Forging Alliances: Wizards of White Haven

by Frances Howitt

  Jim didn’t appear to be hot-headed or power-hungry, despite his takeover of White Haven’s leadership. Instead he seemed protective and empathic to those around him. That nature certainly didn’t mean he was weak or would bow to outside demands.

  Jim was clearly an energetic young man who wasn’t afraid to meet any challenge head on no matter how daunting. A leach was not to be underestimated and a lion would not be pressured or overtly manipulated. Jim also appeared to be a remarkably ingenious and capable leader despite his youth. He’d successfully turned around a school that had, quite frankly, not only been foundering, but had been in its death throes, starved of all support. With wizard Jim at the helm, the guild was unlikely to successfully be able to swoop in and take control of White Haven by force, even if it wished to. Changes of any kind would need to be with Jim’s consent and co-operation.

  Whilst he hadn’t asked for, or been given a tour of the School, what he’d seen of the main building, both inside and out, gave an impression of surprising prosperity and competence. The building was clean and inviting, its historic stately grandeur untarnished when he’d been expecting crumbling decay.

  He wondered how extensive the critical repairs had been on Jim’s arrival, because the notes he had, all indicated it had been extremely rundown. He recalled seeing a rather dog-eared well thumbed, handwritten list headed “chores” extending to multiple pages, in the White Haven file. He’d wondered at the time why it was there, except to indicate the scale of repairs necessary. The bland numbered headings of “repair perimeter wall” were slotted next to “greenhouse roof” and “re-fence paddock”. Those headings didn’t give any indicators of time needed, scale of the work involved, or who was to undertake the work. Surely these were lengthy maintenance jobs to be undertaken by grounds men?

  Whilst they were undoubtedly expensive and major projects, why had they been of enough interest to be included in the file? Or had wizard Jim had a personal hand in some of these repairs? It would explain the speed of the School’s revival, but would he really have stooped to use his gift for labouring? Few wizards ever did. However, the perimeter wall had given off a discernible hum of magic, indicating either a spell was still running on it, or something magical had happened to it. It was all very curious.

  ‘Isn’t that the road to Cedar Castle?’ Cyril asked as the patrol that was accompanying them, turned off the main road and headed down a well-travelled but unpaved track.

  ‘Wizard Jim built a new bridge. This shortcut saves us about three hours.’

  ‘The wizard built a bridge?’ Cyril asked the patrol leader.

  ‘Yes. It’s not a traditional kind of bridge and is only wide enough for foot traffic, but it’s damn convenient. When the river’s dangerously high at the ford, it also means people are no longer stranded.’

  ‘How did that come about?’

  ‘I don’t really know. Perhaps he was in a hurry. He’s made patrolling the area far easier.’

  ‘If you didn’t see him do it, how do you know it was him?’

  ‘He’s the only one who would or could have done it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Only a wizard could have done it so fast and wizard Jim is known to build stuff when he sees a need. One day there was nothing there, no people or materials gathered and the next, there was a bridge. I’ve got friends who’ve seen him making stuff. They say it’s amazing to watch him working. He just does it, too, no convincing necessary. They say he holds out a hand and suddenly things are whizzing around and then a few minutes later it’s done. He makes it look so easy, too.’

  ‘He’s a strong wizard,’ Cyril affirmed. ‘How do the locals feel about him?’

  ‘We were all a little wary to start with, when we heard someone new had taken over and shaken things up in the wizard world. But he’s not thrown his weight around outside of White Haven or done anything anyone has had cause to object to. He simply moved in and sorted out the school and that in turn has given many of the local people work.’

  ‘Ordinaries aren’t worried by such a powerful wizard?’

  ‘Not that I’ve heard. He doesn’t act all superior or hide in the shadows giving unreasonable orders. That’s not his style. Whilst he doesn’t hide what he is, he makes a point of meeting his suppliers and listening to people. He’s not a faceless spooky figure.’

  Cyril nodded, impressed by how wizard Jim had countered the guild’s scaremongering. By making himself appear approachable and a part of the wider community, he’d neatly dealt with the usual reservations most ordinaries had when dealing with a wizard. ‘So, he’s viewed as harmless?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. I don’t think anyone would consider him an easy mark after what happened last autumn.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He was with a wagon of school supplies when it was ambushed by bandits. They were forced off the road and bolted across country. They ended up being trapped at the top of a cliff. Cornered and faced with dozens of armed bandits, he apparently turned and carved a brand new path. He not only created a way to escape for himself, but his men and their wagon too. He razed a large number of the attackers before the rest ran and he could make his escape.’

  ‘That sounds a tall tale,’ Cyril commented lightly.

  ‘It’s true. I think most people in the county have heard that story now. You’ll see the evidence for yourself shortly anyway. We’ll be going up the cliff path he created in his escape and cross the battleground. Ah, here’s the bridge.’

  Cyril watched his guide trot forward as the path narrowed to single-file to wind around some large trees. He wondered how much of that story was true and what was embellishment or conjecture. Shrugging to himself, he supposed things would become clearer shortly, since the sites were evidently on their route. He now turned his attention forward as he cleared the trees and the way opened to reveal a wide and fast flowing river ahead. Noticing what the patrollers were heading for, he gaped.

  ‘I see what you mean about it not being a traditional bridge,’ he remarked knowing some comment was expected. He dismounted from his horse and walked closer for a better look. Made from two toppled and interlinked trees, the structure was completely unexpected. Both trees were lushly green and living too, rather than a collection of cut logs. How had he managed that?

  ‘Are those the roots?’ one of his colleagues asked stepping to his side and pointing.

  ‘Looks that way. I don’t see any cut limbs. These trees look like they’ve fallen and grown together from either bank of the river,’ Cyril murmured in amazement. ‘He’s even created tightly woven walls so you won’t fall off. There aren’t any awkwardly positioned branches to trip over either.’ He shook his head in bemused appreciation. ‘There’s only the faintest magical residue left over from whatever spell he used.’

  ‘So you can’t tell how he did it?’ his colleague asked touching the trunk to feel the echoes for himself. ‘Mm, just the life of the tree itself now,’ he murmured. ‘There’s no ongoing spell to keep them this way either. It’s impressive work.’

  Cyril nodded and since he was being watched, decided to keep the extent of his admiration to himself. The path they followed led across the river, so with no further ado, he stepped up onto the thick bark covered twin trunks and gingerly led his horse across. The bridge flexed under the weight of his horse but didn’t feel remotely unsafe or bouncy. The two trees were nestled so tightly together there wasn’t enough of a gap to drop a foot through between them either. The side walls of this bridge were of densely woven branches, some of which were as thick as his arm and therefore strong. There were no signs of them being cut and forced into this very convenient shape, which was strange indeed.

  Stepping off the other side he watched as the rest of their party followed him across, each waiting until the one in front had stepped off before starting. Whilst the horses were peering over the sides at the drop and fast flowing river below them, none showed signs of being any more concerned than when cro
ssing a traditional stone bridge. Cyril couldn’t help but be impressed by wizard Jim’s ingenuity and resourcefulness, utilising what materials were most readily available. With this kind of eminently useful work, that benefitted everyone, it was little wonder he was so highly regarded.

  On the other side of the bridge the trail forked, one road following the riverbank, which was rutted with heavy wagon tracks and the other heading away from the river. There were signs of more traffic using both of these trails, although neither had been paved.

  The trail they now traversed was unusual in that it seemed well used but not by wagons. An hour later he had his answer as to why as they moved into hilly terrain difficult for wagons. A cliff face came into view, rising above them to block their path, yet the patrollers continued their steady trot towards it. Closer, Cyril saw why. A steep, switchback track climbed the bluff and with no railings to guard the edge, was narrow enough to be a hairy ride up.

  ‘This is the path Wizard Jim carved,’ the patroller said with a gleeful grin, watching the wizard’s shock. ‘He brought a wagon down it too.’

  ‘What?’ Cyril muttered snapping his jaw shut. Reaching out, he trailed a hand along the wall. ‘Damn, I do feel a magical residue here too. This rock looks carved, like a hot knife through butter.’ There were no chisel marks to indicate tool use, yet the smooth flat wall and precise right angle, where it met the floor, were unquestioningly manmade. Setting his jaw he urged his horse up the steep narrow switchback track, trying to avoid looking over the edge to the increasing drop. Brushing his fingers along the wall helped concentrate his mind on what he could determine of the magic used, rather than dwelling on the fear of toppling over the edge. The fact there simply wasn’t room to put a safety fence didn’t help matters. How the hell had anyone brought a wagon down here? Surely the wheels must have been right on the edge. He really hoped no one was coming down at the same time because there wasn’t the width to pass, except perhaps at the corners.

  At the top, the path widened, passing through a rough boulder strewn bluff. With land around him, rather than empty air, he felt safer and relaxed. Pausing, he turned to look back at the path. Although hairy as hell, the path was clearly well used. ‘How did this really come about? Did he have a team?’

  ‘No, as I said before, he and his men were ambushed by an army of bandits,’ the patroller said soberly. ‘They were chased to this cliff edge. You can see what an obstacle the cliff is without that path. Wizard Jim made this escape route, while his men held the attackers off his back.’

  ‘He carved stone alone and under attack?’

  ‘Yes. He had to be quick about it too as they were completely outnumbered. It wasn’t something that took hours to achieve either. He had to cast a fire spell to drive the bandits back off his men.’

  ‘He cast a fire spell, on top of the magic necessary to carve the path?’

  ‘I saw the bodies afterwards and some were badly burned. I heard Lord Aubrey’s aide, wizard Tobias, say that was what he’d done. There isn’t a battle marker as such, but Lord Aubrey ordered this plaque and over there is a memorial, to mark the grave site.’

  Cyril frowned and immediately went to look at both markers. The plaque was inset into the smooth rock at the top of the path. It was subtle but clearly visible and simply credited Wizard Jim for creating this cliff path. Raising his hand towards the plaque he felt a small tingle and knew it had been magically protected against tampering or vandalism. That was a sensible precaution given the likelihood of bereaved family, or friends of those that had died, coming here. Those bandits might have died known as an outlaw, but they were unlikely to have been one all of their lives.

  A simple unadorned stone obelisk marked the burial site. It was about six feet high and was set in a wild grassy area on the far side. It had space for names on all four faces. Two sides held a shocking number of names, all carefully and neatly inscribed by the same hand. However that person had also recorded the fact sixteen other people lay here too, as yet unidentified. Others had clearly survived though and wished to remember their dead. Many names had been chiselled in afterwards, on the two remaining, otherwise unmarked sides. In fact, as he looked closer, he realised that a number of different people had taken it upon themselves to inscribe names to add to the gravestone. All of those sixteen people had been later identified; they hadn’t been left as faceless and unnamed.

  Neatly kept beds of red and white flowering plants had been planted around the obelisk. Whilst pretty he couldn’t help thinking them an eerie mirror of the blood spilled here. The flowerbeds were free of weeds and well maintained. It was clear people were coming here to the memorial to pay their respects. This was no empty gesture by Lord Aubrey and nor had the dead’s dignity been disregarded, even though they’d fallen from grace and died in a cowardly attack. There was no blame or censure in this memorial. It was a simple marker of the site of a battle.

  Cyril rode away from that battleground with a sense of getting a glimpse into the personalities involved, both Wizard Jim and also Lord Aubrey. Everything he’d heard, and seen for himself about Jim, proved he was not hot-headed. However he was also not someone to threaten or push into a corner. He was a lion and lions had very strong protective instincts; he’d clearly fight to defend those under his protection. Once someone knew who they faced, he doubted anyone would voluntarily dare tackle a lion wizard.

  Since he’d be meeting Lord Aubrey shortly, at Cedar Castle, it was good to gain some idea of what type of leader he was too. He liked to get a feel for a leader’s personality in advance, so he’d know what kind of approach would work best. Aubrey was a warrior who clearly respected life, but was honest and practical about its inevitable end. This memorial, and the efficient way the border gate was being operated, reinforced his understanding that Lord Aubrey was also a considerate leader of his people.

  The alliance between Jim and Aubrey was what most interested him though. He was intrigued to know how they regarded one another and find out what type of relationship they had, since they were both strong characters and leaders. Did they have an amicable working relationship or was Aubrey wary of this powerful wizard? In essence Aubrey was the one most affected by Jim moving in to White Haven. Whilst he’d given Jim support publicly, how were things between them in practice? The guild and other lords needed reassurance that their relationship was a stable one and positively benefitting both sides.

  15. Martha & Stanley

  Jim was sitting in his office, immersed in never-ending paperwork, when he felt someone politely knock at the door to his mind.

  ‘Mother?’

  ‘Jim? Is that really you? You feel so different I wasn’t sure I was reaching the right person.’

  ‘I’ve changed a bit, yes. Where are you? You must be close to reach me.’

  ‘I touch this and feel you,’ she added sensing that her son had made this.

  ‘Let me see through your eyes.’

  ‘You can do that?’ she asked in surprise but then assessed the strength infusing his familiar, yet strangely unfamiliar, presence.

  ‘Ah, you’re at one of the signposts. I heard that several of the local villages were getting fed up with having a constant stream of strangers knocking on their doors asking directions, so I put in some signs. It’s helped restore good relations with our neighbours.’

  ‘Good thinking.’ Martha nodded noticing the village sat at a fork in the road. She too had considered going into the village to ask but then Stanley had noticed the sign. She eyed the simple but clear lettering carved into the wood, marked out with white paint. He’d even thought to write “3 miles” on it. Then an image popped into her head of impressive gates set within tall glossy white walls reached via an elegant bridge. He was sending her a picture of their destination and the clarity of that was crystal clear.

  ‘You’re nearly here. Excellent.’

  ‘See you soon,’ she said and reluctantly disconnected from his sparkling mind, well aware she at least, was tiring
from even this short contact.

  ‘You reached him then?’ Stanley asked as the slight hum of magic use ceased.

  ‘Yes. That’s where we’re going,’ she added patting the signpost. ‘He made this.’

  ‘I did wonder why you kept touching it,’ Stanley remarked, reaching over to feel the remaining traces of his son’s magical signature for himself. ‘You’re right; I do feel his touch in this. Come on, we’re not far now. I can’t wait to meet his fiancée and of course our granddaughter too.’

  Martha grinned back at him and they urged their horses into a brisk trot. After weeks of travel, both on horseback and the lengthy trip aboard a ship, they were both eager to arrive. She brushed her fingers over another signpost, where a side road met the one they traversed and they knew to turn off.

  ‘This is where we’re going?’ Stanley asked and she nodded, stepping aside so her horse was no longer blocking his view. Created out of the same white rock as the walls, beyond the bridge, was a large sign. Two white stone pillars supported a black wrought iron cross bar from which an oval sign hung on black chains. Engraved lettering, defined in black, declared they’d reached White Haven School. Above the lettering was a delicately carved unicorn crest. Absently tracing that unusual shape with his fingers, he wondered about the history of that crest, but that was a question for later. Aware they were being watched from the towers; they hastened up to the gates and gave their names.

  The guard at the gate had obviously been told to expect them and immediately waved them through, advising them to carry on up the drive to the school. The big solid gates clanked closed behind them with prompt efficiency. The broad tree-lined avenue invited them on and their horse’s hooves crunched on the fine gravel surface. The bustle of a busy village, on their left, drew their attention and they peered curiously through an open gateway in the hedge. They carried on past; Jim waited. Maybe they could explore later. About half a mile away, they caught glimpses through the trees, of a large stately house built of white stone.