The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1)

by Beach, B. J.

  “Do you go there every year?”

  “Oh yes. But not usually for the whole Festival period. It’s just that I have things to do and people to see, and being resident at the palace makes it so much easier. It seems to give my position as Royal Magician more credence somehow. It’s surprising how dismissive some people can be about magic and magicians, even though our credibility has long been established. Even with a Royal Charter we are often ridiculed you know, and the number who do not believe in magic far outweighs those that do.”

  “But surely most people these days have seen magic being used!”

  “Yes, but the problem is, they’re still not prepared to accept what they see with their own eyes. To those who are not born with at least a tendency towards the gift, and mark me they are in the majority, magic defies explanation and therefore is not real, and can have no practical purpose. They either dismiss it, or simply refuse to talk about it.

  “The best part is though, these people say that the use of magic is flying in the face of the deities. Unfortunately, what they will not accept is, the magic was given to us by the deities in the first place.”

  Karryl’s mouth fell open and he stared at Symon. “You mean the gods? They give us magic? I thought it was just a gift we were born with, and it was just a matter of saying the right spells in the proper way.”

  Symon chuckled, looked about him and raised a finger in the air. “You’d better not let D’ta hear you say that. After all, she is the one who guards and guides all magicians, the good ones anyway. It’s a pity she has a constant battle with those who would use their powers for wrong-doing, after she had the grace to give them the gift in the first place.”

  Karryl frowned and scratched his head. “But why did D’ta give them the gift if she knew they were going to misuse it?”

  Symon looked long and hard at Karryl, as if to ascertain whether his question was genuine, then turned away and began to select vegetables from a basket. “I think this discussion is heading deep into the realms of theology, which is not one of my favourite subjects.” He grinned, and waved a carrot. “Perhaps you would best be answered if you asked D’ta yourself!”

  Karryl laughed out loud, his expression one of disbelief. “Are you saying I should go to the temple and ask the goddess why she does what she does? Do you honestly think I would get an answer?”

  The little magician sliced carrots, and gave his apprentice a sidelong glance. “I think you would if your question was genuine, and you believed that you would. Try it some time. D’ta is very fond of you, you know.”

  “How could you possibly know that? Do you talk to her?”

  As if taking time to frame a reply, Symon finished slicing, and placed the pot of carrots very slowly and deliberately on the stove. He turned, folded his arms, and looked up into Karryl’s grinning face.”Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Now go and lay the table and get yourself ready for supper.”

  With that he crossed the kitchen and busied himself in one of the cupboards, leaving Karryl with a table to lay, and a lot to think about.

  CHAPTER THIRTYTHREE

  In the Great Hall, everything was prepared for the Apprentices’ Party. Long trestle tables covered with clean white bed sheets, were set in two parallel rows along the length of the room. At each place was set a scrubbed wooden plate, a spoon, and a horn tankard set in a pewter base. Spaced at regular intervals along the tables were large shallow baskets overflowing with various fruits, while a section at the farthest end from the doorway had jugs of wine standing between the baskets.

  In contrast to the Citizens’ party at the City Hall where everyone had sat squashed together thigh to thigh on long wooden benches, here there was a chair, albeit a simple straight-backed wooden one, for each apprentice. Also, on each wooden plate lay a small piece of parchment bearing the name of the apprentice whose seat it was. The writing of these place markers was a task which fell every winter to the first year apprentices of the Scribes’ Guild, once the register of those wishing to attend had been completed.

  The heavy beams overhead were wound around and swagged with long trails of ivy, while circles and sunburst shapes crafted from brightly berried holly and other evergreens, were hung high along the plastered and painted stone walls. Oil lanterns hung everywhere, some with their glass painted specially for the occasion, sending random shafts of colour into different areas of the hall. To the first year apprentices who had never seen it before, everything looked warm, inviting, and completely magical, while all the older ones, as they did each year, agreed unanimously that it was much better than the year before.

  It seemed to Jobling, as he made his final check of the seating arrangements, that all the city’s apprentices had arrived at once. They now pushed and jostled in a motley gaggle at one end of the hall, all chattering and laughing, paying little attention to the senior apprentices and the small complement of journeymen who were moving amongst them in an attempt to maintain some kind of order.

  As the sound of dozens of adolescent voices grew gradually louder, threatening to reach a crescendo there was a loud “Ssshh” from one of the journeymen. As if sensing this was rather more than the usual request to keep the noise down, all the apprentices abruptly ceased their chattering. Every eye turned to the dais at the far end of the hall, where another table was set at right angles, to overlook those on the main floor. Everyone stood in respectful silence as, resplendent in their official gowns, robes and headwear, the twenty-two Masters of the various Guilds entered through a side door and made their way onto the dais.

  As the Masters took their places, one of the journeymen moved to the front of the gathered apprentices, turned to face them, and lifting his hands brought them swiftly together. Needing no further prompting, his charges followed his lead only a split second behind and loudly applauded their Masters. As one, they briefly bowed their heads in acknowledgement, before seating themselves at their decorated and candlelit table. This was their night too, giving them the one opportunity in the year to put aside training and tutoring, and instead meet the young people socially.

  Having arrived early anyway, and being rather tall for his age, Karryl was able to see clearly over the heads of the few who stood in front of him. He searched along the length of the Masters’ table for Symon. His face fell when he noticed a vacant chair a couple of places from the end, and realised his Master was not among the others. He stood for a few moments watching the small door at the back of the hall, through which the Masters had entered, in case Symon just happened to be a few minutes late. With a sigh of disappointment he turned and looked behind him. It was only then he noticed that the buzzing crowd of apprentices had separated into smaller groups, and he was standing virtually alone.

  One of the journeymen, who had volunteered earlier in the year to shepherd this particular flock, moved across and stood beside him. “Hello. I’m Braen, of the Guild of Silversmiths. What Guild are you apprenticed to?”

  Karryl grinned as he looked at shining hazel eyes and an almost equally shining head. Although apparently still in his mid twenties, Braen was completely bald, but it seemed to bother him not one iota, as he smiled and held out a hand.

  Karryl quickly grasped it. “I’m a one off. My Master is Symon, Magician to the Royal Household, but he doesn’t seem to be here.”

  Braen smiled and gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. The party isn’t due to begin for a few more minutes. There’s still time for him to arrive.” He leaned forward as if to share some secret. “It will give you chance to get to know some of the others.”

  This didn’t seem to help very much, and Karryl looked around the hall, trying to peer into some of the darker corners in case Symon was watching unobserved, but apart from one or two guards at the doorways, everyone else seemed to be in plain sight. He was beginning to feel slightly dejected and alone. Most of the first year apprentice boys had gaggled together, and all the others were at least a year older than him, all talking amongst t
hemselves, and taking little or no notice of him at all. Even his telling Braen he was an apprentice magician, had attracted only a few curious glances, and effected a temporary lull in the hubbub of voices.

  He drew some small consolation from the fact that the half dozen or so girls, gathered together in their own little clique, had glanced his way and whispered some giggling remarks among themselves. It was only the possibility that Symon might yet arrive which prevented him from slipping quietly out and going home. He looked about for Braen, but the journeyman had moved away and was in animated conversation with one of the older apprentices who also wore the badge of the Guild of Silversmiths on his collar. Deciding at that moment, this was not the place for him, Karryl turned away.

  His move towards the door was foiled. A heavily built florid faced boy of about nineteen had detached himself from the group who had been muttering and giggling with him. Swaggering over, he planted himself in front of Karryl, effectively blocking his planned exit. Standing at least a head taller than any of the other apprentices, the boy placed his fists on his hips and glowered into Karryl’s face.

  A sneer came to his fleshy-lipped mouth. “So, you’re a magician, are you?”

  He had kept his voice low, and Karryl could just see round his elbow to the boy’s little group. Smirking and nudging each other, their faces alive with expectation, they looked towards him and his tormentor. Karryl had not spent eight years in the harsh environs of Vellethen’s streets without learning anything about its inhabitants. Realising he was being deliberately goaded in order to provide some kind of kudos for this overgrown bully, Karryl took a slow, deep breath and began the relaxation technique Symon had taught him, and which he had used many times when his studies were not going as well as they should.

  He replied calmly and quietly. “I am simply a magician’s apprentice. I am not yet entitled to be called a magician.”

  His antagonist poked him in the chest with a meaty forefinger. “You must have some talent or you wouldn’t have been apprenticed. Now, do us some magic, or we’ll make you regret you ever came here. We don’t care over much for magicians. D’you know what I mean?”

  Karryl turned his head a little. He could just see the top table from the corner of his eye, but the third chair along was still empty. Realising there would be no help coming from that quarter, he decided to stand his ground and deal with the situation as best he may. On the street, he would not have hesitated to floor the lout, big as he was. He would not do that here.

  Looking into the fleshy round face, he began to quote one of the major precepts which Symon had so patiently drummed into him. “Magic is not a power to be used lightly, or for entertainment. Nor is it to be used for the promotion of evil, or for personal gain. It is, rather…”

  He fought to maintain his composure as the bully poked him in the chest again. “Words, words, words. Is that all you can do? Spout words?”

  Suddenly, Karryl felt calm and comfortable, as if the relaxation technique had taken on a life of its own, and was no longer dependent on his conscious control. Surprised, but thankful for this new experience, Karryl felt able to devote all his concentration to dealing with this farm-bred lump who seemed determined to upset his evening simply in order to impress his friends. The last thing Karryl wanted to do was appear to ingratiate himself in front of the bully’s cronies. Neither did he want to aggravate the situation by being arrogant or stand-offish.

  He adopted what he hoped was a placatory tone.”Being older than me, you will of course realise that as I am not qualified, I have to ask permission to perform any act of magic. I wouldn’t want to get any of us into trouble.”

  The bully pushed his face close to Karryl’s. “You have my permission. I take my journeyman’s next year. That’s as qualified as you need, magician. As for trouble, there’d better not be any, or it’ll be the worse for you. Now show us some magic. My friends are waiting.”

  Karryl cocked his head to one side, as he was used to seeing Symon do, and gave a wry smile. At the same time he took a pace backwards. Looking rather alarmed, the boy also took a pace backwards. This suited Karryl perfectly. A distance of two paces would, he was sure, be sufficient for the plan taking shape in his mind. He had done a quick mental tour of all the simpler spells he knew, many of which he had never previously attempted, and settled on one which he thought would suit his needs.

  Holding out his hand palm upwards, he stared at the bully while keeping his mind on what was going to happen in his hand. As he concentrated, a small circle of soft white light about the size of a coat button began to hover a finger’s width above his palm. Satisfied with the preliminary result, Karryl began to project the image in his mind onto the circle of light. A small dancing flame appeared, and he made it hop jauntily from finger to finger, until he brought it back to rest in the centre of his palm.

  As he had hoped, the bully had beckoned his little group to come and see what was happening. They stood in a muttering, jostling bunch about a pace away from where he stood. Karryl was well pleased. They had done just what he guessed they would do. Granting the dancing flame a limited degree of autonomy, Karryl silently worked on a spell that Symon had only recently shown him.

  Although the little magician had uttered the words out loud, Karryl had discovered early on, he only had to think the words of most spells, and providing he thought clearly and precisely without letting other more mundane thoughts intrude, then the spell was still effective. He sent the words through his mind quickly and clearly, as it looked as if the bully was about to interrupt the proceedings with some inane remark or beligerent protest. It was a rather small flame after all.

  Just as the last word was finished, the bully’s mouth twisted in a derogatory smirk, but Karryl was ready. Snapping his hand closed into a fist, he simultaneously cancelled the flame spell and released the one he had built to replace it. It hadn’t occurred to him to consider whether or not such a feat was possible, but he hadn’t been told that it wasn’t, so he did it anyway. Any vestige of doubt would have rendered the spell at best weak, at worst totally ineffective. To his well concealed delight and great satisfaction, it worked. If it was a total success, then it would keep on working at least until the following morning, when it would gradually, and rather uncomfortably, wear off. Karryl knew from first-hand experience. Symon had demonstrated the spell on him.

  Favouring the group with his most malicious grin, Karryl sauntered off to find Braen, leaving behind him the bully and his entourage looking horrified and panic stricken, as their mouths worked oaths and epithets …without making a single sound. He went to stand beside Braen, who was telling some pithy anecdote to a small group of older apprentices and journeymen. The tale’s finale was acknowledged by a gust of appreciative laughter in which Karryl joined, having picked up the gist as he waited.

  Turning to Karryl, the bald journeyman flicked his head in the direction of his spell-bound tormentors. “What was going on there then? I was going to come over, but you seemed to have things well in hand, so it thought it best to stay out of it; unless fists started flying, of course.”

  Karryl grinned. “Oh. They just asked for a little demonstration of magic. It was just unfortunate for them that I took exception to the way they asked. I’ve given them a little lesson in manners I think they’ll remember for a while.” His eyes widened and he feigned terror. “If they’ve got bad memories, I may have a big problem!”

  Braen let go a hearty chuckle. “Don’t worry. I can see their Guildmaster watching them, and they know they’re being watched. Just as a point of interest, what exactly did you do?”

  Without going into too much detail, Karryl told him, and Braen gave an appreciative nod. “Makes me wish I had some talent. That could be a very useful spell.”

  Just at that moment the brazen clangour of a gong sounded, and a hush fell over the hall. The Guildmaster seated at the centre of the long table stood up and came to the front of the dais.

  Braen leaned close and m
urmured in Karryl’s ear. “Can you conjure up a couple of chairs? That’s Master Tomlin of the Guild of Saddlers and Leather-workers. If he’s going to make one of his speeches we’ll all be sitting down to cold fare by the time he’s finished.”

  With a knowing smile, Karryl leaned back to return the murmur. “Not too fond of cold food. I think I can persuade him to cut it short if necessary.”

  Braen ran his fingers over his shining pate and gave Karryl a quizzical look. “Are you sure you’re only a first year apprentice?”

  Karryl gave a slight nod, raised one eyebrow, and put a fore-finger to his lips for quiet. Flashing Braen another conspiratorial grin, he turned to listen to Master Tomlin’s speech.

  CHAPTER THIRTYFOUR

  The portly Guildmaster droned on at some length. While the occupants of the top table sat politely listening, various shuffles and scrapes began to emanate from the assembled apprentices and journeymen, impatiently waiting to take their seats and begin easing the burden of the groaning trestles. Keeping as unobtrusive as possible, Karryl had crept forward until he managed to find a spot giving him a clear line of sight between the fidgeting bodies of his companions. He sensed, rather than saw, Braen edge up beside him, and a little smile twitched the corners of Karryl’s mouth as he stood quite still in what appeared to be rapt concentration.

  After a moment or two the Guildmaster’s face began slowly to redden, becoming more florid as he appeared to be experiencing some considerable discomfort. His voice began to falter and he started shifting his weight, first to one foot then back to the other.

  To the consternation of his fellows at the top table, and the extreme amusement of some of the apprentices, he suddenly stopped in mid sentence. “You may take your seats!” Hitching up the hem of his robe he made a panic stricken and undignified dash for the nearest side door, sheer horror clearly written on his shining red face. As the scramble for places began, Karryl felt a gentle pressure on his arm. It was Braen, his bright blue eyes wide open in amazement.