The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1)

by Beach, B. J.

  “Like going after the medallion?”

  “Exactly. But for now, we can manage without it. The most important thing is to ensure that you are fully prepared for whatever is going to happen. So we will carry on as normal.”

  Karryl appeared slightly confused. “But how will they know that we know it’s gone?”

  “I doubt if they will, unless our new friend Dhoum has a foot in both camps, and I think that’s unlikely. No, we will wait them out as long as possible.”

  “How long do you think that will be?”

  “It’s hard to say, but I think you can rest assured that the powers that be have their own agenda. We are simply their agents, or rather, you are. Still, I suggest you try and put it to the back of your mind and carry on with your studies. You’re making excellent progress, and it could be years before they, whoever they are, decide to act.”

  Only slightly mollified, Karryl picked up the text he had been studying earlier, while Symon went into the kitchen to prepare supper. They both knew there would be many protracted discussions in the days ahead, either between themselves or with Mordas, Kimi and Detelia. Karryl was determined that when the time came, he would not be found wanting. He did, however, find the prospect of coming into conflict with the older brother of his best friend, rather daunting.

  CHAPTER FORTYEIGHT

  Dhoum materialised in a spot slightly to the left of the table, just as Symon and Karryl had sat down for lunch. Immediately Symon stood up, patting the palms of his hands together in undisguised delight.

  His face beaming, he hurried round the table. “Karryl, I would like you to meet Dhoum, curator of the museum’s depository of artefacts.”

  Unable to suppress a slight grin, the young apprentice magician stood up, stepped forward and cautiously offered his hand.

  Dhoum’s four, four-jointed brown-scaled fingers reached out far less cautiously. “Pleased to meet you.”

  The round head with its dense covering of rust-brown hair, turned almost a complete circle and back again. Bright blue eyes gradually changed to a deep, warm amber.”Nice place.” He gestured towards the table. “Hope I haven’t disturbed your meal.”

  Symon pulled out a chair. “Not at all. Please, join us.”

  The Grabnose, dressed this time in a somewhat less voluminous robe of a deep forest green, looked around again. “Haven’t got a stool, have you?”

  Karryl made a dash for the kitchen, returning with a large, square four-legged stool which Symon often used when he was preparing vegetables. Setting it beside the table, Karryl was unable to stop himself from grinning as Dhoum jumped lightly onto it. When he had settled himself in front of the plate Symon was lading with pie, mashed potatoes and tomatoes, his head was conveniently located in a position just above it, where Karryl assumed his chin would be, if he had one.

  “Do you use cutlery?”

  There was a ripple of movement somewhere below the bright round eyes. “Only in civilised company. Get food under these scales, takes hours of licking to get them properly clean.”

  Completely distracted from his own meal, Karryl found it hard not to stare. He marvelled at the tiny, sharply pointed teeth, revealed briefly with each mouthful Dhoum took. The knife and fork were each held in only two of the four fingers, the remaining two being folded against the golden-brown, smooth-skinned palm. The meal continued in silence until Dhoum’s plate was empty.

  Symon indicated the serving dishes. “Would you like some more?”

  Dhoum’s amber-flecked brown eyes twinkled. “Not now, thanks. Maybe later, when that’s gone down.”

  With that he gave an outrageously loud belch, then settled down on his stool, only his eyes and the upper part of his head visible over the edge of the table. “Beg pardon. Good food.”

  He then proceeded to pick his many teeth with one of his long, sharply pointed finger nails. It was while Dhoum was engaged in this apparently vital task, that Karryl noticed for the first time, the peculiar shape of Dhoum’s face. Beneath all the luxuriant hair lurked a short tapering snout. At the end of this was a round, brown button of a nose with wide bifurcated nostrils, conjuring up in Karryl’s mind an image of nothing so much as a large, highly animated hedgehog.

  Having completed his dental hygiene, Dhoum examined his claw then licked it clean. The peculiarities of his facial features disappeared once more beneath the liberal covering of rust-brown hair. Giving himself a shake as if to settle everything back into place, he hopped off the stool and ambled round to stand beside Symon’s chair.

  Without any kind of preamble he gave the little magician a sharp prod on the arm. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  Symon looked into the blue-green eyes, a slightly mischievous twinkle in his own. “Shall I make us all a cup of tea first?”

  Dhoum grunted. “Got anything stronger?”

  Delighted at the Grabnose’s audacity, Symon laughed out loud. “I’ve got some barley wine. It’s very strong though.”

  Amber eyes sparkled. “That’ll do.”

  Symon set off to the kitchen to make tea and retrieve the barley wine from the cold crock.

  Settling himself beside Karryl, Dhoum thrust his hairy face close to the young magician’s shoulder. “So, you’re the one that’s going to be in the thick of it then?”

  Somewhat alarmed at the Grabnose’s close proximity and his direct approach, Karryl shrank back. “The thick of what?”

  Dhoum gave one of his melodious chuckles and turned away to investigate one of his large and curiously shaped ears with a prehensile finger. Karryl winced, his sigh of relief barely audible as Symon returned from the kitchen with a laden tray, placing it carefully on the table.

  Offering the potentially offensive Grabnose a large stoneware tankard, Symon raised a bushy eyebrow. “I fear you may be going a little too fast for our young companion here. Shall we make ourselves comfortable by the fire? I have a feeling there is rather more to you than meets the eye.”

  Surprisingly gently, Dhoum took the barley wine from Symon’s hand. With amazing alacrity the edge of the tankard disappeared beneath the abundance of hair around the proximity of his mouth. With one swift gulp, the contents were despatched and the empty stoneware placed with a flourish on the table.

  Another resounding belch ensued, as Dhoum’s eyes changed to the colour of the barley wine, and crinkled up with pleasure. “Aah! That’s better. Good stuff, that.”

  Symon acknowledged the compliment with a slight bow of his head. “You shall take some with you when you go. Now, it would seem we have things to discuss.”

  Settling himself in his favourite chair by the fire, he watched with interest as Karryl, giving Dhoum a fairly wide berth, crossed the room and sat down opposite. The Grabnose did something complicated with his robe before sinking to the floor between them, a sleek hairy ball crouched in the midst of a neat pile of dark green fabric.

  Before either of the others could speak, he held up a scaly finger. “There’s quite a bit for you to understand, so if it’s all right with you two, I’ll begin.”

  Hearing no immediate objections, he gave one of his rare blinks and lifted his head, revealing a throat patch of short, soft golden fur.

  He stroked this thoughtfully for a moment, before tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robe. “Although there aren’t many of us left now, it has always been our business to be aware of what’s going on in the world. As a race, we have an information gathering system that any government would happily kill for if they knew about it. I won’t trouble you with the details, but I do ask that you keep that snippet to yourselves.”

  Symon sat back in his chair, a little smile on his face, but Karryl leaned forward and looked hard at Dhoum. “Why are you telling us this?”

  Dhoum returned the look with eyes of midnight blue. “Because, from now on, everything that concerns you, concerns us. Our race has been waiting for your arrival since the Battle of the Mages. When we heard some years ago that the medallio
n had been found, we knew that it was time to start preparing. Now there are rumours coming out of Naboria that the Vedrans have a new Power-lord.”

  Symon nodded and glanced at Karryl. “Yes, I had heard the same thing myself. Fortunately, we’re also fairly certain we know who it is. What we don’t know is why he went to such lengths to get the medallion.”

  Dhoum shuffled slightly and gave a long, slow blink. “Those who were his masters before he himself became master, have taught him that the medallion has great power and that with it he can be ruler of the world. They are mistaken. There’s a lot more to it than that. Hope I live long enough to witness the outcome.”

  While Karryl sat open-mouthed, Dhoum turned his dark-eyed gaze on Symon. “There are many things I could tell you that will fill in the gaps you have in your study of history, but not now. What I’m wondering is, will you accept our help when the time comes?”

  Symon raised an eyebrow in query. “And what reasons would we have for doing so?”

  Dhoum gave a little wriggle. “Knew you’d ask that. Firstly, Master Magician, because most of us, including me, had grandfathers working beside the first Mage-Prime, the one who wrote the book that young Karryl here, found.”

  Karryl did a quick mental calculation. “Grandfathers? Don’t you mean great, great and so on, grandfathers?”

  Dhoum’s slightly derisory chuckle left Karryl feeling a little miffed. “I was just about getting round to considering finding a mate and having a litter when your master was born.”

  Before Karryl could frame a response, Symon held up a warning finger. His expression one of mild fascination and curiosity, he leaned forward. “Tell me, friend Dhoum. At what age do those of your race mature?”

  Dhoum extricated a hand from the folds in his sleeves and stroked again at his throat patch. “‘Bout a hundred years, give or take a few. Some take longer than others. Now do you see what I’m getting at?”

  Karryl leaned back hard in his chair and blew out his cheeks as Symon gave a satisfied nod and gazed intently at Dhoum. “And the second reason for accepting your help?”

  Dhoum gave another of his melodious chuckles. With a tumbling of folded robes, he rose to his feet and looked at Karryl and Symon in turn. “Our race know the whole history from the very beginning. If the Vedrans could find us, they’d do their best to wipe us out.”

  Symon jumped up from his chair. “So, the hidden city of Vedra isn’t just a myth! Please, Dhoum, tell us what you know.”

  The Grabnose hung his head, swinging it slowly from side to side. “Can’t do that. The less you know at this stage, the better.”

  Lifting his head again, he turned a dark blue gaze on Karryl. “It’s pretty well all down to you, but you won’t be alone. There’ll be help when you need it. Must be going now, but you’ll be seeing me again. Maybe not soon. Depends how fast things go, and what we find out.”

  Symon stood up and placed a hand on Dhoum’s shoulder. “Perhaps I could come to the museum, and we could discuss this further?”

  The Grabnose’s robes rippled over what may have been a shrug, as his eyes changed to a sparkling sky blue. “Won’t be there. Done my job. Going home.”

  Karryl and Symon exchanged a glance. The little magician frowned. “Do you mean, you knew I was coming?”

  “‘Course. It’s all part of it.”

  “But, why did you stay when the medallion had been taken?”

  Dhoum produced a rumbling noise from somewhere deep. “Suspicious. It didn’t feel right after. Like the job wasn’t finished. So I stayed a bit longer while we did a bit of investigating, but nothing had come up when you arrived. Don’t worry. If necessary we’ll help you get it back when you need it. Now, you said there was some more barley wine?”

  Symon grinned and patted Dhoum’s shoulder. “There is indeed.”

  As Symon headed off to the kitchen, Dhoum returned his deep midnight blue gaze to Karryl. “Hope it won’t be too difficult for you to see me in a better light. It might help if I tell you that when all this really gets going, I’ve been assigned to be your guide.”

  Karryl swallowed hard and stared. “Guide? Why will I need a guide?”

  Just then, Symon emerged from the kitchen, a stoneware flagon in his hand. Dhoum made a little rumbling noise.

  Rubbing a scaly hand over his golden throat-patch, he gave Karryl a long steady look. “You’ll see. When the time comes.”

  Without waiting for any further response, he turned to Symon and gave a little bob of his head as he took the flagon. “Many thanks. This will go down well. When we meet again I’ll return the jar. Until then, farewell.”

  The air around him shimmered, his strange form swiftly dissolving into sparkling motes of blue and amber which, for the briefest instant, seemed to take on an almost human form. Then Dhoum was gone, leaving a suggestion in the air of green leaves and rain soaked earth.

  Karryl stared at the spot where Dhoum had been only seconds before. “Can you do that?”

  Symon smiled and nodded. “Oh yes. It’s easy, once you’ve grasped the fundamentals.”

  His young apprentice turned, his eyes eagerly bright. “Will you teach me?”

  Symon clasped his hands and tapped his chin with his forefingers. “All in good time. Grasping the fundamentals is the hard part, but in view of what lies ahead, I’m sure that translocation is something you’re going to find absolutely essential.”

  Karryl slumped down in his chair. “What does lie ahead? It seems to me that Dhoum knows a lot more than he’s telling. Do you know?”

  Perching himself on the stool their strange visitor had recently vacated, Symon looked into Karryl’s worried face. “All I know is that you have been given a great responsibility and you still have a great deal of work ahead of you. The ground-work has been laid, and the first moves have been made.” He held up a finger as Karryl was about to speak. “Please, let me finish. Whoever or whatever is orchestrating proceedings has obviously decided to take you through this gradually.”

  Karryl jerked his head up. “I wouldn’t call what’s happened just lately ‘gradual’. It just seemed to be one thing after another. And that Dhoum character said he’s been assigned to be my guide, so I must be going somewhere.”

  The little magician’s gaze was sympathetic. “Undoubtedly. But he also said ‘when the time comes’, and I didn’t detect any sense of urgency. I’m inclined to think that it will take quite a long time for anything further to develop.

  “If you look at it logically …” Karryl sighed, and Symon frowned. “If you look at it logically, you are almost certainly destined to be the next Mage-Prime. So until you have attained that illustrious rank, which in all probability will take a few years, I doubt whether anything further will happen. You have to acquire the skills and the knowledge to meet whatever is coming, head on. I don’t think anything will happen until you are ready.”

  Karryl’s brow furrowed. “Suppose I’m never ready. Suppose I fail my final tests.”

  The little magician gave an enigmatic smile. “Don’t worry. You won’t fail.”

  At that moment Karryl knew that somewhere, sometime, Ghian had heard those same words. He pushed his hands into his pockets and, crossing to the window, stood looking out through the bare branches of the great oak to the winding stony lane and the rooftops of the distant barracks. Like a small ember being fanned into a flame, a deep resolve began to burn within him as he thought of all those who had been instrumental in helping him to reach this moment. His jaw set with determination that Ghian would find in him a more than worthy adversary, he turned away from the window, to see Symon with the grey cat on his lap, both watching him intently.

  He gestured towards the door of his room. “You might say I have a bit of studying to do.”

  Symon nodded. “I quite agree and I think a fresh cup of tea will help the process along nicely.”

  With the cat cradled in his arms he stood up and headed for the kitchen, his agile mind already plotting the n
ew course Karryl would be following for the next few years.

  CHAPTER FORTYNINE

  Succumbing to a most persuasive argument from Symon, his old friend, court magician and advisor, King Vailin had agreed to give over a large but unused dining hall in an older part of the palace. There, Karryl spent a part of most days in practical work, sometimes accompanied by Symon, but more often than not on his own. Much of his time was taken up practising the casting of spells, formulating constructs and spell-weaving, but his agile mind also enabled him to introduce modifications and improvements to some of the older spells. He flew through his second and third year exams, in one case quite literally, much to the great consternation of his more traditional and dyed-in-the-wool examiners.

  After almost three years of studies and examinations, Symon decided his young apprentice ought to see more of the world on which he seemed destined to have some effect. To that end he took him travelling.

  The urgency and euphoria of that epiphanic New Year’s night, and the year which followed, gradually slipped into the deeper recesses of Karryl’s memory. In the company of Symon, he continued to gain the strength and knowledge his mentor insisted he would need for the task which lay before him.

  Together they travelled the length and breadth of Teloria, even journeying down into the cold white wastes of Altanica, and across to the colourfully diverse southern regions of the Ingalian continent, meeting and working with other magicians, learning new spells, and different slants on old and established ones. Karryl even discovered to his surprise, that some magicians, working completely independently of any of the four recognised disciplines, made quite a handsome living from practising what they called ‘free magic’.

  Symon expressed his disapproval in no uncertain terms. “They’re wilders, as you once were. If they were in Albita, they would be made to conform or banished, and I would suggest, for what I hope are obvious reasons, that you have nothing to do with them.”