The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1)

by Beach, B. J.

  Turning back to the table, he tapped the globe. “You will notice that the names of the continents bear only slight resemblance to the names of their disciplines. This is because their names have changed over hundreds of years, whereas the disciplines reflect their original names, which were Rhamnia, Altanica, Vedria and Talmaion.” He grinned. “For some obscure reason there is no ‘ic’ on the end of ours.”

  Karryl grinned back, appreciating the touch of humour. Elbows resting on the table, he then spent the next hour listening intently as Symon told him more than he had ever learned at school about the world on which he lived. Symon spun the globe until a land mass coloured in green was facing him.

  He dabbed at it with his slender forefinger. “The continent of Teloria on which we live, and the smallest of the four, was once called Talmaion, and has always been a temperate land, which makes it a very pleasant place to live. And here is our own country of Albita.” He indicated its position on the globe as he spoke.

  As he tapped the bottom of the globe, near where it joined the stand, he gave a theatrical little shiver. “This is, as it always has been, the icebound continent of Altanica, and is about three times as large as Teloria. Its winters are very long and its summers short. The few people who inhabit it are brown-skinned and wiry, relying on fishing and fur-trapping for their living.”

  He gave the globe a quarter turn and pointed to a large, almost triangular area near the centre, coloured in varying shades of yellow. “This is Ingalia, formerly Rhamnia, the second largest and a land of extremes. It has temperate zones, steaming jungles, hot dry deserts, forests and snow-capped mountains, all depending on where you happen to be. It is here that the mages use the Rhamnic, which does bear some striking similarities to Talmion. It also has some distinctly recognisable differences, some of which I consider to be unnecessarily elaborate. Nevertheless, the two are compatible.”

  He spun the globe again. “Now, this is Gamdonia.” He stabbed his fore-finger at the depiction of a huge landmass covering almost a third of the globe. Coloured bright orange and red, it was interspersed with areas of varying size, coloured in blue and green. “It is the largest of the four continents, and here…” he stabbed at a long, broad coastal strip, “… is the country of Naboria.”

  Karryl looked more closely and could see that the massive continent consisted of several clearly defined countries with strange names, all surrounding a large central area simply labelled ‘Desert’.

  Karryl ran his finger round the outline. “It looks like a big ink blot.” Symon gave a derisive snort. “A blot, certainly. Fortunately, it is sufficiently far away for it to have little influence on our peaceful lifestyle. The people of Gamdonia are, for the most part, dark-skinned, arrogant and noisy, and the Vedric discipline, if you can call it that, leaves a lot to be desired. It makes my blood boil to hear the beautiful phrases of the universal language being uttered by such uncouth mouths, and for such…such…” He circled his hands in the air while he searched for a suitable word. “Such despicable purposes.”

  He almost spat the last words and Karryl gasped and sat back in his chair, stunned at this uncharacteristic behaviour. Folding his hands, Symon closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths as if to compose himself.

  Turning to Karryl, he inclined his head. “Forgive my outburst. My memories of the continent of Gamdonia are not the most pleasant. Before you eventually go out into the world as a fully fledged magician, I may tell you about them, but this is not the time. Now, let us have a somewhat belated lunch, then for what remains of the afternoon you may get your notebook and we will study the world in greater depth. Well, three quarters of it anyway.” he added wryly.

  That was the afternoon, Karryl had cause to reflect much later, that his education in the magical arts had begun in earnest. The previous few weeks had been relaxed and unregimented, and he had been given a virtually free rein, looking at and questioning whatever and wherever his fancy took him, but the settling in period for both Master and apprentice was now over.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The next few weeks flew by as the little magician guided his rapidly maturing protégé through a steadily increasing regime of study in a range of subjects so diverse that Karryl sometimes wondered if he would take it all in. The shelves in his room were soon filled with the books and scrolls which Symon termed ‘required reading’. He often found himself studying far into the night, either in an armchair by the fire or, as the winter increased its grip, snuggled up in bed with a warm blanket around his shoulders.

  It was on one of these chilly evenings, as the first light snowfall of the season was sprinkling everything with white, that Karryl was sitting at the table, grappling with the task Symon had set him to ‘define the differences between the Rhamnic and Talmion Codes of Discipline.’ He was sitting gazing at nothing in particular, tapping his quill against his teeth as he pondered.

  “Don’t chew your quill, Karryl.”

  “No-o-o-o.” answered Karryl vaguely. “I was just thinking.”

  “That’s good. Now, while I have your attention, I have just remembered. Tomorrow is a rather special day; for you anyway, and we must be up early.”

  Karryl put down his quill and closed his inkpot.

  Symon smiled. “I thought it was about time you met His Majesty, so I have made an appointment for us at the ninth hour.”

  Karryl’s eyebrows made a frantic dash for his hairline. “You mean, I…we …I’m going to meet King Vailin in person!?”

  Symon chuckled and patted his palms together. “There’s no need for you to worry. Although he is young, he is an excellent king with a good head on his shoulders. I held him on the day he was born, and his father, also King Vailin, if you remember your history, was a good friend to me. I recall when…”

  He stopped and wagged his finger in the air. “Ah. No. This is no time for reminiscences. It would be better if I gave you some instruction on the proper way to conduct yourself when you meet His Majesty, not that I think you’ll have any difficulty. The man is quite human, after all, no airs and graces, very ‘well grounded’ as we say. In fact, you remind me a lot of him when he was your age, although I think young prince Vailin was of a more serious frame of mind.”

  Karryl grinned. He’d been finding it hard to keep a straight face anyway with a whole gamut of emotions flooding through him, but mostly a strange mix of excitement and trepidation. Resting his elbows on the table he cupped his chin in his hands to prevent himself releasing the whoop of delight building up inside him. He tried hard to concentrate as Symon explained what he should expect, how he should conduct himself, and what he could expect to see.

  Symon’s next words carried a different tone. “I don’t think you ought to visit the palace wearing those clothes though, do you?”

  Karryl looked down at the rather drab but serviceable clothes he was wearing. Giving a desultory flick to the grey woollen tunic he had retrieved from Symon’s box, he thought for a moment. “Shall I go and see what else I can find?”

  The little magician shook his head. “You won’t find anything suitable in that old box.”

  He leaned back and clasped his hands on his chest. “However, you will find in the wardrobe in your room, some clothes that will be. Oh! And some boots, which I promised some time ago, but have only just got round to.”

  He gestured towards Karryl’s room. “Go and try them on. I think they’ll fit. Then give them a good brushing.”

  Nearly falling over his feet in his haste, his grinning young apprentice dashed off to his room, while Symon wandered towards the kitchen. He thought it very unlikely that any more worthwhile studying would be done on this day.

  Karryl paused in the act of opening his door and grinned over his shoulder at Symon. “It’s a pity this wasn’t next week.”

  Symon turned and raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

  Feigning astonishment, Karryl raised his hands in the air. “Didn’t you know? It’s my birthday!”

/>   He slipped into his room, leaving Symon chuckling. “Cheeky young scamp.” The little magician scurried off into the kitchen to prepare supper, muttering good-naturedly to himself.

  * * *

  Their faces tingled in the frosty air as they briskly walked the mile-long, tree-lined incline to the palace. This time, much to Karryl’s relief, they didn’t emerge through a gap in a hedge. Symon led the way across a small paved courtyard surrounded by a high grey brick wall, and stopped in front of a large iron-studded wooden door. Carved into the lichen-blotched key-stone of the arched doorway was the ancient royal crest, a Grelfon with its head bowed beneath the crown. Symon reached into a niche in the wall and pulled down on an ornately worked bronze handle. Master and apprentice listened as an unseen bell’s metallic jingling gradually faded away, but the door remained shut. The pair stamped their chilling feet in the thin covering of previous night’s snow.

  A worried expression on his face, Karryl looked about for any signs of outside activity. “D’you think we should knock, or ring again?”

  Symon chuckled. Reaching up, he broke away a large cobweb liberally strewn with the husks of drained flies and other bits of windblown dross, festooned across the door. “No need. This is what is known as the Mages’ door, and as you can see, it is seldom used. When the bell rings, a check is made to see whether any magician is expected. If not, the door is not opened.”

  “But suppose you hadn’t had time to make an appointment!”

  Symon looked almost gleeful. “Then it would be an emergency and I would go hurtling through the main entrance as fast as my little legs would carry me.”

  Giving Karryl a conspiratorial wink he turned to face the door as they heard the sound of bolts being drawn. Karryl’s sigh of relief rose in a white cloud on the frosty air. The door swung silently back, opened by a sternly countenanced footman clad in conservative dark blue, its severity only alleviated by a single row of gold buttons down the front of his immaculately tailored jacket.

  As magician and apprentice stepped inside Symon looked up with a smile. “Ah! Good morning Jobling.”

  The footman bowed respectfully to Symon. “Good day, my Lord.” He inclined his head towards Karryl. “Good day, young Master. You are expected.” He began to lead them briskly along a wide but dimly lit corridor. “Please be so kind as to follow me.”

  Karryl was baffled. He gave the sleeve of Symon’s cream coloured robe a tug, and whispered in his ear.”Why did he call you ‘my Lord’?”

  Symon turned slightly and gave his young apprentice an enigmatic smile, but no reply, merely placing a finger to his lips in a tacit request for silence. Blowing out his cheeks in frustration, Karryl dutifully followed, his curiosity burning deep. They turned right into an intersecting corridor, a few more paces bringing them to a small four-panelled door, in the centre of which was a large bronze door-knob. Jobling reached out and placed his hand, fingers outspread, flat on the top left-hand panel. Feeling a slight tingling of his skin, Karryl released an audible gasp, causing Symon to turn and give an almost imperceptible shake of his head. The footman stood for a few seconds as if listening, then nodding to Symon, stepped to one side. Karryl’s skin continued to tingle as Symon moved up to the door and made a brief gesture with one hand before reaching out and grasping the door-knob.

  The door swung silently outwards and the little magician led the way into a small ante-chamber. Tastefully furnished, it housed some well stocked book-shelves, two comfortable chairs and, to Karryl’s delight, a table laden with a selection of savoury pies, fruit and cakes. A glass flagon of what appeared to be fruit juice graced the centre of a small sideboard. Hearing the door close with a soft thump, Karryl turned towards it, but his gaze fell only on a timber panelled wall. He could see nothing to indicate that a door was ever there, and Jobling the footman had obviously remained outside.

  Turning back to the table, Karryl grinned, his eyes shining. “Is this for us?”

  Symon nodded an affirmative, and Karryl reached for an apple pie, only to find Symon’s hand grasping his wrist. “We shall return this way, then you can eat your fill before we leave. I doubt whether you would have time to finish that now, anyway. Imagine how it would look, meeting His Majesty for the first time with crumbs on your tunic.”

  Karryl managed to look sheepish, then began to take a closer interest in his surroundings. After a few moments of quiet observation, he turned to the little magician, a knowing smile curving his mouth. “I don’t see any doors. They’re all magical aren’t they? And was that footman using magic, or was that just you I was sensing?”

  Symon patted the palms of his hands together, his eyes twinkling. “Very good, but so many questions! Yes, he was using magic. Most of the senior palace staff have some basic magical ability. In fact, a few, including His Majesty, are quite proficient if not sufficiently adept to become qualified magicians. That is why he has taken such an interest in you, so try not to be too surprised at anything you may see or hear.”

  Just as he finished speaking, they both felt an uncomfortable surge, and Symon frowned, shaking his head in disapproval. “That was sloppy. I thought he’d mastered that.”

  A small, plain door had appeared in the wall, opposite the one through which they had entered. Symon steered Karryl forward, making a simple gesture as he did so. The door opened towards them, revealing the back of a heavy wine-red curtain.

  As he reached out towards it, Symon spoke quietly. “Remember what I told you. Bow from the waist, and don’t look up until His Majesty speaks to you. All right?”

  Karryl’s heart was thumping double time, and he wiped his hands nervously down the front of his new dark green tunic. Pulling the curtain aside, Symon revealed what was to be the first of many views Karryl was to have of the throne room. He was given no opportunity to look around as he felt Symon’s fingers touch his arm and he stepped forward. Keeping his eyes fixed on a point on the carpeted floor a few paces ahead, Karryl moved briskly towards the figure seated directly in front of him. About five paces away he stopped, bowed stiffly from the waist and waited. From the corner of his eye he noticed Symon’s feet and the hem of his robe moving past him, until they disappeared from the periphery of his vision.

  “Welcome, Karryl.”

  The voice was warm, deep and vibrant. Karryl straightened up and looked at the man seated on the ornately carved throne in front of him. He bore no resemblance to the image of the king that Karryl had conjured up in his mind. He looked about the same age as he imagined Joel’s brother Ghian would be, and was leaning back, hands resting on the arms of the throne, his legs crossed at the ankles. There was little evidence of the trappings and regalia of majesty. His deep maroon robe was trimmed at hem, sleeve and neck with an unpretentious design in gold and silver thread, while his dark brown shoulder-length hair shone smoothly beneath a simple gold circlet, adorned on the front by a large pigeon’s-blood ruby.

  King Vailin II leaned forward, elbows on the arms of his throne. “I’ve heard a lot about you from your worthy tutor.”

  He smiled and indicated Symon who was, Karryl now noticed, standing to the left of, and slightly behind the king. “Tell me something about yourself.”

  Karryl took a brief glance around while he gathered his thoughts. He noticed that apart from the king, Symon, himself, and a splendidly attired guard with grounded halberd standing stiffly at each side of the room, no-one was present. He clasped his hands behind his back, then catching an encouraging nod and, to his surprise, a wink from Symon, he decided to start at the beginning. His confidence grew as he told King Vailin a little about his past and his schooling, while the king listened intently, nodding occasionally, or asking a question.

  Just as Karryl was about to relate his experiences as an apprentice magician, Vailin held up his hand and smiled warmly. “That will do for now, Karryl. Thank you. I have enjoyed your visit. No doubt we will meet again.”

  The king turned and nodded at Symon. The little magician took a pa
ce forward, stopped and frowned at his apprentice, who was still gazing in awe at the young king. Catching Symon’s eye and noting the frown, Karryl suddenly realised what was amiss. Placing his right arm across his stomach he made a respectful bow, as he had when he first came in.

  Feeling Symon’s hand on his arm, he straightened up and Symon leaned to murmur in his ear. “Go and wait in the ante-room. On the table you will find two parchments. Read them carefully, then if you agree with what is written, sign them. I have matters to discuss with His Majesty, but I shouldn’t be too long.” A twinkle appeared in his dove grey eyes. “Now you may eat as many pies as you wish.”

  Symon ushered him to the back of the room, gestured briefly then pulled aside the heavy curtain. The door stood open and Karryl stepped inside. Hearing the door thump softly behind him, and noticing the parchments lying on the table, he picked up one of the documents and a pie. Settled down in one of the comfortable chairs he began to read.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  King Vailin II stood, stretched, and removed his jewelled circlet, dropping it carelessly on the cushioned seat of the throne. “That’s a good lad you have there. Do you think he’ll make it? “

  Symon gave an assertive nod. “Oh yes. He’s already exceeded most of my expectations, and I have great hopes for him. He has a good memory, an eye for detail, and is very observant. It’s the latter which brings me to a subject I would like to discuss with you. Now, if you have the time.”

  Vailin put a forefinger to his chin in exaggerated thoughtfulness, then smiled. “I always have time to talk with you Symon. It helps to take my mind off being a king for a while.”

  Symon made a wry face. “Well I don’t think it will this time.”

  Vailin’s expression changed to one of concern. “Then we’ll go to my rooms. My secretary can handle anything that needs my attention. Will Karryl be all right on his own?”

  Symon wagged a dismissive hand. “Oh I’m sure he will. As long as he has books and food, he’ll be fine.”