by A. J. Ponder
The arrow in Dirk’s leg didn’t stop him. He broke the shaft, scrambled up the slope, and gutted one of the archers before the man could grab his sword.
Grimmo’s soldiers fanned out and advanced on the attackers. Torri pulled out a sling, firing shots in rapid succession at the archers.
A huge man swaggered in to attack Torri.
Sylvalla ran to her defence, Dragontooth’s blade singing in exuberance as she attacked. A few traded blows and Sylvalla ripped the sword out of his hand in a tight circular attack. The big man grabbed for the fallen sword, twisted his foot on a rock and fell. “Stay down,” Sylvalla said, her sword to his throat. “And tell your men to stand down, too.” There were about ten of the raiders still breathing…nine…
“I surrender,” the big man yelled. “And so do my men. Hurry! Put down your weapons!”
“There you go again,” Dirk said, wiping his sword. “Now, what are we going to do with this lot?”
“Send the soldiers back to Scotch Mist with the prisoners, and go hunting by ourselves,” Sylvalla said. “If you’re up to it.”
Dirk grinned. “I won’t need long to see to this wound.”
Torri sighed. “Can’t we go back and get reinforcements?”
“We might not get another chance to hunt these brigands before winter falls. By then, they’ll be really dangerous. Besides, you don’t have to come.”
“Of course I do,” Torri said. “I promised Amarinda I’d look after you until she got back.”
Sylvalla nodded. “Good. You’re handy in a pinch.”
“Wait a minute,” Grimmo said. “If we go searching for more trouble, what are we supposed to do with these guys?”
Sylvalla shrugged. “Give them a choice. They swear their loyalty to me, and join our army—or die.”
“Didn’t you almost die, the last time we did that?” Grimmo asked. When Sylvalla didn’t reply, he muttered something about needing to check the farmstead first.
“Give me a minute,” Dirk said.
“You stay here and help the injured,” Sylvalla said. “I’ll go with Grimmo. Too many soldiers might scare them.”
Twitchy as they were, the archers on the balconies above didn’t fire. “Hands where we can see them.”
A grizzled man stood in the farmhouse doorway, sword out. Behind him, looking on from the kitchen, was a big family with a handful of guards, or possibly labourers carrying poor-quality weapons.
“The children?” the man asked.
Sylvalla shook her head. “I’m sorry, we saw two dead shepherds.”
A wretched wail came from the kitchen.
The grizzled man swallowed convulsively, backhanding imaginary sweat from his eyes. “We’ve been lighthanded with defenders since the war, and this lot had dozens of attackers. They ran around killing our livestock—there was nothing we could do.”
“The raiders must have had sentries out and seen us coming,” Sylvalla said.
“We thought it might be a ploy when they retreated so suddenly,” the grizzled man said. “We didn’t dare hope.”
“Hey!” someone, presumably an archer, shouted from the balcony. “Your men are cooking our sheep!”
Sylvalla swivelled around. “What?”
Grimmo’s soldiers had collected a couple of sheep and were barbequing them in the middle of the road.
Above them, the archers drew their bows.
“They’re hungry,” Grimmo said. “But don’t panic, I’ll get my men to bring the rest of the dead livestock up to the farmhouse, so you can safely prepare them for winter stores.”
“Do that, then, but unless we can regain the livestock that’s fled, we’re still going to be starving over winter.”
“Hmmph,” one of the others muttered. “And if more of those thieves come, like we expect, there won’t be time to starve.”
“So, you know there are more?”
The grizzled man hesitated until, behind him, someone yelled, “Just tell them.”
“We think they have a settlement nearby. Up that way.” He pointed further along the trail they’d been following. “But in the past…”
“In the past, what?”
“In the past, they’d demand a tithe, or take a few sheep. Now, it’s like they’re a military operation.”
Dalberth & Bairnsley University
Jonathan looked left and right before forcing himself to calm down and knock on Dalberth’s door. Yes, he was breaking university rules, but he had for months now. He just needed a little help. That was why he was here. Nobody would think much of him visiting a prophet. And if he could help them make some money, they wouldn’t rat on him, he was—almost—certain of it.
Dalberth’s wife opened the door a crack.
“Hi.” Jonathan smiled his best smile. “I have a job for your husband, if he’ll take it.”
The door opened wider revealing a tattered hut and a man roughhousing with two boys. “Husband, it’s a wizard for you.”
When Jonathan repeated his offer of a job, Dalberth sighed and limped over to the door. “You can’t possibly mean it. Look at me, I’m near destitute—if it wasn’t for your father paying me to put up with this new wizard scribe, we’d be out on the street.” He pointed to a man in the corner wielding an oversize pen.
“So, any visions?”
“No,” Dalberth said.
“A couple,” the scribe interjected. Obviously, he was enjoying his job of keeping an eye on Dalberth to record his visions. “It’s a bit slow, but we both get paid extra for reporting on two-headed chickens and the like.”
“Well, then,” Jonathan said, “wouldn’t you like having something else to do? I think you could be very useful for my latest little…project.” I’ve probably already said too much, Bairnsley University will lock me up if they discover I’m setting up an even bigger sales operation than the one they already banned. “It’s good money, so long as you don’t go blabbing to the university,” he said encouragingly.
They both nodded. Then Dalberth shook his head. “I mean, no, we’ll never blab, will we?”
“Never,” the scribe agreed.
“Good. Then I can show you my plans.”
“Daddy, please don’t go,” the smallest boy said. “You’re not allowed to die.”
“No, no, of course not.” Jonathan tussled the boy’s dark hair. “This isn’t war, it’s a business opportunity. Luxury items, medicines, and charms in a warehouse in the middle of the city. I’d do it, but being a wizard in training cuts into my time. I need someone I can trust to run the place while I’m away.” Or, more to the point, someone he could visit often, without the university asking too many questions.
Jonathan spent the next two hours with Dalberth and his scribe showing them around the warehouse he’d stocked with some of his most profitable items—charms against possession, Granny’s Cure All, and the recipe and ingredients to make anti-magic powder. He had so many tips on how to successfully negotiate with some of the local retailers, it was going to be hard to fit everything in before he had to be back at the university.
“And I want you to be able to store plum sorbet and other ices for summer,” Jonathan said. “You do know how to cast Timelock?”
“Brilliant idea. Does it really keep food fresh for months?” the scribe asked.
“Everything within the bubble is locked in time, but usually only for a few hours or days. I need someone to be able to cast it when I’m not around. We’ll start with a small one,” Jonathan said, hurriedly going through the spell, and trying not to think about how late he was going to be for the First Wizard's talk on Dothie. “That’ll be great,” he said when the scribe managed an opalescent bubble of frozen air the size of a milk bucket. “It’s not like we have to keep people in it, just tubs of sorbet.”
Then he had to leave Dalberth and his scribe to it. With their eyes still wide and grins plastering their faces, Jonathan knew he’d left his enterprise in good hands until he could get back to it.
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nbsp; In the meantime, he was late. He belted back to Bairnsley University, making it in time to see the last students shuffling through the breach to Dothie’s prison.
Mr Goodfellow senior, Jonathan’s father, glared at him. “You’re late,” he mouthed, pushing Jonathan inside.
Jonathan glanced at the First Wizard of the university orating at the front of the small crowd of curious wizards. Luckily, the officious git of a man hadn’t noticed his entrance. He, like all the others, had a wary eye on the shaggy figure prowling around the inside of the huge magic bubble in the centre of the stone room. Dothie. The evil wizard still had his lizard-like familiar clinging to his shoulder.
Even through the slick rainbow sheen of the bubble, the unkempt wizard’s sneer of contempt failed to mask his incandescent anger. His lizard-creature also looked furious—eyes burning with barely-hidden malice as it flicked its tongue out of its mouth in slow motion.
“So this is the infamous Dothie,” one of the younger wizards whispered. “Is he so very dangerous?”
“Only if he’s freed,” Mr Goodfellow senior replied.
“Who would do such a thing?” another asked, edging backward.
“Who indeed?” Mr Goodfellow senior stared at each of them in turn before clapping his hands to end this dangerous charade. “Students, I think you’ve seen enough for today to understand there is a cost to misusing your magic. Anger and hate are not appropriate tools for a wizard.”
Dothie attempted to twist his sneer into a smile.
Having witnessed Dothie’s crimes, Jonathan was not fooled, and neither was his father.
“It is time we all left,” Mr Goodfellow senior snapped and waved his arms to shoo the students and undergraduates out of the room.
Jonathan didn’t blame him for being nervous; there was something creepy about Dothie’s smile. Something unnatural, like it wasn’t Dothie smiling at all.
§
Mr Goodfellow senior breathed a sigh of relief as the students shuffled out, his son amongst them. At least the boy was comparatively safe. Unfortunately, the First Wizard, also known as Principal of Bairnsley University, wasn’t leaving. He was wandering around Dothie’s prison cell like an old dog attracted to a wolf.
What’s the blundering fool doing, staying here so long?
Gazing somewhere just beyond normal space, the First Wizard asked, “Capro, is it safe, parading these innocents through here? Displaying that man as if he were a mere criminal? And is it right leaving a wizard imprisoned, like this?”
“Hmm,” Mr Goodfellow senior said, disliking the way the man disrespected him by using his first name. “Perhaps this temporary arrangement has gone on too long, but we still need more information.” Like, could Dothie somehow communicate with the outside world through his near-impenetrable sphere? And had Dothie released all the demons of A’lganathrieal into the world? Or did he carry their power within him? “I’m not sure how else to keep him secure. As for the students, they need to know how dangerous he is. They need to be able to recognise him, should he escape and unleash the horrors he summoned.”
Every time I visit, he appears a little stronger.
“Dothie is a youngling. He’s no match for the elite of this university.”
The ignorant fool. “Dothie is a wizard. Do not demean his abilities,” Capro said. He had to bite his tongue not to add that he thought the First Wizard was an utter bore and a third-rate magician utterly incapable of matching Dothie. He’d risen to authority by becoming an expert in the power-games that were rife within the university.
Sure enough, the First Wizard inclined his head, a sure sign he was playing his games. “The young wizard Dothie cannot be that strong. After all, you bested him.”
Capro sighed. It wasn’t the first time the First Wizard had disparaged his abilities. Is it because he resents me for showing him up? Or because he knows that his First Wizard title is a lie? How many times do I have to say I’m not interested in honorifics?
Mr Goodfellow senior counted to ten in his head and tried a different approach. “I could only catch Dothie because he’d spent his strength in his effort to release demons and goodness-knows-what else into the world. An extremely taxing spell. Be sure, that does not make him any less dangerous. If he has absorbed the power of the A’lganathrieal demons, he is infinitely so.”
“Didn’t you say at the time that Dothie had released the nameless gods, Xem’rial and Emz’rial. And now you’re talking about demons—”
“What?” Capro sputtered. “You should know better. Those names are banned for a reason.”
“So, as I was saying,” the First Wizard sneered, “can you decide what we’re all to be afraid of? Nameless gods or demons?”
“I fear he has released all those things, but I cannot be sure. I know he was close.”
“But how are we to know? Every wizard deserves a fair trial. It’s in the statutes as the only reasonable method of obtaining guilt or innocence.”
Capro looked at his not-so-esteemed colleague. So you missed the glory and you’d like to retrieve it? What can I say that you will not counter, blinded by your immense egoism? Still, he had to try. “Don’t tell me you wish to play with fire now? Jonathan and I gave our testimony and the college agreed with our recommendations—firstly, that in this world there are things that should never be disturbed. And secondly, that Dothie not only disturbed them, but deliberately tried to free them.”
The First Wizard smiled. “It’s been over two months and nothing’s happened. If any of your accusations are true, there’d be omens, or some other sign that evil has bled into our world.”
“There have been omens,” Mr Goodfellow senior snapped. “Plenty of them. Let me show you the records.”
“Laypeople? And failed wizards?”
“Do you really expect these nameless gods, or demons, or whatever, to come knocking at our door before they have a chance to consolidate their power?”
“Ah, piff and twaddle,” the First Wizard said. “You’d have us run from phantoms. Believe me, we have the mighty resources of this most famous university at our disposal. No matter how strong this Dothie is, he’s only one wizard. He can never stand against us.”
“And the forbidden two? Would you laugh at their strength? Would you pit your wits against those malicious entities to find out who is stronger—you or they?”
“Heh, har-har.” The First Wizard attempted to laugh. “You’re being dramatic. I’m beginning to think there is no ancient terror here, only a young wizard trying out new skills.”
“Your pride will be your downfall,” Mr Goodfellow senior muttered.
“And if I take this other option of yours, the safe option, what does that make me?”
“Wise?” Mr Goodfellow senior said. Maybe the problem is more than the First Wizard’s brittle pride, but of not creating a precedent that will open the floodgates for precipitous solutions for troublesome wizards. Mr Goodfellow senior bowed. “I see your dilemma. But—”
“Come, be reasonable,” the First Wizard said. “If this notion of a trial for the wizard Dothie is half as difficult as you say, I will need all the help I can get.”
“Then listen, listen very carefully, and take my advice,” Mr Goodfellow senior snapped, tired of being in any way reasonable. Could this idiot not see the danger they were all in? “Try me. I am prepared to pay the penalty if my reasoning is incorrect, but on the very foundation stones of this university, I beseech you—do not release that man!”
As if to mock him, Dothie’s hand grasped and wavered, moulding wisps of nothing. Eyes bright with malice, Dothie smiled. “You phantasms who visit, do you know I can see more and more clearly every day? And smell, too. You, Capro, stink of fear.”
The two men turned, surprised at the interruption—Mr Goodfellow senior red-faced with anger.
Something in their expressions must have given Dothie pause, for he stopped.
“What is that you said, son?” the First Wizard asked.
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nbsp; Dothie’s tongue slipped over his teeth, his hand reaching up to pet his familiar. “Why are you so frightened of me? Bringing me here and keeping me in this dammed bubble as if I’m some kind of beast.”
“See, I told you he was no fool to be trifled with,” Mr Goodfellow senior whispered to his companion. “He’s stronger than you imagine.”
“Why should you be so anxious?” Dothie said. “I was merely a pawn. Perhaps the old geezer doesn’t want me to tell everybody what I saw.”
Capro’s knuckles whitened. He turned to walk from the chamber quickly, determined to be gone before he lost his temper.
His not-quite-so-esteemed colleague, the First Wizard, rushed up and put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, that settles it, this man must have his say.”
“Seeing he is strong enough to say what he pleases, let him say it in that bubble,” Mr Goodfellow senior retorted.
“No. But I think perhaps, as things stand, I will take you up on your offer and put you on trial as well for grandiosity and false witness. After all, it will help clear away any semblance of doubt.”
“What? I have responsibilities.”
“No. I think it would be best if others take them over. Prepare your defence.”
“By the Seven, what is wrong with you?” Wondering how he’d been stitched up so neatly, Mr Goodfellow senior bit his tongue. He desperately wanted to accuse the First Wizard of complicity, but the insult would only make his own predicament worse—if that was at all possible.
“Do not even think about leaving the grounds.”
“What? And leave the university in such danger? Certainly not.” And leave my son in such danger? Never. Mr Goodfellow senior stomped through the warp that kept Dothie’s bubble from the rest of the university.
The First Wizard barged right on past, hurrying directly to the council chambers.
Worse and worse.
Soon Mr Goodfellow senior found himself being stopped every few feet by people, asking what he’d done to put such a firecracker under their usually avuncular leader. The old wizard tried to answer honestly, outlining Dothie’s many crimes, including turning wizards into fruit flies.