Avondale

by Toby Neighbors

  The Third Order, Immutatio Magus, is known in laymen’s terms as transmutation. It involves, among other things, changing one object to another. It begins with moving an object from one related state to the next, for instance changing milk into butter and cream. As a wizard’s mastery of the Third Order grows, more substantive transmutations become possible. At its highest form, a Grand Wizard of the Third Order can transform lead into gold, although such feats have only been documented in a few rare cases and the time and effort involved is substantial.

  Tiberius could hardly keep reading. He’d never heard of the word transmutation, but suddenly the world seemed full of possibilities. He hadn’t imagined being able to transform objects, or turn lead into gold. He felt giddy; the excitement was nearly overwhelming, but he kept reading.

  The Fourth Order, Nativus Magicus, is the most arduous of magic, and should only be attempted after mastering the other levels. It involves controlling nature itself. The will of the wizard delves into the very heart of matter, taking control of the building blocks of creation. Magic of the Fourth Order has created wonders that defy explanation and stand as the greatest magical achievements known to man.

  The essence of magic is the study of the divine, and therefore the greatest of the mental disciplines. True wizardry taps into the very power of the gods, and by its nature aligns the practitioner with not only the wizards who have come before, but with the immortals, whose power and practices make up the essence of magic. It is not for the weak, nor for those with malice in their hearts. For while magic requires self-control and force of will, it also reveals the desires of one’s heart. Many have fallen into the Dark Orders because they rushed ahead, delving into magic that was too powerful for them to control. In those instances, the magic that was meant for good—to heal the sick, defend the helpless, and make the world a better place for all mankind—gets twisted into something destructive. Like a child wielding his father’s sword, wizards who do not dedicate themselves to mastering each order before moving to the next often wreak more havoc than they ever imagined. And many weak-hearted wizards have fallen under the spell of immeasurable power, despite the fact that they cannot control that power.

  Therefore, this book is a wizard’s guide. It was written eons ago by wizards of the Fourth Order so that those wishing to learn the magical arts will not blunder along aimlessly, or delve into magic that is outside one’s control, but follow the prescribed orders and master the divine arts as a boon to all mankind. In the pages that follow, a more thorough exposition of each of the Four Orders is offered in an effort to illuminate the reader. There are also spells, with instructions for casting them, as well as detailed explanations of what the spell should accomplish, so that at each stage a wizard will know without question that he has correctly cast and controlled the desired spell.

  Tiberius leaned back in his chair, tilting the wooden seat back and expertly balancing on the two rear legs. He thought about what he’d read, then read it all again. He wanted to savor everything he was learning. It was the first time in his life that he really felt excited about studying. There was more to the book, but his candles were burning low. He returned the book to his trunk, even placing some of his other keepsakes on top of the ancient manuscript so that it wasn’t the first thing a person saw when they opened the box.

  Then he blew out all of the candles except one. He crawled into his bed and watched the flame flickering in the darkness. It seemed so small and weak, the darkness of his room crowded in on every side, the flame wavering as it burned. He felt like he was the candle. The world was dark without magic, but the book he’d discovered was kindling a flame inside him. He would nurture it and make it grow, until the goodness of his magic filled the world with light.

  Chapter 6

  Rafe

  The feast was finally over and Rafe sat in the corner, nursing a goblet of wine. He’d watched his friend Tiberius leave the feasting hall and had wanted to retire with him, but Rafe was called over to where a group of soldiers were reveling. They’d won another victory, keeping the city safe yet again. They were drinking and laughing, letting the tension of placing themselves in danger melt away. Rafe didn’t feel like celebrating. Despite his growing skills and reputation among the Earl’s war band, he felt trapped. All he could think about was Lady Olyva, even though he knew there was no way he could ever be with her. Their romance was treason, and he silently cursed himself for ever giving in to his desire for her.

  His attraction to Lady Olyva had been strong, right from the moment he’d first seen her. She wasn’t like most of the ladies of the Earl’s court. She wasn’t skinny or weak like the women he was used to seeing in the palace, nor was she pudgy and soft like the women in the city. She had strong arms, and thick well-muscled legs. Her waist was broad, but not fat. She had bright eyes in a round comely face, and her hair was dark but streaked through with ribbons of color from long hours spent in the bright sunshine of Hamill Keep. Her skin was a dusky olive color, not pasty white like the girls Rafe had known all his life.

  He wanted her, but it was more than just lust. He wanted to know everything about her, wanted to share his accomplishments with her, wanted to give her things and make her happy. But of course she was promised to Brutas, who Rafe despised. Brutas was a bully of the worse sort, always pointing out the mistakes of others to cover up his own incompetence. Rafe could someday hope to be the Earl’s champion, but Brutas would lead the war band from Avondale. And not because the Earl’s second son had earned that right, or because Rafe would fail to be the most able and accomplished of the Earl’s men at arms. No, Brutas would become Leonosis’ general simply because they were brothers. And in the same fashion, he would marry Lady Olyva, not because he’d won her heart, but because his father wanted a closer alliance with Hamill Keep.

  Rafe had learned long ago not to question why things happened with the Earl’s family the way they did. It wasn’t fair, and sometimes it was downright unjust, but there was no remedy. Even his father, unarguably the best swordsman in Avondale, couldn’t make things right. The Earl had unlimited power within the city, and only the King in Sparlan Citadel had the authority to act against the Earl. Yet, Rafe had foolishly rushed into a romance with Lady Olyva with no hope of winning her hand.

  At first they had merely flirted, but when Rafe had been asked to show Lady Olyva the battlements around the city, he had given in to his passion and kissed her. The tour had turned into a long walk that only stoked his feelings for her. Since then, he had slipped secretly into her room, or waited for her in the shadowy corridors of the palace for a stolen kiss or a passionate embrace. They could not consummate their love; Rafe would not even consider marring Olvya’s honor, nor did they have the time or the freedom to make love. Theirs was a secret romance, and one that Rafe knew would haunt him the rest of his life. Yet declaring their love and insisting on being together was not just foolish, but dangerous. If someone discovered their feelings, there would be no mercy. Nor would anyone believe that their relationship was innocent. The best Rafe could hope for would be conscription into the King’s forces in Sparlan Citadel. For Lady Olyva, the consequences would be much more dire and Rafe couldn’t stand to dwell on that possibility, but neither could he stand not seeing Olyva. He lived for her touch, and thought of her day and night.

  In the feasting hall, the soldiers had finally wandered drunkenly back to their barracks. The fire in the hearths had died down to embers, the food and empty platters had been cleared away, but Rafe still sat brooding. Not even joking around with his best friend Tiberius had eased his pain. He feared that he would be discovered, and the guilt of his passion for Lady Olyva battled with his anger for the injustice of their lives until he felt like a bloodied field of war.

  Eventually, he finished his goblet of wine and began to wander the halls of the palace. It was late and the broad marble-floored hallways were deserted. A small contingent of the Earl’s personal guard stood watch at strategic points around the pa
lace, keeping lit a few of the ornate lamps that lined the wide walkways and porticoes. The dark hallways felt comforting to Rafe. He’d played in the long corridors as a child with Tiberius. Rafe’s father, Grentz, as the Earl’s Champion and Sword Master of Avondale, had a small apartment in the palace, but Rafe slept in the barracks with the other soldiers. His future was uncertain; unlike the Earl’s sons, Rafe needed to earn his place as champion.

  He walked along, slowly and aimlessly, meandering through the dark hallways in the general direction of the barracks that were located outside the Earl’s palace. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Olyva, and he didn’t notice he had made his way to her rooms until he was standing outside her door. He knew he should leave, he needed to break off the foolish tryst before it was too late and someone discovered their affair. But he couldn’t leave without seeing her. She was probably sleeping, but he knocked quietly, using the rhythmic tap they had worked out in secret so Lady Olyva would know it was Rafe.

  A moment later the door opened and Olyva stepped out into the dark hallway.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her arms wrapping around his thick chest.

  “I had to see you; I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not,” Olyva said, laying her head on his chest. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Did I wake your maid?”

  “No, she’s snoring so loudly I hardly heard your knock.”

  “Are we insane?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t care. My time with you has been the happiest of my life.”

  “And mine, but I’m dying inside.”

  “Kiss me,” she said.

  They kissed, the heat between them rising until Rafe had to pull away. Every fiber of his being ached to make her his, but he knew he couldn’t.

  “I have to go,” he said. “This is goodbye.”

  “No,” she said. “It can’t be. I’ll die.”

  “If we’re caught—”

  “We won’t be.”

  “I’m not coming back,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve made up my mind.”

  “And I have no say in the matter?”

  “You know I’m right. We both knew this couldn’t last.”

  “All I know is that I love you.”

  Rafe kissed her once more, but it was a hard kiss, his body rigid, his hands holding her away from him. Then he spun away. He heard her sobbing in the darkness, but he forced himself forward. He knew he was doing the right thing, even though it felt completely wrong.

  He kept moving forward, making his way toward the nearest exit from the palace. He passed three guards who eyed him suspiciously, but didn’t speak. He hurried out into the cold night air. The nights in Avondale were always cold, regardless of the time of year. The mountain fortress was so high above sea level that the air was cold without the bright sunshine to lend it warmth. Rafe took deep breaths of the cold air, but he couldn’t stop the tears that ran down his face. He cursed his weakness. How could he be a warrior and yet be so weak that a woman could break down his resolve and leave him weeping like a child?

  He took his time moving back to the barracks. The officers had a large, well-constructed apartment complex. The units were made of polished stone and covered in thick vines of ivy that rose up to the red tiled roofs. The junior officers and regular soldiers were not so well appointed. The barrack was a large timber structure with rows of plain undecorated rooms. Each room had a dozen men housed inside, with racks for their weapons and chests for the personal effects.

  Rafe heard the snoring and the deep breathing before he entered the room. His roommates were all asleep, which was fine with Rafe. He didn’t want anyone asking him questions about his night or why he seemed so distraught. He dropped onto his bunk and pulled off his boots. Lying back, he adjusted the pillow and tried to sleep, but it was impossible. He felt a despair so deep and inescapable that he was sure it would swallow him up.

  Chapter 7

  Tiberius

  Everyone at the temple complex was excited. News of the Forkus had spread through the city, and although most of the Priests and Paladins had never seen one of the massive creatures, they all knew Tiberius had. They wanted details and Tiberius felt as if his peers and the Prefects could see right through him. Tiberius was excited too, but not about the Forkus. He could hardly wait to try his first spell, but he also felt exposed. He was doing something wrong; there was no denying that. Even the ancient scriptures decreed that magic was evil and not to be practiced, although Tiberius felt relatively certain that was just a popular interpretation since the cataclysm.

  He spent the day studying, and being grilled for details about the attack. There wasn’t much to tell really, and Tiberius didn’t try to exaggerate the tale. The giant creature from the blighted lands below were now the stuff of legends, and even though Avondale was attacked once or twice a year, it was easily the most exciting thing to happen in a long while.

  The physical training of the Paladin class was difficult, especially for Tiberius. They were forced to run sprints, maneuver through obstacle courses, and engage in mock battles, both with weapons and hand to hand. Normally, Tiberius dreaded the daily exercises, but he renewed his effort since reading that a wizard needed to be physically strong. He was still clumsy with a sword, but he ran hard and did every exercise exactly as he’d been shown. By the end of the day, he was exhausted, and his mind so consumed with the book of magic that he couldn’t remember any of his lessons from the day.

  He bought a bag of fruit and hurried back to the palace. He quickly went through the lessons he’d been given, not caring that most of his work was woefully inadequate. When Robere arrived, Tiberius explained that he had too much work to do to attend the family meal. The aging servant made sure that Tiberius had everything he needed and promised to send up a tray of food. When Robere finally left, Tiberius sagged back in his chair. He had done it, he had endured the long day and somehow not given away the fact that he was about to attempt magic.

  He pulled out his dagger from the wardrobe where his clothes were kept, along with the other trappings expected of an Earl’s son. He had a very fine dagger, the hilt was polished brass, the wrapping was soft lambskin, and the blade was polished steel that was engraved with an intricate design. He pulled it from the sheath and tested its blade with his thumb. It was sharp and he couldn’t hide the smile that appeared on his face.

  He pulled out an apple from the bag of fruit he’d purchased on his way home from the temple. It was shiny red, firm, and ripe. He sat it on the small table along with the dagger. Then he pulled open the trunk that was kept under his bed. He studied the contents until he was certain nothing had been disturbed. Then he removed the keepsakes he had stored on top of the book fragment. His hands were shaking with excitement when he finally unwrapped the book. He opened it and began to read. He had scanned the chapter on Sana Magus, but now he reread the portion that described the first spell.

  The healing arts embody the very best of magic. From simple spells, to more complex incantations, its effects are immediate and visible to all. Nothing brings the uninitiated into a favorable relation with a wizard than to see his fellow man healed.

  Magic spells are spoken or chanted in the language of the immortals, for it was with words that the gods created entire worlds. Words are powerful tools in the hands of those trained to use them. But memorizing spells is only the beginning of a wizard’s true power. Words harness the magical power that exists all around us, but just as a harness does not tame a wild horse, so too, the words of the spell do not tame the powerful magic it invokes. A wizard must then will the spell into action with the strength of his mind. The incantation will start the flow of magic, but the wizard’s will guides and directs the magic into the proper channel, or in this case, into the sick or wounded individual he is trying to heal.

  We begin with the most basic of spells, healing a simple cut. Sana Magus is effective on any living thing, which makes it both vastly beneficial
to the wizard, and easy to practice, since there are many living things other than sick people which may bear the brunt of a novice wizard’s zeal. Take a piece of whole fruit, freshly picked, and slice the skin with a sharp knife. Then, chant the spell out loud, visualizing in your mind’s eye the cut skin of the fruit coming back together.

  Sano Grasilis Abscido

  You will notice that your mind takes on a much greater level of focus as you chant the words. Saying spells out loud isn’t necessary for an experienced wizard, but for a novice, saying the words and hearing them spoken brings the untrained mind into alignment with the magical power you are invoking. Things around you, sights, smells, sounds, activities, should all fall away until all you can see or consider is the fruit. It may help you to continue saying the spell over and over. Eventually, as you master the pronunciation of each spell and become more sensitive to magic, saying each spell a single time will call the power to you and simultaneously focus your mind on the subject of your magic.

  If the spell is cast successfully, you should see the fruit’s skin seal up. Once this happens be sure to inspect the fruit for any sign of the original cut. There should be no mark or scar upon the skin of the fruit; likewise, it should not be thick or hardened where the skin was healed. Cut the fruit open and inspect your work. Human or animal skin consists of many, subtle layers and the amount of power, focus, and self-control is much higher. A wizard should be able to heal cuts in fruit easily and without exertion before trying the spell on another person.