“He's there?” the thief asked.
“Yes.” He risked another look. “Going the other direction."
Kandys pressed herself up close to him as she craned her neck to see. “Let's go,” she said.
“He's too close!"
“He doesn't know you, and he won't recognize me. Come on."
Stepping around the corner, she grasped Alexander's hand and pulled him along. They walked at a leisurely pace about a block and a half behind the dwarf. After a dozen steps or so Alexander realized the thief still held his hand.
“Um—”
“If he turns around, he'll just see a couple on the street. He won't suspect he's being followed by two lovers, unless he's completely paranoid."
Still, her palm was damp against his. He wisely refrained from commenting. Even from this distance he could see that a physical confrontation with the dwarf would be anything but a pleasant experience.
“I'm amazed you can do this,” he said. “If I'd gone through what you have, the Sandlander magician and the dwarf, I think I'd have fled town a long time ago."
Kandys merely nodded in reply, but she intertwined her arm with his as they walked. Stamovan led them away from the Temple District at a fairly rapid clip. As they followed him around a succession of turns Alexander feared the dwarf would at some point notice them. Fortunately, the number of people on the street increased as they entered a neighborhood comprised of large, windowless buildings. For the first time since entering Hurst he saw numerous horses within the city. Teams of two and four pulled large wagons laden with goods from other parts of the realm. Gangs of men, dwarves and gnomes worked in assembly lines to unload them at various place; some of the warehouses even had oversized doors through which the wagons entered completely before unloading.
“It's the Hurst version of a shipyard,” Alexander said. He glanced at Kandys and caught the thief licking her lips. “I take it you've worked here?”
“On occasion. You've got to know what you're looking for before you break into a warehouse. See that one?” She pointed to a low building with the blocky letters of dwarven script painted above the door. “That belongs to Tagrod Waymire. He's the largest supplier of pre-wrought metalwork in Hurst—horseshoes, swords, rickshaw axles. Probably a lot of money locked up in there, but nothing worth my trouble. I can't carry enough swords or horseshoes to make a decent profit."
“Unfinished gold cubes or jewels, on the other hand—"
“Are usually guarded by five or ten nasty young men. If I want to steal baubles, I hit private houses. Middle-class people have nice stuff but no personal guards. They're easier to deal with, too, if someone discovers me."
Stamovan had slowed a bit but continued wending his way through the loading and unloading teams. Alexander guided Kandys around a gnome who, blinded by the stack of crates he carried, jumped as the pair stepped into his peripheral vision. The gnome snapped at them in his native language.
“So, what do you when you're, well, discovered?” Alexander asked delicately.
“I run.” Alexander nodded and she stopped suddenly, pulling him around to face her. “Listen, ‘xander, I don't kill people. I get some charms and powders from a street magician and I'll knock someone out if I have to, but I'm not a murderer. I'm a damned good burglar but I'm not some scum assassin."
“All right,” said Alexander. “I'm sorry.” He looked down the street to find Stamovan disappearing into a building. The doorway and the rest of the building front were devoid of identifying signs. “Where's he going?"
She followed his gaze and thought for a moment. “I think that place belongs to Burrel Tarlsman. He sells mining and building equipment, heavy stuff."
“The wealthiest dwarf in Hurst,” said Alexander, thinking back to the previous day's conversation with Hafflston.
“You've heard of him?"
“Just recently.” He stared at the warehouse for a moment. It disappeared briefly behind a wagon with a serious chip in one wheel. The thump of the flat spot against pavestones punctuated the rhythm of the horses’ hooves as they trotted past.
“We need to get inside that warehouse.”
“And say what? We're interested in building a temple, could we have a look at the types of stone available?"
“Actually,” said Alexander, “I was thinking we'd visit tomorrow night. Unescorted."
Kandys grinned.
* * * * *
Adam and Melanie splashed through the shallow stream behind the keep, enjoying the flow of cool water past their ankles and the feel of the rounded rocks beneath their feet. The discovery of the nature preserve had been nothing short of miraculous to Adam. Tucked between the keep and the eastern wall, beyond which rose the Black Mountains, the wide swatch of trees and grass seemed as magical to the boy as Nikkolynda's tower. The clean scent of open air and thick vegetation was unlike anything he had experienced in the streets and alleys of the city. He'd even seen rabbits darting about the underbrush, mistaking them at first for deformed rats until Melanie provided an amused explanation. The preserve only ran half a mile at its widest point, but to Adam it was a completely new world. He resolved to ask Nikkolynda for a chance to explore the greater forests beyond the city walls, but feared that his first trip outside of Hurst would be to accompany the Prime Wizard to war against the Addamantians.
“I heard that in Forthaven there are as many women in the army as men,” said Melanie.
“Why?”
“Um, maybe because they're not as stupid as our army.”
Adam's eyes followed the stream to the north, where it vanished from sight amongst a thick bunch of trees. He knew that it continued all the way to the eastern wall, widening from there into a branch of the Sunat, which flowed from the Lake of the Gods high up in the mountains. According to Pellorin, the stream's passage beneath the city wall was guarded by a heavy portcullis and arcane wards. Adam wondered if fish were able to pass the wards. He realized that Melanie was staring at him expectantly.
“I'm sorry, what?"
“Good morning?” said Melanie. She tapped the side of her nose. “You know, army? Our officers try not to let any women in at all."
“You could be an archer,” he said. “There are plenty of women archers, and you're pretty good at it."
“I don't want to be a stupid archer,” said Melanie, but she smiled at the compliment.
Someone shouted from the direction of the keep. Two boys, one dwarf and one human, ran toward the pair in the stream. Adam recognized them as they neared—Paul, who was a year older than Adam, and Groskov, whom Adam assumed was the equivalent in dwarven terms. Both served as pages in the Imperial army and would be formally inducted as trainees in another year. They wore lion's-head tabards and each sported a silver insignia ring, though these clipped to the nostril instead of piercing it. Adam frowned as the two approached, then turned to look back up the stream.
“Hi, Melanie,” said Paul. “Guess what? They found some elves hiding out in the woods near the western gate. Morning patrol caught ’em."
“Bringin’ ’em to the jail in a cage,” said Groskov. “Figure they're in league with those Addamantians."
“You want to go look with us?"
“Go look at elves in a cage?” said Melanie.
“Well, sure,” said Paul.
“No, thanks. You go play with your elves. Adam and I are busy talking."
“Oh, yeah,” said Groskov. “The cheater."
“Cheater?” asked Adam.
“Yes, cheater,” said Paul. “We know you used spells yesterday. It's not fair."
“At dart ball?” said Adam.
“No, dummy, at dinner.” Paul nudged Groskov. “This boy's an idiot."
“He's not an idiot!” said Melanie.
“Don't you think that if I were cheating I would've won?” said Adam.
Groskov stepped up to Adam and jabbed him in the chest with a stubby finger. The dwarf was a few inches shorter but his shoulders were just as broad
and his arms were already far more muscular. “Are you callin’ me a liar, idiot?"
“Well, it doesn't make sense,” said Adam. Before he could continue, Groskov planted both hands on Adam's chest and shoved. He flew backward, catching his heel on a rock, and sat with a splash in the middle of the stream. The water quickly soaked through his trousers and a good portion of his shirt. Melanie jumped from the stream with an unladylike curse as Paul and Groskov laughed.
Still sitting on the smooth rocks, Adam glared up at Groskov. The pattern of his breath changed automatically, slipping into the rhythm he'd learned in the first lessons from Amaut.
“That wasn't very nice,” he said. His heartbeat quickened, but he felt strangely detached, a somewhat similar sensation to when Nikkolynda had ridden his consciousness. It seemed to Adam that he sat just a bit behind his actual body, observing the scene from a dislocated point of view.
“What're you gonna do about it, idiot?” said Groskov. He stepped back slightly and balled his fists. Paul laughed as the dwarf beckoned for Adam to stand and fight, but Adam remained frozen. Instead of climbing to his feet, he began reciting words in Halonic.
“Ooh, look out, Gros,” said Paul. “He's been an apprentice for all of a week and he's going to turn you into an ant!"
Groskov appeared less certain of Adam's harmlessness than his friend, and Melanie proved even more sensitive to the power coalescing around the soaked boy. She took a few steps backward and stood, tensed to run, as Adam continued to chant. Groskov suddenly yelped and leaped from the stream, tripping and falling to his knees as he scrambled over the small bank. Small wisps of steam arose from the water where he'd been standing.
“Fire and blood,” the dwarf said. He rolled into a sitting position and yanked his boots from his feet. “The little runt made the rocks hot!” Sure enough, the soles of Groskov's were discolored like a saddle left carelessly close to a farrier's pot. Adam and Paul's eyes widened in a comic reflection of one another. The tableau ended when Melanie giggled.
“Think that's funny?” said Paul. He fumbled under his tabard and produced a long dagger. Adam finally moved, scrambling backward in the water as Paul strode around the dumbfounded Groskov. Melanie screamed and ran, then stopped, unsure of what to do. She looked at Adam, then Paul, then at the keep, which rose much too far away to summon help.
The calm detachment overtook Adam again and a torrent of Halonic words rushed from his lips. He recognized only a few of them, could picture Nikkolynda repeating the strange syllables as he stood over a clay pot on the workshop table. Adam's eyes dropped from Paul's face to the ground at the edge of the stream, where a particularly prolific species of water lily sent shoots from broad, floating leaves to the moist dirt. The boy's vision narrowed and zoomed in on one such sprout, until he could make out the pale green veins carrying nutrients from root to leaf. He tasted the dank, loamy texture of the dirt surrounding the plant, Then a spasm of white-hot pain shot through his body. A wild shout tore from his throat as thick, green tendrils erupted from the ground to ensnare Paul's feet. In seconds the page's boots disappeared under encasing vines. They jerked to the side and Paul fell heavily on his back. Melanie's scream joined Adam's, but Groskov was too frightened to make a sound. He crawled away with his eyes fastened on Paul, whose wrists were now pinned to the ground by more vegetation.
Adam's vision snapped back to normal with a force that made him wince. Bright pinpoints of light exploded in his head and he squeezed his eyes shut. He half-expected the unnatural growth to pull Paul deep into the ground, but when he looked again, the tendrils ceased erupting from the dirt. Aside from binding the crying boy to the ground the plants appeared perfectly normal. Melanie finally quit screaming and Adam dropped to one elbow in the midst of the stream, as though the sound of her voice had been the only thing holding him upright.
“Wha—what did you do to him?” said Groskov. Dark silhouettes appeared from the direction of the keep and a shadow skimmed the grass as a flyer angled toward them.
“I don't know,” said Adam, and passed out.
* * * * *
“It's incredible,” said Nikkolynda.
“It's impossible,” said Sheldon. He and Pellorin sat side by side in the desks normally occupied by their apprentices during lecture. Nikkolynda chose to pace before the great slate board at the front of the room. The old wizard's step was considerably sprier than either of his subordinates remembered seeing before.
Pellorin sank back in his chair and propped one elbow on his knee so that he could cradle his forehead in his fingers.
“I don't see how he did it,” he said. “Even just the incantation, never mind the result. We certainly haven't taught him that much Halonic in the short time he's been here."
“He learned the words by listening to me,” said Nikkolynda, “or at least remembered them. That's not nearly so important as the process, though. How could an untrained boy produce such feats with semantics alone? I can't do it. Can you?"
Sheldon gnawed a bite of meat from the drumstick he held and munched at it thoughtfully. His bald head glistened under the torch light and his large bulk seemed ready to shatter the confines of the chair in which he sat. Nikkolynda hoped the other wizard hadn't run out to the site of the boys’ confrontation with the turkey leg clutched in his hand.
“How do you normally accomplish the fast growth of your guardian blossoms?” Sheldon asked.
“I soak the seed in sorba oil for a day, to begin with,” said Nikkolynda. “The dirt is treated with a combination of sulfur and cathinor root. I use a Halonic recitation to graft the eye to the sprout, and the whole process takes about three days. It's rather successful overall—I'd say only one in five fail to blossom."
“Yet the boy did it in less than a minute, with nothing but Halonic,” said Pellorin. “Of course, he didn't have the eye to attach, but that's a rather minor point."
“What was the cost?” asked Sheldon. “How could he have amassed the power necessary to force the plants’ growth like that? It must have taken some tremendous energy to make them respond so quickly, and to such a great extent."
Pellorin began tapping his foot against the floor, an old sign that the wizard was concentrating to the utmost. “It had to be the tree,” he said. While freeing Paul from his vegetable bonds the wizards and accompanying soldiers had noticed a large maple some twenty yards from the stream. In the midst of life blooming around it, the tree's leaves were all withered and fallen to the ground. The bark on the trunk had crumbled under Pellorin's touch.
“Impossible,” said Sheldon.
“But most likely,” said Nikkolynda. “The energy had to come from somewhere. Adam has no lodestones or spirit cages, and he certainly didn't go out there to prepare the rocks and weeds ahead of time. I believe he spontaneously pulled the life force from that tree and directed it into the ivy."
“And instinctively knew how to make a plant grow, not to mention ensnare an enemy's feet?” Sheldon lifted himself from the desk and stomped across the lecture hall to toss his drumstick down the garbage shaft. “What does this mean, Nikkolynda? The boy's got elf blood in him? A Weirdling?"
“No,” said Pellorin, “it means he's discovered the hundredth magic."
Sheldon erupted into laughter, quieting only when he saw that the other two wizards refused to join in. “The hybrid magic,” he said. “You must be joking, Pellorin. Even if the boy managed to merge elf, dwarf and human magic, he would've had to know all three beforehand. If he's that fast of a study he'll have mastered every known art by the end of the year."
“Unless our basic conception of the nature of magic is incorrect,” said Nikkolynda. Pellorin thought for a moment, then nodded.
“Come now,” said Sheldon. “Nearly three hundred years of formal study obliterated in less than a week by one apprentice? Even you must find that hard to swallow."
“Three hundred years of teaching the same thing, the same way, over and over again,” said Nikkolynda. “If a chi
ld shows an aptitude for magic, we take him in at a young age and begin training. Likewise for the dwarves and gnomes. How often do we accept an apprentice older than, say, six or seven?"
“Virtually never,” said Pellorin.
“The younger the child, the more strictly we guide his or her education and practice,” Nikkolynda continued. “We've always told ourselves that this is for their own good, as well as the safety of the others. No sense in having the curiosity of a child jeopardizing the safety of him, his friends and his teachers. The cost of this practice, however, is that we stifle the natural creativity of the young. By the time the apprentice is free to make his own decisions, he's been thoroughly indoctrinated with what we refer to as the ‘correct’ practice of magic. Our more relaxed treatment of Adam allowed him the opportunity to expose a possible error in the way we segregate magic into classes."
“No,” said Sheldon. He shook his head and returned to his desk. “If your theory were correct, we should have all sorts of amateur wizards running about the streets of Hurst, casting spells whenever a stressful situation presents itself."
“Why should they?” asked Pellorin. “These non-apprentices were told at an early age that they have no arcane ability. They're never taught the methods of summoning power nor forming the directed will, and it never occurs to them to do so naturally."
“Surely someone—"
“We have had inexplicable outbursts of magic on occasion,” said Nikkolynda. “Probably attributable to the non-practitioners you mention. Of course, what happens to a man or woman who displays magical ability, yet has not been trained by the Guild nor the Imperial wizardry?"
“He's branded a warlock,” said Pellorin. “Because we assume he has no natural ability, it follows that his power must come from allegiance with one of the dark entities."
“Exactly.” Nikkolynda picked up a length of chalk and toyed with it momentarily, then returned it to the ledge beneath the slate. “Thus, a man who falls from a height and miraculously levitates himself to the ground doesn't come running to the Guild to share his newfound skills. On the contrary, he probably hides for a week, then boards a ship for Parna."
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