A Bitter Brew

by Greg Curtis

  In part it was that question which had brought him to this uneasy place. He needed more options. Other spells. Something that kept his hands relatively free of blood.

  Obviously he couldn't get any new magic. Not unless he was incredibly lucky and accidentally discovered some more lumps of the magic metals. And even then the only magic his body would accept would be Mithril. He didn’t know why it was but once a person received one type of magic they were thereafter only able to absorb more of the same. None of the other magic metals would be accepted by his flesh. He would always be limited to exotic magic. The magic of dimensions and other worlds.

  But even if he were to come across more Mithril pebbles, did he really want to absorb more spells?

  Most people would never consider it. Not even those who were already afflicted. It was like having one disease and adding another to it. But then his affliction hadn’t destroyed his life as it had many others – probably because the priests who had taken him in had been far more accepting of his condition than others would be. Father Daen especially so. But then he had also been afflicted with a spell. One of Crystallite. He'd had blue markings running up his left leg.

  Hendrick knew he had been fortunate to have ended up in the Abbey. The priests of the Benevolent One took the caring for all men and women as their calling. Even those who were afflicted. As such they even held copies of the books of collected spells, which had allowed him to name his three along with thousands of others. But then the Order of the Benevolent One accepted many afflicted into its faith. They would have accepted him too if he had been willing.

  Father Daen had in truth loved the spell he was afflicted with. It was called Water Spout and did little more than cause water to spout out in whatever direction he liked. But he had loved playing with it. Finding puddles and making all the water in them shoot out as if from a hose. It could even be useful as it let him drain flooded houses quickly. And the priest had been the one to show him that he could welcome his own spells.

  It was no doubt his upbringing with the priests that allowed Hendrick to consider possibilities that others wouldn't. Especially given he was being hunted and currently riding into a city where his kind were not permitted. Where he could even be killed simply for being afflicted and trying to enter Styrion Might. It was likely he would be locked away at the least. Because a pair of riding gloves and long sleeves weren't going to hide his secret for long.

  But it was unlikely that he would find a fragment of Mithril on his journey. And even if he did it was even more unlikely that it would contain a useful spell. Finding magic metal fragments was unusual. Mostly because whenever anyone found a fragment, they promptly covered it up and stayed away. Some dug holes and buried them just to make sure no one touched them. No one wanted to be afflicted. And no one wanted to touch the fragments because it might lead to that.

  So it was almost certain that he would be limited to just the three spells he had by the time he reached Styrion Might. Still, even if he never gained a new spell, he could learn to make better use of the ones that he had. Thinking about that he wondered if he should practice his summoning spell.

  But did he want to?

  Because even as he sat there, the spell of spectral summoning in his thoughts and the world of the spectral creatures in his mind's eye, he had doubts. On the one hand the opportunities were enormous. The spectral world appeared to be a world like any. Save of course that the creatures from that world had flesh made of moonlight and Mithril. But there were a great many different sorts of creatures there. And so far he had only practised summoning a few of them. The ones he had either thought would be easy to control, or which might prove useful. There were others though that might be of more use. Provided that his will was strong enough to overcome the will of the creature summoned. That was always the danger.

  When he had first started summoning spectral creatures he had been a child. It had seemed fun. A chance to find a new pet. But he had quickly learned that his pets did not want to be controlled. They were wild. And they could bite and scratch. He had suffered a lot of injuries – mostly minor ones happily – before he had learned caution. Since then he had only learned to summon a couple of larger, more dangerous creatures like the panthers, and that from positions of safety. The first time he had summoned a spectral panther, he had done it from thirty feet up in a tree just to make sure that if it shook off his control, it couldn't reach him. He was by nature careful. Now though he was looking at taking a dangerous steep forward.

  “Val?” Having done more than enough going back and forth over his decisions, he called on his friend the sage in the hope of finding some wisdom. Or failing that, just a word or two of comfort.

  “So soon? Don't you know I have a lot of things to do?! I have research underway. A family to look after. Answering muddle brained questions from you and the hundred others of your people who use this damned spell is a nuisance! I don't have time to simply chat to you whenever you have a problem. Solve your own damned problems!” Val was as testy as ever.

  “I know, and I'm sorry. But I'll be quick. I need to widen my summoning skills. Summon new creatures before I face the Magistrate. I just need advice on what sort of creatures I should learn to call.”

  “Big ones! Ones that'll kill you! Tear that ugly head of yours off and eat it whole!”

  “Val!” Hendrick was disappointed but not surprised. The sage had been in a bad mood a lot lately. Obviously there was something going wrong in his life. But Hendrick was also aware that he was somewhat to blame in calling on Val and pulling him away from his life. “You know that wouldn't help you. Someone else would simply get my spells after I died.”

  “So you say! But at least I'd get some peace until that happened! Besides, that's only your theory. And you aren't known for your wit!”

  Hendrick sighed. Actually it wasn't just his theory. It was widely accepted. The metals themselves weren't the containers for the magic. They were the magic. They were spells in solid form. And when they were absorbed into a person they became a part of him. Once the afflicted died the magic was returned to its metal form. The markings on the afflicted vanished. And the small fragments of metal were once more released into the world to be found by someone else. In that way the spells were conserved. A lot of sages, priests and other afflicted said the same thing. He repeated that to the sage, just as he had done so before.

  “And what makes you think any of those other fools have any better idea than you! Just because they're a bit cleverer? Because that really isn't much to be proud of! Dullards the lot of you! And what all of you bespawling mumblecrusts seem to keep forgetting is that if the magic really returned to its metal form when its owner died, those fragments would be found by the bodies. They aren't. So your theory fails at the first step.”

  “And I suppose your theory is that the Goddess simply grants magic to people as and when she sees fit? Because if she does, she doesn’t seem to make any choices about who should have it. Surely if she wanted some people to have magic she would have just given it to them at birth. It would be much simpler. And why doesn't she grant spells to her worshippers? Ri Altenne doesn't seem to be a very logical goddess.” Not that Hendrick thought any of the gods were particularly logical.

  “Because she's a Goddess, and as such she does what she wants to! You don't question the gods. And you don't question their logic. Especially not dim-witted people like you! And most especially not people who worship the drunken god!”

  “Vitinna is the God of Celebration!” Hendrick quickly protested. Of course, given his occupation it was a defence he often had to make. To most Vitanna would always be the God of Wine, and the drunken euphoria he brought and hangover that often followed, his mist. His followers were of course drunkards and sots to many.

  “A distinction without a difference.”

  Hendrick sighed again, a little louder than before. Clearly the sage was in a beastly mood and he knew from long experience that it wasn't going to change in a h
urry. “I need your wisdom. What sort of creatures should I start learning to summon to help me? What will help me most? Because I can't simply practice summoning every beast that walks the spectral world.”

  “Well what sort of skills do you need?” The sage let out a frustrated snort. “Do you need to break into places? If so, look for creatures that can either open locked doors or knock them down. Do you need to scare people to get them to cooperate? Then you need scary creatures. Do you need to travel fast? Then maybe you should look for some flying creatures to ride on.”

  “As for what's safer to summon, the solitary hunters will be the hardest to control. Herd and pack animals will respond more easily to your command. Brighter creatures will be more resistant to your will.”

  “I can't see this spectral world of yours. I don't know what lives there. I can only see a tiny bit of your world – and I don't want to see what lives in it! But just use some common sense! Look for skills that might be useful. And please – by the Honoured Ones – stop bothering me!”

  “Thank you Val. And question answered.” Hendrick gave up on asking the sage any more questions and released the spell. Some days there was simply no point. You would be better off dealing with a dragon than speaking to Val.

  It hadn't always been the case. When he was younger Hendrick remembered having many good conversations with Val. And he was a wonder when it came to answering the school problems the priests set. But lately it had been one very rocky conversation after another between them. He wasn't sure why. And really he hadn’t contacted Val for wisdom this time. He mostly just wanted to know that in a world where it seemed his own father was trying to kill him and he had no other family, he still had a friend.

  Still, despite the acrimony, the sage had given him a useful place to start. Hendrick considered the skills he would need.

  The first thing he would need would be access into places. The Chief Magistrate worked from the Grand Court which he remembered from his lessons to be one of the largest buildings on the second terrace. He had a suite of offices in it where his staff wrote up the King's edicts and brought decrees to him to enact. He also presided over the most important cases in the realm on behalf of the King in the Grand Hearing Chamber. Everything in the Grand Court was of course guarded. And it was locked up at night as well. But night time was when he would have to strike. Because it was then that the offices would be empty and he would be able to sift through the Chief Magistrate's papers.

  If his father had given the order for him to be executed he would have sent an official courier with a written message, and it would be stored away somewhere in the Chief Magistrate's offices. Everything important – every document and every decision – was supposed to be kept. That included the decisions of the Grand Court and the decrees of the King. First the records would be held by the Court, before eventually being transferred to the Hall of Records. There it would become part of the permanent record of everything that happened in Styrion. It was official policy. A way by which the greatness of the realm would be preserved for all time. It was a legacy through which the kings of the past could be remembered.

  It mattered to the kings that their actions be remembered down through the centuries. That scholars studied them, and debated their decisions. And ultimately he assumed, that they were praised for their wisdom and enlightened rule. Or failing that their boldness and victories in battle. Just as the Kings remembered those who had come before them.

  What mattered to him however was finding out who had ordered the warrant for his execution. Was it the Chief Magistrate? Or was it his father? And why had it been issued? If he was to find out he would need to break into the Chief Magistrate's office. And since he didn’t want to be seen he would have to do it late at night when the building was empty. As he had no talents in picking locks, he probably needed a creature that could help him with that problem.

  The panthers couldn't help him with that. They weren't really designed for opening doors. He supposed he could summon one of the spectral cattle with their strange horns. They at least could knock the doors down. But they weren't silent and he wasn't sure they would fit in the hallways. He knew of no animal however, that could pick a lock, even with him directing it.

  But there was a bird that he thought might be useful. It looked a little like a parrot, but was larger and made of moonlight and Mithril as were all the creatures of the spectral world. It had a sparkling grey beak which it used to dig big centipede like grubs out of trees that looked to be made of ironwood. If it could do that he figured, it could punch a door handle or a lock out of a wooden door. If it was clever enough to take instructions that was.

  His decision made, Hendrick let his mind's eye return to the spectral world and started searching for one of the birds. He couldn't have said exactly how he did that. It was like flying without wings and without his body. Nor could he have explained much about the spectral world. Everything in it was both similar and different to the world around him. The world had trees and ground, skies and creatures. But all of them were made of strange things. And none of them looked quite right.

  Cattle roamed the land. But they were more like bulls and their Mithril horns extended forward from their heads. So much so that they dug deep into the ground when they grazed. They also had Mithril coating the tops of their shoulder bones. He didn't know why. Wolves hunted them. But they were far longer in the leg than the ones he knew. They were also much faster. When they ran it was as fast as a musket ball flew. And when they leapt they almost seemed to take to the air. But they weren't controllable. They were pack animals and whenever he'd tried pulling one across from the spectral world it had refused to obey him. It was easier to deal with them. They readily accepted him as part of their pack and were even friendly. But he wasn't their leader and therefore they wouldn’t obey.

  Nor did he understand how flesh could be made of moonlight. It wasn't solid. It might be thicker in places where it formed bones, but it never became solid. Just how did the muscles pull the bones around? And what held everything together?

  Still, the explanations of how they worked didn’t matter. He just needed to concentrate on finding a creature he could make use of.

  Shortly he found one of the parrots he had been looking for sitting on a nest in what looked like a branched tree. In fact it was like no tree he had ever seen. It looked like a dozen trunks rising out of the ground, splayed apart like a man's fingers almost from the ground, and with strange looking pineapple like fruits on the end of each of those branches. The bird was sitting in its makeshift nest, surrounded by the tree branches which no doubt formed its protection. Hendrick quickly pulled the bird across to his world.

  A heartbeat later it appeared in front of him, looking confused. And then it panicked.

  It started squawking – though the sound was more akin to the squealing of a pig – and then jumped up and started running around in circles as it looked for the protection of its tree. Hendrick had to take control of it immediately.

  It wasn't easy. Not because it was a naturally intelligent creature, or because it was a solitary hunter. Not even because it feared him. The bird simply wasn't listening to him. It wasn't listening to anything except its own fear. Trying to force his own will on it only increased its panic. It was always hardest the first time he commanded a new type of animal until he understood the levers of its mind and what it responded to. The panthers responded to dominance and certainty. The wolves to family, but also to intelligence. And they were smart enough to know that he was not their match. He had learned over the years that he could never be what they wanted. The cattle respected power and strength, and they were simple to control because of it. The parrot however, didn't care about any of that. It only wanted the safety of its tree. It needed to be told that it was safe.

  Once he realised that the feeling of safety was his lever, Hendrick began to whisper into its soul all those things the bird needed to hear. Slowly it calmed. And as it did so he was able to take contro
l of the bird.

  Eventually he had a calm three foot tall parrot made of Mithril and moonlight, waiting patiently to do as he ordered. Naturally his first order was for it to go to the nearby tree and start digging for grubs.

  His second order a few worried moments later, was for it to stop. He had to stop it because in two pecks it had somehow managed to drive that beak into the cedar all the way up to its face. He had no idea how much force that required. Its beak was eight inches long. But what he did know was that the noise it made as it spiked the tree was like the crack of thunder going off next to his ear. And in just two strikes the tree itself was groaning as if it wanted to fall.

  It seemed he had found a way to break in to the offices of the Grand Court. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a particularly quiet way.

  Hendrick sent the bird back to its world, knowing he would not be able to use it for what he wanted. But at least he had now found another creature he could command.