Spellsmith & Carver: Magicians' Rivalry

by H. L. Burke

  Spellsmith & Carver

  Magicians’ Rivalry

  H. L. Burke

  For information about H. L. Burke’s latest novels, to sign up for the author’s monthly newsletter, or to contact the writer, go to

  www.hlburkeauthor.com

  and sign up for the author’s newsletter!

  Free eBook for Newsletter Subscribers!

  Copyright © 2017 H. L. Burke

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1537359212

  ISBN-13: 1537359215

  Cover Design: Jennifer White

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter One

  Auric Spellsmith straightened his burgundy cravat as he stepped off the train onto the wooden platform. The train hissed out a breath of steam. No one else disembarked. The platform was empty except for an elderly woman sitting at the ticket booth. The uneven cobblestone street of the ancient town disappeared into a morning fog.

  Five years and Mountain’s Foot hasn’t changed at all.

  Before Auric could collect his thoughts, the whistle screeched and the wheels clanked. The train pulled away from the station, leaving him stranded.

  “Well, that’s that.” He snorted.

  Tightening his hold on his carpet bag, he paced the edge of the platform. No carriage awaited. Perhaps his letter hadn’t made it before him. After all, mail service was hardly reliable in this backwater.

  The train will turn around at the next stop and head back to the Capital, doubt whispered to him. You could catch it then. Father doesn’t care. If he cared, he’d be here, now.

  Uncertain what to do and unwilling to walk the five miles to his secluded family estate, Auric sat on a bench and ran his fingers through his short, red-gold beard.

  The morning air nipped at him. He’d dressed for spring, forgetting that spring took a good two months longer to reach the mountain villages than it did the sunny valleys. He buttoned the brass buttons of his blue frock coat then drew a wooden case about the size of a book from his carpet bag. He flipped it open, revealing a sheet of yellow wax and his metal stylus, a magically enchanted rod about the length of his index finger. After a pause for thought, he scratched the commencement symbol for a basic spell, then followed it up with a sun symbol for warmth and energy, then a proximity symbol to control the output, and finally a closing activation symbol. At the last stroke of the final symbol, gold light raced across the writing. Magical energies obeyed the commands, coalescing around him and pushing back the chill. He smiled and closed his eyes to savor the warmth.

  “Excuse me, young man?”

  Auric whirled to face the voice.

  From out of the fog, which had thickened to the consistency of cotton gauze, stepped a man with silver-white hair but an ageless face. He stood shorter than Auric—who was used to tilting his head up slightly during most conversations. With clothes—a brown frock coat and knee trousers, old fashioned but well-tailored—suggested a merchant or gentleman farmer rather than a tradesman.

  Auric lowered his head in a polite bow. “Yes?”

  “Am I mistaken or did you just perform magic?” The man raised an eyebrow.

  “Simple warming spell is all. Nothing much.”

  “Ah, you must forgive my curiosity. In these parts, there is usually only one magician per town, and he is usually, to put it bluntly, far older than you are. For instance, the local magician, Hedward Spellsmith, has served our community for nearly … oh, I’d say easily longer than you’ve been alive.”

  Auric swallowed a scowl. “Yes, easily. Actually, Hedward Spellsmith is my father.”

  “Of course! So is he training you to take over his office one day?”

  “No, actually, I haven’t seen him in a number of years. I chose to study at the Magicians’ Academy in the Capital.” Auric eyed the man. Yes, it had been five years since he’d lived in Mountain’s Foot, but even so, he could remember most of the inhabitants—the well-off ones, anyway, and this man’s garments suggested money. It wasn’t as if there were that many folk living here. This man was strange to him, and while he knew of Auric’s father, he obviously didn’t know of Auric’s existence.

  “Well, that is impressive.” The man’s next statement soothed Auric’s growing defensiveness. “Your father must be very proud, having a son training with the great Magicians of the Republic.”

  “Well …”

  Hoofbeats clapped in the stone street. A carriage lantern gleamed in the murk, and the man’s face fell. He cleared his throat. “I believe your ride is here.”

  “My ride?” Auric glanced towards the street and found the fog parting like a curtain. A small one-horse gig approached. A grin swept over Auric’s face. “Rill.”

  He turned to address the stranger, but the man was gone.

  “Aurry!” His sister’s exuberant voice chased away the confusion, and Auric jumped from the platform. He ran to sweep her up as she clambered down from her carriage seat. She buried her flaxen head against his chest, her fingers tightening into his coat.

  Rill wore a plum riding coat and a simple white carriage dress embroidered in lavender flowers he assumed she’d sewn on herself. Though only seventeen, she looked every bit a lady.

  He stared incredulously down at her. “No, this is wrong.” He placed his finger under her chin and narrowed his eyes. “No ridiculous hair bows? No silly upturned nose and rosy apple cheeks? Excuse me, miss, I’m looking for my baby sister, but somehow she’s been replaced by a woman.”

  “Oh, stop it.” She gently slapped his chest, though her blue eyes twinkled. “You’re one to talk, anyway.” She pinched the hair on his chin.

  “Ouch!” He gave an exaggerated wince.

  “I still remember when you put charcoal on your lip hair in an attempt to make it look like a full-fledged mustache.” She teased.

  “That never happened, liar.” He let her go.

  “Yes, it did.” She put her hands on her hips. “I remember perfectly. You were twelve and you covered your face with charcoal dust trying to fool people into thinking you were a man.”

  “I was eleven, not twelve,” he corrected.

  She grinned. “I thought you said it didn’t happen.”

  “It didn’t.” He winked. “But if it did, it would’ve been when I was eleven, not twelve.”

  Something clanked at Auric’s feet, and he glanced down. Jaspyr, a small fox made of gleaming bronze plating, clockwork, and sparking magical energy, rubbed against Rill’s skirts then cast a smoldering, yellow-eyed gaze at Auric. Jaspyr’s metal face was eerily life-like, as animated as any living fox, realistic in spite of his fur-less bronze exterior.

  “He’s still ticking, huh?” Auric nodded at the metal pet.

  “Of course. Father has to re-enchant him every so often, but I’m sure he’ll last as long as I do, if not longer.”
Rill scooped up her pet and rubbed his shiny ears. “He’s a good boy, yes, he is.” The mechanical animal tilted his head to one side and hummed a metallic purr.

  Auric eyed the empty coach, and an ache filled his rib cage. “So, Father?”

  Rill’s chin dropped. “He wanted to come, but something happened with his monitoring wards, and he was so caught up in it, I just left without him rather than waste more time trying to coax him out the door. I promise, he really wanted to greet you. It’s my fault, Aurry. Not his.”

  “Sure.” Auric’s shoulders slumped. It seemed a poor excuse. True, most magicians tracked Fey energies coming into the world, looking for spikes or anomalies. Most of their family’s income came from the shop’s government contract to monitor these things. However, it was mostly an honorary position. Magical spikes in this part of the country rarely reached a severity that required address. His father used to take the readings once a week, not every day. He should’ve been able to put off that part of his duties until after Auric’s arrival.

  Auric pushed aside his father’s absence. After all, Hedward had always been a worrier. Perhaps there really was a spike large enough to demand immediate attention; his son could give him the benefit of the doubt. Auric forced a smile. “Well, are we going to stand here all day or are we going to get home?”

  He helped Rill into the gig then scrambled up beside her.

  Jaspyr sniffed around the platform, his tail switching like a pendulum and quiet growls slipping from his clenched iron teeth.

  “What’s gotten into him?” Rill snapped her fingers. “Jaspyr!”

  The fox dashed towards the carriage. He leaped into Rill’s arms, the springs in his joints squeaking as he landed. The horse nickered nervously.

  Auric took the reins and pulled away from the station. Jaspyr curled into a tight ball on Rill’s lap.

  “So, was the Academy everything you hoped and dreamed it would be?” Rill arched an almost invisible eyebrow.

  Auric chuckled. “Yes, actually, it was. The Republic’s magicians are doing such amazing things now, Rill, you wouldn’t believe it. They’ve harnessed the energy of the Fey realms to light and warm homes, to power factories. The progress in the last decade alone is incredible.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “Father says that to gather the power, they’ve been ripping larger and larger tears into the boundaries between our world and the Fey Lands.”

  “It’s not like we’re hurting anything. The Feys’ energy restores itself.”

  “You shouldn’t say that around Father, if you want to avoid an argument.” Rill stroked Jaspyr’s bronze plating. “He’s set in his beliefs, and I’d hate to see you two start a row on your first day home.”

  “I’ll do my best to keep the peace.” He squeezed her hand.

  The town of Mountain’s Foot clung to the rolling foothills around the mountain known as the Fairy Steeple. This great peak jutted from the forest like a dagger, a white-capped presence overshadowing the village, farms, and woods. There was only one major road, a winding cobblestone affair lined with workshops and merchants: one carpenter, one bookseller, one baker, one butcher. It was a thriving little town where nothing ever happened. No one ever came, and no one ever left. Except Auric. Auric had left, and with every creak of the wagon wheels he wondered, why in the name of all that was holy was he coming back now?

  “So Father was caught up in his monitoring wards?” he asked.

  “Yes, apparently they indicated some sort of spike in the Fey energy levels this morning. It had him near frantic. It wouldn’t have been an issue, but today is Jericho’s day off, so there was no one else to look after the shop.”

  “Jericho?” Auric furrowed his brow. “Who or what is Jericho?”

  “I told you about him in my letters. I’m sure I did.”

  Auric thought back. His family hadn’t written often, and he sometimes merely skimmed the correspondence, finding it unaccountably painful to think about life around the workshop continuing without him. “I guess. Is he the servant you hired a few years back?”

  Her jaw dropped. “Servant? Did you really not read a word I wrote? He’s Father’s apprentice.”

  The reins slipped in Auric’s hands, and he tightened his grasp. “Apprentice? What does Father want with an apprentice?”

  “Well, you were gone, and there were a lot of tasks to do for just one magician. He hired Jericho a few months after you went to the Capital. He’s really very talented, sharp as they come, and such a hard worker. He’s been a blessing for Father.” She continued to pet her fox. “What did you think would happen when you left? Father couldn’t keep the shop alone.”

  Auric shook his head. “I kind of hoped he’d train you. You’ve always wanted that, haven’t you?”

  Rill angled away from him. “Oh, well … that wasn’t going to happen. You know Father’s opinions on women and magic.”

  “Silly, superstitious nonsense.” Auric snorted. “There are plenty of female magicians at the Academy, Rill, and none of them have had their brains addled.”

  “Yes, but with what happened with Mother, you can’t really blame him for being protective.”

  Auric’s stomach twisted. “Magic didn’t make Mother leave, Rill. She did that all on her own.”

  As they passed the last shop, the fog lifted, revealing a perfect spring day. Farms and orchards lined the final stretch of the road to Spellsmith Manor. The air smelt fresh, and a cow lowed somewhere in the distance.

  Auric rubbed his thumb up and down the leather reins. He hadn’t expected Father to replace him so easily. Most businesses and positions were passed down father to son, and everyone knew Master Hedward already had a son, studying elsewhere or not. “So this Jericho?” He eyed Rill.

  “He’s wonderful, Aurry. Calm and practical, knows how to manage Father’s moods better than myself even.” Her tiny mouth formed a barely perceptible pout. “I do hope you get along with him.”

  “I’ll do my best. Jericho what, though?” Auric knew the names of all the magicians in the neighboring towns. If Father had hired the second son of one of them, rather than the child of a merchant or a government official, it might be harder to reclaim his rightful place.

  “Carver, Jericho Carver.”

  Relief swept through Auric’s chest, and he laughed. “Carver? Isn’t that the town carpenter?”

  “His nephew, the senior one. He’ll be twenty-one this fall, so a few months older than you.” Rill smoothed her skirt. Reaching into a pocket in the gig’s door, she withdrew an embroidery hoop and concentrated on stitching. Jaspyr yawned and eased off her lap onto the seat beside her.

  “Well, it’s good of Father to give him the work.” Auric smiled. While the local church provided basic education for the surrounding village, few craftsmen saw value in it, preferring their children to work beside them as soon as they could walk. Chances are this Jericho would be barely literate. Apprentice had to be an honorary title, not any sort of contract.

  Blossoming cherry trees dripped white petals over their path. Auric inhaled the sweet scent. Yes, his worry was for nothing. It might take a while to convince Father to apply the new methods Auric had learned at school, but they were so much more efficient. After a few demonstrations, Auric would win him over. Then he’d work on convincing him to let Rill have a chance in the workshop. Rill was sharp; often she’d taken her lessons alongside Auric in spite of the gap in their ages. She’d be a good partner in magic. Jericho could stay on as a glorified servant if he liked, but he wouldn’t be needed now that Auric had returned.

  He pulled the horse to a stop outside the iron gate and waited as Rill scurried down to unlock it, Jaspyr frisking at her side. The house rose before them on the other side of an overgrown garden alive with stately alders and flowering ash.

  “What happened to Mattias?” Auric waved a hand towards the ash limbs overhanging the pathway to the house.

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “I’m just surprised at the state
of these trees. If Father’s still employing a gardener, why haven’t they been trimmed?” He eased the carriage through the gate and up to their small stable. Old Will, their elderly stable-hand, ambled out and took the reins. “Thank you.” Auric nodded to him, dismounting with his carpet bag.

  “Good to see you home again, Master Auric,” Will said.

  Auric returned to Rill at the garden path and took her arm. Closer examination showed that Mattias had indeed seen to the flower beds and hedges; they were trimmed and weeded as always. Only the trees sprawled out in a disorderly fashion.

  “Father likes it this way now.” Rill ran her hand over the scaly bark of an alder. “I rather do as well. He told Mattias not to touch the trees.”

  “Huh.” Morning glories twined up the trunks, another thing a good gardener shouldn’t have allowed, but which, Auric suspected, had more to do with his father’s meddling than Mattias slipping in his work. Two marble planters stood on either side of the wooden door to their home, filled to bursting with primrose and forget-me-nots. Auric froze. “What happened to … to the bluebells?” He almost forgot himself and named them “Mother’s bluebells,” even though she hadn’t been home in over a decade to tend to them.

  “Replaced, not long after you left.” Rill touched the door’s handle. “Really, Aurry, if you are going to question everything that has changed in the last five years, you’re going to make for a very dull conversationalist.”

  She tucked her embroidery hoop under her arm, clicked her tongue for Jaspyr, and opened the door.

  An aroma of rosemary and fennel wafted out to greet them. Bundles of both herbs hung over the entryway and even the window. Auric raised his eyebrows. Father had always been peculiar, but at least he used to keep the house presentable and the herbs to the kitchen.

  “I think it smells nice,” Rill said.

  He started then grinned. Five years of separation hadn’t deprived her of the ability to read him like a book.