by Rex Foote
The Wanderer’s Tale: Esmor
Rex Foote
Text copyright © 2016 Rex Foote
All Rights Reserved
This book is dedicated to Shae Ford, without whom it would not exist.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Interlude
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Dramatis Personae
Tales From Westruna Online
The Human and Sarven Calendar
Part 1: A Different Path
Chapter One
27th Day of Axnera. The Season of Dawn. Year 250
The sounds of a bustling city morning echoed around the dusty tower room as the day’s warmth filtered in through the open window. In the centre of the room was a desk where a young woman sat giving the impression that she was reading a book when, in truth, she was not. Her arms rested on the table, and her head leaned in the direction of the open book, but her bright green eyes were not on the pages. Instead, she peered straight ahead through the window and out into the bright spring day. So focused was she on the distant outline of mountains that she failed to notice the sound of the door opening, as well as the sound of footsteps as their owner walked up behind her. Indeed, it came as a complete surprise to her when a hand slammed down on her desk, and a loud voice said,
“Esme!”
She twisted around and looked up into a pair of stern-looking dark green eyes, and innocently said, “Yes?”
“No matter how hard you might try and look for it out the window, the history of magic in Esmor will not be found written in the sky.”
“Yes, sir,” she muttered dejectedly.
The man, a tall, middle-aged fellow with a bald head and a narrow face, sighed.
“Alright, you can go and practice casting in the courtyard.”
This seemed to cheer her up somewhat, but as she stood to leave, the man added, “You know, the fastest way to get out there would be to finish your studies; mages do have a degree of freedom.”
“I know,” she replied over her shoulder. “You just have to die of boredom studying to become one.”
She exited the room, leaving the man alone. He turned and looked out the window at the courtyard below and the rest of the city beyond the Guild’s walls. The sounds of the city getting on with its daily routine drifted through the window, and he smiled to himself. Under his breath, he murmured, “Esme Lane, what shall we do with you?”
***
Esme stood in the practice yard, her eyes closed and arms to her sides. Her soft frame was dressed in the half white, half blue knee-length robes of a mage in training, and her shoulder-length auburn hair came down to her chest and framed her heart-shaped face as her brow furrowed in concentration. She was a mage in training at the Caladarian Mages’ Guild, and at this moment she was practicing the fundamentals of magic: Drawing energy and Shaping it into a spell.
She chose a spell to practice with and began the process of Drawing upon the energy stored within her body to provide the raw materials for the spell. Outwardly, there was no change as she stayed as she was before with legs apart and arms akimbo, but within it was different, as she could feel a tug at her flesh, a tug that came from the core of her body. With sufficient energy for the spell, she began to Shape it, doing so by picturing herself as she was now but with her right arm extended, hand flat and palm up, while hovering just above the centre of her palm was a small flame. Her mind locked on to the image, and she felt the mental click that signified that she had Shaped the spell. Opening her eyes, she extended her right arm in the way that she had pictured and there, hovering just above the centre of her palm, was a small flame.
She felt the absence within her that meant the energy she had Drawn had been spent, and she grinned triumphantly. Though the spell didn’t drain her too greatly and was relatively easy to Shape, every time she was able to successfully Draw and Shape it meant that she becoming more and more practiced at the basics of magic. She closed her eyes and began the process again—Draw, Shape, and Release. This training was necessary for aspiring mages, as full members of the Guild needed to be able to complete the process for casting a spell in under five seconds, with the some of the most skilled mages being able to do it almost instantaneously. As agents of the king, mages from the Guild could expect to see fighting at some point in their service, as the land was still young, wild, and untamed. Therefore, the faster a mage selected their spell and cast it, the better chance they would have.
Bored with just repeatedly casting some tiny spark over and over again, Esme decided that she would try for something bigger. The first thing all young apprentice mages were taught was that magic was utterly malleable; it was like clay in the hands of a potter. A mage could do almost anything with magic provided they had the energy on hand and the skill to picture it mentally. She looked at her hands, and a thought came to her. She drew upon the energy needed for the spell, but staggered to her knees as the drain of the spell hit her harder than she thought, leaving her feeling weak and tired. With a sluggish mind, she pictured her hands sheathed in gauntlets of blue fire that hovered an inch above her skin, felt the familiar mental click, and cast the spell. Suddenly her hands were indeed covered from wrist to fingertip in blazing blue fire. Though the spell quickly subsided, she was pleased with the result; that was real magic. As she got to her feet, a deep, weary sigh sounded behind her, and a voice called out.
“What have I told you about overdrawing before?”
She turned to see her teacher, Mage Dornvus, standing in the doorway that led back to the Guild’s buildings.
“That I should avoid it unless I have no other choice. But what’s the point of all this practice if I don’t get to test my limits?” she replied in an equally weary tone that came as much from her reluctance to have this conversation as it did from her current drained state.
Dornvus gave her a stern look, and she felt guilty for talking back to him, mainly because he was right. Overdraw was the age-old enemy of mages, and it was an easy thing for a mage to do. When a mage was out of, or very low on, internal energy, they could draw upon the very energy that sustained their body, not just the excess stuff they usually used. Such a practice was hazardous, and often resulted in severe injury, ranging from mental trauma to the rapid atrophying of body parts and even death. Seeing his student suitably chastised by her own conclusions, Dornvus gave a triumphant smile.
“Good, you understand. Now come with me, your mother would like a word.”
***
As the pair walked through the halls and corridors of the Guild, they passed many people going about their daily business. Some wore the robes of a novice, like Esme, and others wore the grey fur-trimmed blue robes of a mage and full member of the Guild, while others wore the grey robes of a teacher. They passed doors, some of which were closed and others open to reveal storerooms and the occasional classroom. After climbing a few flights of stairs, they came to a large oak door.
Dornvus turned to Esme as they reached it and said, “She just wants a word. Both she and I are concerned about your studies, about how much attention and effort you are putting into them.” When she didn’t respond, he simply added, “Just listen to wha
t she has to say,” and opened the door for her to enter.
She went inside, and the door shut as she entered the room. Glancing around herself, Esme saw a large wooden desk with a chair behind it, as well as shelves containing books, scrolls, and other items lining the walls. The room’s occupant, a tall woman, was standing with her back to Esme, looking out a window onto the city below. As Esme entered, the woman turned, looked at her, and said, “Esme, what can we do to convince you to stop wanting the wrong thing?”
Her mother, named Averie, was a tall, straight-backed woman with a narrow face, piercing light blue eyes, and thin lips. Despite her stern visage, she was generally a kind and compassionate mother, most of the time. She also bore the lean frame that marked most mages, the legacy of years of drawing upon the body’s energy reserves. Esme’s own softer body was mostly due to still being a novice and the fact that her father always ensured that she got the biggest portions at breakfast and dinner, despite Esme’s protests.
She frowned slightly as she responded, “You could start be letting me leave the city for once.”
“Out of the question,” her mother replied curtly. “Much of Esmor remains wild and untamed, and it is just too dangerous for a novice mage.”
Esme rolled her eyes at this. It was her mother’s main rebuttal when she expressed any interest in leaving the city. Seemingly oblivious to the gesture, her mother carried on.
“It’s that Elreni boy, isn’t it? He has filled your head with nonsense about the beauty and wonder of nature, all the while failing to mention the bandits, wild animals, and monsters that roam the lands. and that’s not to mention the dangers posed by the land itself.”
“Hark has nothing to do with this,” Esme countered. “He has told me of the Kuddin Woods and other places, but it’s not all him.” She started to pace as she spoke. “I am eighteen years old, and ever since I can remember, you and Father would tell me stories about Grys Isle or Mymt Lagoon. My favourite story was the one Father told me about his trip to the Heartward Isles, and how the moon’s light turned the surface of the lake into shimmering liquid silver.”
“Those were stories for children, to help you sleep,” her mother interjected.
“It doesn’t matter why you told me them, all that matters is that you did. You two are the reason why I want to visit those places, not Hark, not Dornvus, nor anyone else who ever told me a story about some far-off place.”
“Then why don’t you simply wait until you are mage and a full member of the Guild? I have no doubt the king will send you somewhere remote once or twice.” Esme’s mother spoke the word “remote” like it was something unpleasant that she had stepped in.
“I am eighteen now, and the final test isn’t until I reach twenty-six. I don’t want to wait that long; I already find studying mind numbingly boring and practicing the basics isn’t much better, at least with that I get to go outside.”
Her mother sighed and crossed over to her desk, where she sat down. Esme stopped pacing and looked at her expectantly.
“You are one of the most energetic young novices I have ever seen. Most are awed by the possibility of becoming mages and they devote their lives to becoming just that, but not you.”
Esme said nothing and her mother continued.
“Focus that energy on your studies and exercises and you will become a great mage one day. Some people were born to walk a particular path and cannot deviate from it; others have more freedom. But being a mage is something you were born to be. The fact that you will be a mage is not debatable; I know it’s not what you want, but it’s just how things played out. Now you can be content with that, or you can resent it, which will just make you unhappy.”
When it looked like Esme was going to respond, her mother held up a hand.
“I am not the one you need to convince. That conversation is one you should have with yourself. But I will ask that you put more effort into your studies.”
Esme’s shoulders slumped in resignation and she nodded her head. Her mother got up from her desk and walked over to hug her daughter. As they embraced, she said, “I know it’s not easy to dismiss your dreams, but being a mage means being able to help people, and to serve the king, and that’s bigger than you and your dreams. It gives you a place in our society and a role to play. Be at peace with that.”
Esme drew back and curtly said, “Thank you, Mother,” before turning around and leaving the room. As she left, Dornvus entered.
“Suspend her lessons for the day,” Esme’s mother said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. She just made a big personal choice, and she will need time to come to terms with it. Let her have the rest of the day.”
Dornvus nodded and left the room. Alone, Averie mused on what her daughter had said about the tales that she and her husband had told her when she was young. While there was no doubt some truth in that, it couldn’t have been the whole reason. She resolved to seek out that Elreni boy, Hark, and politely ask that he not fill her daughter’s head with nonsense.
***
Esme walked down a street with her head lowered, feeling lost. She had changed out of her novice robe into more practical clothes—a long-sleeved dark blue tunic, brown trousers, and comfortable boots. She aimlessly wandered the streets of Caladaria, passing by buildings, alley mouths, and store vendors on her pointless walk through the city. Her wanderings eventually brought her to the Gods’ Square, and she sat heavily on one of the benches. Her thoughts were a mess, as she had always known deep down that she would have to give up her hopes of leaving the city and seeing the rest of Esmor until she was much older. She had the gift of magic, after all, and that gift came with a duty, a duty to become a mage and to serve the king and the people. Well, that was what her parents kept on saying, at any rate, and she grudgingly admitted that they did have a point. After all, what kind of person would she be if she had the power to help people but refused to do so? Her mother would say that she would be no better than a common bandit, and her father’s thoughts ran along similar lines.
She leaned back against the bench and clasped her hands over her soft, slightly bulging stomach, which was another reason why she couldn’t leave; she was in no state to travel long distances by foot given her general lack of fitness. Of course, when she mentioned this to Hark, he laughed and said that there was no better way to get into shape than long distance travel. Hark, she mused, was one of the few good things about living in this city. He was the son of the Elreni envoy to Esmor, and they had grown up together, being of the exact same age. She had first met him by chance one day when she was five. Her parents’ attention had been drawn elsewhere for a few minutes, in which time she had opened the front door of the family home and walked out onto the street. Their first meeting had been nothing dramatic or meaningful; he was just a young Elreni boy that had been willing to play with her. By the time her frantic parents had found her, she and Hark were thoroughly engrossed building mud castles, throwing the stuff at one another, and generally just enjoying life and the company of someone else who wanted to play.
Smiling at the memory, Esme was sure that it was at that moment, seeing their daughter covered in mud and playing with a young Elreni in a similar state, that her parents had decided to dislike Hark Ulaneiros. There had almost been a major incident when they were both twelve after she and Hark had fought a local bully. Her parents were convinced that Hark had provoked the boy and had endangered their daughter, and had forbidden Esme from seeing Hark ever again. She had been in her upstairs room softly weeping when a knock sounded at the front door. She had come out to the top of the landing to see her parents in conversation with an older male Elreni who she would later learn was Hark’s father, Taegen. While she didn’t know exactly what had been said, she did know that the next morning her parents had stiffly and with great reluctance decided to withdraw their prohibition about seeing Hark.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the evening bell tolling, and it startled he
r, almost causing her to jump up in alarm. Seeing how much time had passed since she’d first sat on the bench, she quickly hurried off through Caladaria’s streets, still warm in the late afternoon sunlight, towards her home.
***
The smell of dinner assailed her as she entered through the front door. She walked down the hall and into the kitchen to see her father presiding over the clay oven and stone bench that dominated the room. He turned around as she entered and came forward to embrace her, a smile spreading over his worn, broad features at the sight of her.
“Welcome home, my girl,” he said, his voice booming. “It is good to see you.”
She returned the embrace, smiling in kind. Michale Lane was a man of middling height yet great girth; his face was wind-worn and broad, and his fine black hair cut short. He was a merchant, and a successful one at that. He certainly didn’t mind showing off his success, and even now in the informal confines of his own home, he was dressed in finely tailored clothes. A belt of dark leather was wound around his waist, and the buckle was made of pure silver, no doubt an import from the Sarven city of Slivertop far to the north. As she made her way to the dining table and sat down, he carried on speaking.
“Your mother in her study. She told me what she said to you today, and you should know both she and I are in agreement. The Mages’ Guild is the place you should be, and your role in it should be what occupies your thoughts of the future. I know that you dearly want to travel, but your studies must come first. You won’t spend your whole life in the Guild, and once you leave, then you can go traveling.”
Esme was about to reply when her mother entered the room, now changed from her Guild robes into clothes more like Esme’s own. She saw Esme sitting at the table and, after giving her daughter a warm greeting, said, “I want you to know that I am sorry if what I said caused you any distress. Your father and I only want what is best for you, and I hope you see that. Also, I went and talked to that Elreni boy today; he won’t be filling your head with any more of his nonsense.”