet, because the inescapable would catch up with them before long.

  The morning came. The air in the cellar smelled disgusting even with the stench of vomit sealed up. It was warm and Eryn had pulled off his undershirt at some point and thrown it into the mess of dirt, broken glass, wine, vomit and piss. There it lay sadly like a cleaning rag.

  While he rested comfortably on the couch, Eryn reflected on the wretched shirt. Another empty bottle dropped from his hand and rolled across the floor.

  Ravenor stood in the middle of the room and recited a ballad about a great, misunderstood artist without an audience. Even Eryn had stopped listening. Suddenly, the door swung open and Halford stood in the threshold.

  A spectator to applaud Ravenor, Eryn thought naively in his inebriated state.

  But Halford bellowed: “What the hell are you doing here?!”

  With a theatrical gesture, Ravenor turned around as if he had only just noticed Halford. Then he announced with great dignity: “We are drinking wine and more importantly, we are feasting on better fare than we are accustomed to be fed.”

  There was truth in his words but Halford seemed neither interested in nor appreciative of the answer.

  “How dare you, you scoundrels! The finest wine... Guards! Call for the guards!”

  Halford ran out of the cellar and slammed the door behind him. The key clattered in the lock.

  “What are we going to do now?” Eryn asked, giving Ravenor a completely innocent look.

  His friend shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose, thing are going to get rather ugly now. I’d better take a last mouthful.”

  And he tottered over to the shelf and grabbed a new bottle. Their respite was over far too quickly and then voices and all sorts of banging about could be heard once again. The oak door flew back and Halford screamed: “There they are!”

  Ravenor still seemed to be acting in his play: “Why does he scream so loudly? We are quite close and not at all far away.”

  Six soldiers led by Sir Haerkin marched into the cellar and the furious commander towered over Ravenor, who stood exposed in the middle of the room.

  “What’s all this about, recruit?”

  Finally, Ravenor remembered his great plan: “I report: We found this room open and cased the joint, Sir Haerkin. The wine isn’t yet sour and we will soon be done with the tasting.”

  Despite his drunkenness, Eryn thought: Ravenor, just keep your mouth shut! But on the other hand he was no longer particularly concerned about anything. Like a member of the audience, he watched the scene as if all of it had nothing to do with him. Sir Haerkin was flushing a deep red. “Stand to attentio
n, you bastard!”

  Ravenor responded by raising the wine bottle to his mouth, but Sir Haerkin smashed it out of his hand.

  Ravenor only smiled stupidly: “How rude. Yes, I’m truly a bastard – thanks to my father, the old goat!”

  This time, Sir Haerkin whacked him across the face. “You’re a disgrace to the Guard. Take him out. And the other one too. At once!”

  The commander turned on his heels and went upstairs immediately. Ravenor smiled merrily at the soldiers and held out his hands. “Rudely am I treated, but I bear no grudge against you, brothers.”

  The soldiers overpowered Ravenor and bound his hands together. Just at that moment, Eryn fell roughly to the ground. Someone has destroyed my couch.

  It was at this point that Eryn saw scholar Harkon was also present. His face was as inscrutable as ever, but it was clear that he had lifted the spells. Angrily, Eryn tried to get to his feet. The terrible Harkon had also destroyed his refreshing spell, however, so Eryn noticed that he was much drunker than he thought. He stood up on legs that shook like a newborn foal’s, but it was with a strong, brave voice that he proclaimed:

  “You may have captured Ravenor without a fight, but I’ll never surrender!” He tottered a step forward, tangled a leg in the remains of his couch and landed full length on the floor. The soldiers were upon him at once and tied him up. Then they dragged him outside.

  Sir Haerkin and a ten-strong escort already awaited them in front of the kitchen building. It was early in the morning, but the first spectators were gathering a safe distance away.

  “Oh, a guard of honor,” Ravenor commented in delight when he saw the waiting soldiers. He ignored Sir Haerkin completely.

  The commander stepped right in front of Ravenor and continued his inquisition: “How did you get inside? And what were you looking for, anyway? Answer, recruit!”

  With the trusting expression of a puppy dog, Ravenor produced a convincing explanation: “Honorable Sir, we went through the wall. My friend here is a great mage and that’s the way mages travel, isn’t it?” Then he whispered conspiratorially: “Just between us... the food is much better down there than the muck they slop into our bowls.”

  Sir Haerkin grumbled under his breath: “Hopelessly drunk,” and Ravenor babbled on: “And looking... well, we did indeed look, and we found...”

  The commander had had enough and barked out an order: “Gag the idiot. I will not endure this drivel a moment longer.”

  “...wine a wonderful liquid. Why do you so greedily keep it from -” Someone stuffed a rag into Ravenor’s mouth, which silenced him effectively.

  The brief hush came as a relief to Eryn. Without the refreshing spell, he felt wretched. As luck would have it, however, now that Ravenor’s oral fluency had stopped, Sir Haerkin turned to question Eryn:

  “In accordance with the law of the Guard, you are accused of the following offenses: “Leaving your quarters at night,... ”

  Eryn’s stomach heaved. Far in the background, he heard words, but was unable to make out what they meant. “... thieving, vandalism, insulting His Highness, drunkenness, offending against the disciplinary orders, improper behavior towards a superior. You have besmirched the honor of the Guard in the worst possible way. Do you confess to your crimes, recruit?”

  Eryn fought against the nausea, doing his best to suppress it.

  Sir Haerkin shouted at him again: “I asked you something: What have you to say to your crimes?”

  Then it was all over. Eryn couldn’t hold back any longer and he vomited right in front of the commander, the puke spraying Sir Haerkin’s boots with considerable force.

  “That’s enough – get them out of my sight!”

  Sir Haerkin’s face had flushed to a dark red that would make a tomato look pale.

  One of the guards dared to ask: “Sir Haerkin, where shall we take ‘em?”

  “To the pole – where else?!” Sir Haerkin exploded. “And dispatch a report to the chief commander, Lord Boron. Magic scholar Harkon, you’ll see to that. Report every detail of this to Lord Boron and ask him to determine the penalty in my name.” Then he added. “Because I would string up the bastards without a second thought!”

  Harkon had already attained the third grade of magic, which was just one step away from a candidate for the title Master of magic. He detested loud shouting and the commands of the soldiers. But not being of noble parentage, nor having any money, he knew his only hope of deepening his knowledge as a mage was to go to the army. His skills were promising, and it had been these that had secured him a place in the Black Guard. Here, his chances of acquiring a sound education might be good, but he also had to put up with the unbearable bawling and bossiness. All this once again came to his mind as he went over to Lord Boron’s command base.

  He stopped at the guard: “To Lord Boron, please. It is urgent. Order from Sir Haerkin.”

  The soldier on watch replied: “Lord Boron isn’t here. You’ll find him in the Black Tower having breakfast with His Highness the Prince of Ardeen.”

  Wordlessly, Harkon turned around and took the path to the tower. Oh, thanks a lot for that. And now I’m supposed to report this in the presence of the Prince.

  He arrived at the gate of the citadel and recited his little piece once more to the man in charge, who indicated that he should follow. They approached the great hall and one of the guards went inside to announce Harkon. The soldier left the door slightly ajar, allowing him to hear the discussion inside.

  “My Prince, please forgive the interruption, but here is a messenger with an urgent report for Lord Boron.”

  If it is such an important matter, then it can’t be wrong that I too be informed. Ask him to come in.” The soft, slightly melancholic voice belonged to the Prince.

  Harkon thought with a hint of black humor: At least he seems to be in a good mood today.

  Mechanically, his feet walked him forward. How glad I would be to be able to escape in the other direction. At an acceptable distance, Harkon leapt to attention and immediately felt the critical gaze of the Prince upon him.

  Prince Raiden forgot his meal and leaned back. A scholar of the third grade. I remember him. He is skilled – at least by today’s standards. In the past, he would have been only mediocre. These days, however, with the truly gifted becoming so rare, he must be counted among the best.

  A name occurred to the Prince: Harkon. Exactly, that’s what the young man is called. He tries to exercise control, but his eyes betray his unease.

  “And what is this matter of such importance, messenger?

  I can’t really imagine what could be of such urgency that they dare disturb us during our meal. I’ll wager it’s the usual: A brawl, some inconsistency in a list of food supplies, weapons or some other such thing. And, of course Eryn. On the savage, I would bet my best horse. And an over-zealous commander has misjudged this for an important matter.

  The man cleared his throat. “Scholar of magic of the third grade, Harkon, with an urgent message from Sir Haerkin to Lord Boron. Sir Haerkin asks for Lord Boron’s judgment and punishment in the case of two recruits who have been found guilty of undisciplined behavior.”

  Both Lord Boron and Prince Raiden glanced at the messenger full of expectation, but Harkon remained silent as if his words were sufficient explanation. The dramatic pause held until Prince Raiden dug deeper: “And? Could you provide us with a little more detail? Not even our good Sir Haerkin would sent someone to disturb me on account of a lack of discipline.”

  The scholar avoided Prince Raiden’s eyes. “My Prince, the accusations are: Leaving the quarters at night, drunkenness, vandalism, thieving, insulting His Highness, offending against the disciplinary orders and improper behavior towards a superior.” Again Harkon fell silent.

  The corners of the Prince’s mouth puckered with displeasure. “Lord Boron, this is the state of things under your command?”

  The commander didn’t respond. The reprimand was not meant seriously, as Prince Raiden
confirmed when he turned back to Harkon, emphasizing every word as he asked:

  “Is it possible for you to report the whole story? Do these delinquents have names?”

  Harkon cleared his throat nervously: “Erm, my Prince, they are the recruits Eryn and Ravenor, if those names mean anything to you.”

  Ha, I knew it! Even if I know no other recruits by name, those two are infamous. One is like the plague, a despicable evil brought down upon me by the Master of the White Tower, and the other, an annoying product of a few delightful hours of pleasure. His mother Myrne was a pretty woman – twenty years ago. With a warm and kind heart. She may have been a simple maidservant, but I truly had deeper feelings for her – at least for a while. To be honest, I am still fond of her, though she has lost her looks – a bit long in the tooth, you might say.

  His love of beautiful women had provided him with many illegitimate children.

  The scholar, who had had sufficient pause for thought by now, continued: “Early this morning, Halford the kitchen master came to the watch and reported that two persons had broken into the wine cellar. Halford himself had locked the cellar the day before. At a late hour, he went to the kitchen to fetch something and found the cellar unlocked, so he locked it himself and put the key back in its place. But the next morning, he found those recruits down there – drunk out of their heads.”

  More silence, and Prince Raiden grew visibly ill tempered: “Can you now finish your report or do you think these dramatic pauses are necessary to increase the tension?”

  “Apologies, my Prince, I’m not a well-versed speaker.”

  Maliciously the Prince replied: “Shall I assist you with a speaking spell, scholar? Perhaps woven together with a remembering spell and a truth spell?”

  Harkon indicated his willingness to carry on. “That won’t be necessary, my Prince.” And so as not to give the Prince the slightest reason to act on his threat, Harkon rushed on frantically, barely pausing for breath. “Sir Haerkin ordered the guard to follow him to the wine cellar, where he found the two delinquents very drunk and in non-regulation dress. Neither of them behaved with due respect when Sir Haerkin entered and some spells had been cast, mainly for the purposes of comfort.”