Nature's Servant

by Duncan Pile

  Gaspi looked around, more glad than he could possibly say to be back among his closest friends. Taurnil and Lydia had been mightily relieved that he and Emmy had made up so quickly, and now, with Jonn present too, he felt complete. No matter where he went or what he did, this place - and more importantly, these people - were his home. He drew Emmy in under his arm and sighed in contentment. Sestin might well be planning something, and the elementals might believe he was destined to play a decisive role in battle for mankind’s future, but right now, and hopefully for a little while longer, things were back to normal.

  Section Three

  Twenty-Two

  The next few weeks passed in relative peace for Gaspi as he got back into the rhythm of study. He had a natural affinity for botany, and spent long hours in the Orangery, coaxing magical properties out of otherwise ordinary plants. Loreill always accompanied him on those occasions, transforming into spirit form if no-one else was around, and playing joyfully among the plants and trees while he worked. Sometimes Emmy would come along, and Lilly would transform too, made comfortable by the stream that flowed through the enclosure. Watching the two elementals play together, swooping through the trees and ducking into the stream in a bewildering blur of blue and green, Gaspi sometimes missed Heath, remembering the druid’s peaceful forest home with fondness. Perhaps one day, if Heath allowed him, he’d take Emmy there.

  His second specialism was enchanting. He was always coming up with new ways to imbue everyday objects with magical properties. As a Nature Mage, he had more scope with enchantment than others, infusing objects with powers that were unique to his magical ability. Of all the ideas he’d experimented with so far, the one he was most proud of was the “spell trap.” The idea was to imbue hollow pottery balls with spells that didn’t go off until the casing was broken. He had the balls made specially in town, something the college paid for, and once enchanted, they remained harmless until smashed. The first ball he enchanted contained a freezing spell, which covered everything within three feet in a thick coating of ice when activated.

  Getting the spell to release at the right time had taken a lot of practice. On his first attempt, the spell had been triggered by his touch and covering both him and Loreill in a hard coating of ice. He’d heated the air, melting the ice within moments, but the surprised elemental had hidden under his bed for the rest of the afternoon. The next few spell traps had been better, but they still kept going off at any hard tap of the pottery casing. In the end he had got it right, and the spell was only released when the casing actually broke.

  Getting the timing right was dependant on how power was threaded into the enchantment. Not only did he have to visualise exactly what he wanted the spell to do, but he had to time and shape the release of power as well, and all of that had to be done in the moment of enchantment. If he didn’t visualise it all correctly as he cast the spell, the enchantment wouldn’t do what it was supposed to. After plenty of practice, he managed to tie the release of power to the right set of conditions. When those conditions were met - in this case when the casing of the ball was broken - the connection between potential power and manifest power snapped into place and the spell activated. That’s how Gaspi understood it intellectually, but in reality it had much more to do with feel than anything else. He just visualised the spell, the ball, and the conditions, and leaked power into each, tying them together in a way that made them dependant on each other. After he’d done it successfully a few times, he got the feel of it, and what had been difficult became relatively easy.

  He was already thinking of other kind of spell traps he could make. Fire traps might be useful for fighting demons, but they would be too dangerous to leave around. Dropping a crate of those would be a bad idea! Emmy, Lydia and Taurnil had bravely volunteered to be test subjects for his more frivolous traps. He’d made one which sent the subject to sleep. The magically induced sleep only lasted about five minutes, but it was pretty deep while it lasted. He’d also enchanted one that caused the subject’s hair to grow rapidly for an hour. Taurnil had volunteered to be the subject for that particular trap, and after Lydia had cut his floor-length hair and beard, he’d asked to borrow the scissors and disappeared to the privy. When he returned, he’d whispered to Gaspi that the spell didn’t just affect the hair on your head and face, and refused to be involved in any more experiments.

  On top of botany and enchantment, Voltan kept him busy with martial magic, sparring with him daily to try and improve his skills. Despite Gaspi’s greater magical strength, the warrior mage regularly trounced him through superior tactics and decades of experience. The first time it happened, Loreill transformed into spirit form and sped towards Voltan in his defence. Gaspi had yelled out just in time, calling the spirit back from attack. He was very curious about what Loreill might have done, but he didn’t want Voltan to be the one to find out!

  Despite his mediocre performance, Voltan was determined that Gaspi should be proficient at martial magic, and not just rely on his natural strengths. He insisted that Gaspi refrained from using nature magic, and rely instead on normal strikes and shields. The best place for those sessions was in the quad, and as the days went by, their sparring sessions became something of a spectator sport for the other students. Day by day the crowd swelled, drawn by the irresistible lure of the college’s deadliest warrior mage fighting the only Nature Mage in existence.

  Gaspi tackled martial magic with a grave sense of responsibility. Voltan clearly thought it was important, and if the elementals believed he had a crucial role to play in the war against Sestin and his demonic forces, then he should do everything he could to get ready for what was to come. The attention of the crowd helped him focus, and he treated each fight in the same competitive way he did koshta or football. Every time he was able to outwit Voltan, and the bout ended with the warrior mage flat on his back, the onlookers would cheer like mad, giving him a thrill of satisfaction. This didn’t happen very often but it was worth it every time, and he thought that maybe it was happening more frequently as time passed.

  Between botany, enchantment and martial magic, Gaspi had a full set of specialisms. On balance it made for a broad spread of interests, and he was happy with his choices. Aside from studying, he had plenty to keep him occupied. He and Emmy were spending a lot of time together, catching up on all the time they’d missed while he was away, and Taurnil wanted to hang out too. Taurn didn’t make friends easily, and Gaspi suspected he’d struggled for company while he’d been learning druidry.

  Despite his very full timetable, he always made room for koshta. The boys had practiced a lot while he was away, and he was pleased to discover that some of them weren’t bad at all. Owein had taken to it like a duck to water, and much as he hated to admit it, Everand had proven to be equally quick to learn. Gavin was pretty good too, and Everand had backup from Matthias, who was surprisingly fast on the ice and pretty accurate with the seed. The rest of the players slid around with varying levels of clumsiness. They got the occasional good touch on the seed, but they tripped over their own boots and slid headlong on the ice just as often.

  The teams were about even when Gaspi returned, but his inclusion in Owein’s team made for an unfair game. To even things out, he asked Taurnil to play on Everand’s side whenever he was free. Taurnil had been a bit surprised when he first suggested it, but Gaspi had insisted, wanting a fair game. Even though he could easily outmanoeuvre the rest of the players, Taurnil was a great goalkeeper, and his plan worked. With the two teams on level footing, they began to have some pretty satisfying games.

  As the weeks passed, his time with Heath began to fade into memory. If it wasn’t for the spirits, it may have even begun to seem like a distant dream. Their presence was a reminder that however comfortable his life in the college became, his life was caught up in greater currents, sweeping onwards towards his destiny, whatever that might be.

  …

  It was a windy, winter Restday that found Gaspi and Taurnil practicing
shots on the icy quad. None of the other students wanted to play in the blustery conditions, but the boys from Aemon’s Reach were harder to deter. Loreill wanted nothing to do with it, and had stayed indoors with Emmy and Lilly. Not that Emmy had objected to the arrangement! Now she had two pets to play with!

  Gaspi had a line of koshta seeds arranged on the ice in front of him, and was taking shots at goal while Taurnil tried to save them. The first went in, the second went wide, and as he was lining up for the third, Voltan stalked around the corner of the quad and headed straight for them.

  Gaspi straightened up, waiting for the warrior mage to arrive. What could Voltan want that would make him go out in this weather? He wasn’t behind in any of his assignments, and they didn’t spar on Restdays.

  “I was hoping to find you together,” Voltan said as he approached. “I want to talk to you about something, but let’s get out of the wind.” Taurnil shot Gaspi a confused look, but he just shrugged. “This way,” Voltan said, leading them into one of the small classrooms that stood on the fringe of the quad. He swung the heavy door open, and led them into the dim interior. Gaspi had to push against the wind to shut the door behind them, and as it closed, the noise of the blustery weather dropped to a low whistle.

  “Take a seat,” Voltan said briskly, pulling up a chair of his own. Gaspi could feel the heat flooding into his cheeks now they were out of the cold. “Taurnil, you’re probably wondering why I’ve asked to speak to you as well as Gaspi,” Voltan said.

  “Er, yeah,” Taurnil said. Ever since the battle, Taurnil wasn’t nervous around any of the magicians anymore, but he didn’t go out of his way to talk to them either.

  “I want you to help me get Gaspi battle-trained,” Voltan said. Taurnil sat slightly straighter at the mention of battle. “There’s a tournament held every year in Arkright called the Measure. It’s an ancient sword and sorcery competition, and people travel from all over the continent and beyond to take part. I want you both to enter.”

  “What do you mean by sword and sorcery?” Gaspi interjected quickly before Taurnil could sign them up. “You mean magicians against fighters? That doesn’t sound very fair.”

  “No, I mean you fight as a team. A magician and a fighter working together against other teams.”

  “Count us in!” Taurnil said earnestly.

  “Hold on Taurn,” Gaspi said, still uncertain. “Won’t it just end up with the two magicians facing each other and the two fighters facing each other.”

  “Sometimes it goes that way,” Voltan said. “But you can be more creative. Sword and sorcery is an ancient art. The magicians enchant as many pieces of their fighter’s gear as possible, and they work as a team. The very best teams have such a sophisticated interaction of magical and physical combat it’s hard to tell where one begins and the other ends.”

  Gaspi found himself getting interested in the idea. He looked at Taurnil, and could see that restraining his friend from doing this would be a very hard task. “That actually sounds pretty good,” he said. “Okay we’re up for it.” Taurnil reached over and clapped him on the back. Voltan smiled – a rare occurrence – and something that Gaspi thought was probably best avoided. It looked much more sinister than jovial.

  “The Measure is held in late spring, so you’ve got the rest of winter to prepare,” Voltan said. “We haven’t sent anyone in years, but in the light of last year’s attack, we think you ought to be fully battle trained.” Voltan directed his attention back to Taurnil. “Can you ask Trask to rearrange your shifts to accommodate as many of Gaspi’s sparring sessions as possible? I would like you to attend.”

  “Sure,” Taurnil said, brimming with unrestrained eagerness.

  “Okay, that’s enough for now. I’ll let you get back to your game.” The warrior mage stood up and waited for them to leave the classroom, following them out the door. “We’ll start next week,” he said as he departed, stalking back towards the tower.

  “This is brilliant!” Taurnil said, rubbing his hands together gleefully.

  “The Measure,” Gaspi said thoughtfully. “Imagine if we won!”

  “It’s not about winning,” Taurnil said sternly. “It’s about getting battle trained.”

  “Be nice to win though,” Gaspi said.

  “True,” Taurnil answered with a grin. “Hey I have to go or I’ll be late for duty. Come down later and we’ll talk about it some more?”

  “Okay mate. See you later,” Gaspi said, picking up his koshta gear and parting ways with Taurnil. As he walked back towards the Warren, he couldn’t help feeling excited. He liked the sound of sword and sorcery. It would require creativity as well as raw power. As he stepped quickly through the campus, his mind was already searching for ways he could enchant Taurnil’s armour to give them an advantage. Whatever Taurnil said, if he was going to enter a tournament, he was doing it to win.

  Twenty-Three

  Rimulth sat opposite the Dag-Mar, trying to ignore the pain in his crossed ankles. For the past few weeks, he’d been under the old shaman’s tutelage, readying himself to take on the duties he would fulfil for the rest of his life. As shamanic rites were performed as part of a meditation, the Dag-Mar had spent a lot of that time teaching him how to enter a trance. He hadn’t found it easy at first, struggling to ignore the sensations in his body that distracted him whenever he tried to relax. It was amazing how itchy he suddenly became, and in the strangest places! But after a couple of weeks he found himself able to get past that, and was able to consistently achieve a meditative state.

  Once the Dag-Mar was confident Rimulth could enter a trance at will, he began teaching him to control his innate powers. He had him perform simple spells, such as summoning a small light, or moving objects around without touching them, and seemed to be happy with his pupil’s progress. Even though he had much to learn, the Dag-Mar assured him that shamanic magic was mostly uncomplicated, concentrating on the health and protection of their tribe. Showy spell-casting was for plainsdwellers!

  Rimulth couldn’t agree more, and was very glad when he started to learn the shamanic rites themselves. They’d started with the Way of Gratitude, performed at dawn to greet the sun as it rose from its nightly resting place. It was a simple rite, repeating a short phrase thirty times while facing east:

  “We are grateful, Great Light, for warming our land and lighting our paths.”

  On its own the phrase didn’t mean that much to him, but in a trance state he was amazed at how his sense of gratitude grew with every iteration. By the time he finished the ritual, he felt like he’d thoroughly embraced the new day. The second part of the Way of Gratitude was performed at dusk:

  “We are grateful, Great Light, for keeping us warm throughout this day, and humbly ask you to bless us again tomorrow.”

  There were many more rites he had to learn: The seasonal rites for spring, midsummer, harvest and the winter solstice, rites for births and deaths, and for appointing a new chief. He would learn these and many others, along with the essentials of shamanic healing, as his apprenticeship with the Dag-Mar continued.

  He had just managed to put the pain in his ankles out of his mind when his peaceful state was shattered by a loud cawing sound from within the camp. Snapping out of his meditation, he looked at the Dag-Mar, whose alarmed expression mirrored his own. They sprang out of the shaman’s hut and ran into the clearing, seeking the source of the sound. On the other side of the clearing was a large crow, and not just any crow, but the same blighted creature that had led a demon to their camp previously. He’d recognise that patch of pale feathers on its head anywhere. When it saw them, it opened its mouth and cawed once again, an unnatural sound that filled Rimulth with dread.

  “We are attacked!” the Dag-Mar shouted. Tribesmen came pouring out of their huts, weapons at the ready.

  Before they could prepare themselves, a heavy-shouldered menace surged out of the darkness, blacker than midnight and heaving with rapacious power. A demon! Messengers had arrived from oth
er tribes in the past few weeks, letting them know that two more of the creatures had been slain by fire. Knowing this meant that there were still two of the foul attackers out there, Rimulth’s tribe had kept the fire burning perpetually, and their weapons wrapped in oil-soaked cloth. If they were quick, they might still stand a chance.

  Bone-numbing cold spread across the clearing, causing the fire to dim, flickering fitfully in the freezing onslaught. The creature opened its maw and howled, stopping Rimulth in his tracks as every private space inside him was accosted by pure, feral destruction.

  But the tribe had faced a demon before, and the soul-jarring howl didn’t catch them unawares. Each tribesman knew to fight past it and attack, and as quickly as they could recover, they were lighting their specially prepared spears and flinging them at their attacker. The Dag-Mar had planted ten spears in the ground near the fire, and as the demon advanced towards him, he waved a hand, ripping the first one out of the ground by magic and lighting its cloth-wrapped head in the flames. Placing himself on the other side of the fire, he flung the flaming spear at his enemy. Even before it hit, he reached out with his power and drew another spear out of the ground.