The Price of Magic

by Gavin Neale

  ‘I have senses enough to recognise magic performed by those I know from another world. Tell Daphne that Tabitha offers her services as ambassador for the animals of the Land of Fairy. I know which animals to talk to much better than the old twisted fairy she’s walking round with, and the Ruined threaten us all.’

  Before Pedir could answer, Tabitha stalked away.

  ‘At your service,’ Pedir said to the cat’s retreating form before he stepped between worlds.

  13

  Swordsmith and World Walker

  Abby was wearing a thick leather apron that was too short but, as she wasn’t doing any work on the new sword, she had been assured that this wouldn’t be a problem. After setting Abby up, Rhiannon had disappeared for a long time. She finally returned with Einion, who was carrying a length of metal that was surprisingly short compared to the sword they had settled on earlier.

  ‘It’ll make the same shape,’ Einion said, reading Abby’s mind. ‘You keep an eye on the furnace, Rhiannon. We’ll see how far we get before lunch.’

  ‘Yes, Guild Master.’

  ‘A simple Einion will do. We’re not at the guild house and we are all family. Even Abby, once she witnesses this.’

  Rhiannon blushed behind her beard but smiled broadly at Abigail. ‘I never thought I would have human relatives. Thank you, Einion.’

  ‘Well, let’s get cracking. Abby, I want you to take the sword template from the workbench. When I tap thrice on the anvil, hold the template out near to what I’m working on so I can compare the two.’

  ‘Okay,’ Abby said. She turned and fetched the blunt sword that had felt so good in her hands.

  To Abby, the sword-making process was fascinating. Einion started by drawing out the metal so that it was close to the length of the template, then he began to shape the metal into a blade. Abby watched entranced as Einion created the point of the blade then hammered out the edges. He was calm and methodical, heating the length of steel to the same orange-yellow colour each time before striking the metal with ten efficient blows and returning it to the flame.

  Occasionally Einion was unhappy with something and went back to a section, heating the metal until it was red and working the problem area until he was satisfied. In this manner he worked systematically down the blade and the sword grew out of the lump of steel. Einion reminded Abby of her sensei; they had the same fluidity of movement and sense of control, with no wasted effort. However, Einion was all smiles and was clearly in his element as he bent the metal to his will using nothing more than hammer and flame.

  Periodically he struck the anvil three times, waiting patiently for Abby to hold up the template so he could compare his work to it and nodding once he was happy to proceed. Every now and again Abby looked at Rhiannon, who seemed as mesmerised by the process as she was.

  In no time at all, a sweaty-looking Einion declared it was time for lunch. ‘Not too bored, I hope,’ he said, before taking another bite of the toasted sandwich that Rhiannon had made using the heat of the furnace.

  ‘Of course not, it’s amazing,’ Abby said. ‘How long will it take you to finish?’

  ‘A few days,’ replied Einion, once he had finished his mouthful of food. ‘We should get most of the blade done today. Tomorrow we can finish the lower section and draw out the tang. That might be more interesting as we’ll work in some curves for strength.’

  ‘Let me show you,’ Rhiannon said, noticing Abby’s look of confusion. She pulled out a small notepad and a pencil from her apron pocket and sketched a sword and a similar shape beside it. ‘As you can see, most of a sword is this one piece of metal,’ said Rhiannon, pointing to the second shape she had drawn. The sword blade looked the same in both of her sketches, but there was no cross guard on the second shape and the handle end tapered into a small length of thinner metal. ‘We’re working our way down the blade to where the hilt is fitted. The tang is this bit here, which we draw out so we can fit the cross guard and make the handle. These curves distribute the forces more evenly and so are stronger than if we used a square angle.’

  ‘Can you make a sword as well?’ Abby asked, impressed by Rhiannon’s explanation.

  ‘I know the theory but I have never made an actual sword.’ Rhiannon hesitated and looked up at Einion.

  ‘You can tell Abby,’ he said. ‘We’re family now, bonded by circumstances rather than blood – but bonded all the same.’

  ‘I have never made a sword but all dwarves can do basic smithy work. Most of us produce one of these.’ She bent down and pulled a wicked-looking knife out of a sheath strapped to her right ankle. ‘They’re easier to make as the blade isn’t so big. It’s kind of a rite of passage.’

  ‘Everyone learns to be a blacksmith?’ asked Abby, looking at the knife and thinking about its construction. It was obviously shorter than a sword and the blade was a different shape but she could see it was constructed in the same way. ‘Could I learn?’

  ‘Hopefully we won’t be here long enough to teach you everything, but I’m sure Rhiannon could get you started with making nails,’ Einion said.

  ‘Of course,’ Rhiannon agreed. ‘We’ll start this afternoon once Einion has finished work on the sword for the day.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Abby, excited at the prospect.

  ***

  Pedir stepped into the garden. It was early evening and a fire had been lit at the dwarf camp. For a moment he hesitated but the chance to talk to the girl with the warrior soul was too tempting. He walked quietly towards the camp and heard the tired chatter of a group who had spent the day hard at work. The remains of the meal smelt uninviting to him but Pedir was aware that a lecture on vegetarianism would not be welcomed by the dwarves.

  ‘Good evening,’ he said as he approached the fire.

  ‘Hi,’ said Abby. She was sitting between the two dwarves, a plate by her feet and a tankard in her hand. The dwarves merely nodded to begin with but Einion found his manners after a minute or two.

  ‘Well met, Pedir. There is some salad left, if you would care to join us, and ale if you would like some.’

  ‘I believe there will be a meeting later so I will refrain from supping your fine ale if that does not cause offence. But I would be happy to partake afterwards and some food would be welcome.’ Pedir wondered why he was suddenly talking like his father; there were only two dwarves and Einion was a fellow Guardian.

  ‘I’ll get you some,’ said Rhiannon in halting Elvish, getting surprised looks from both Pedir and Einion.

  ‘Thank you,’ Pedir replied in Elvish. ‘May I congratulate you on your accent. There really is no reason for you to be nervous.’

  ‘I don’t think it is you she is nervous of,’ said Einion in Dwarfish, his tone at odds with his broad smile. ‘This is an unexpected talent you have acquired, Rhiannon.’

  ‘I was just trying to be polite to a Guardian of the Accords,’ Rhiannon replied to Einion in Dwarfish. ‘I meant no harm.’

  ‘Indeed you have done none,’ Pedir said in fluent Dwarfish. He did not have a regional accent so his speech was unlike anything Rhiannon had heard before. Even the human Guardians spoke with a Dinasmawr accent. ‘However, we all do Abigail a great disservice by talking in languages she cannot understand.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Einion, wondering where Rhiannon had learnt her Elvish.

  ‘Did I do something wrong?’ asked Abby, hearing her name mixed among the strange languages that the others were speaking.

  ‘Of course not,’ Pedir replied. ‘I apologise. I was taken aback by Rhiannon having learnt some of my language and Einion was equally impressed. We did not mean to exclude you.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Indeed not,’ Einion said. ‘Particularly after your efforts today. You would make a decent enough dwarf if you weren’t already too tall.’

  ‘High praise indeed,’ said Pedir, looking faintly amused. He sa
t down cross-legged by Rhiannon’s vacated stool and waited for his food to arrive.

  ‘I stand by it. We may have set only simple tasks but Abigail attended to them dutifully and would certainly pass muster for a trial apprenticeship, if she were inclined to do so.’

  ‘You do yourself and your species much honour, Abigail,’ Pedir said, nodding at her. ‘The Grand Master of the Runesmiths is a notorious stickler for detail and asks much of his followers.’

  Rhiannon appeared with a plate of salad that she handed to Pedir without a word. She sat down on her stool again and they fell silent as the elf ate. Abby wanted to ask so many questions. What was going on in the Land of Fairy? What was going on between the dwarves? There was so much that she was curious about – and anything was better than thinking about what was waiting for her back home.

  ‘What are you thinking about, little one?’ asked Einion. He was watching the small human who was so lost in thought.

  ‘I was thinking about homework.’ Abby said. ‘There’s so much waiting for me back at home and instead I am here being babysat by dwarves. And Tom has been kidnapped and we’re doing nothing about it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say nothing,’ said a voice out of the darkness. Nora walked into view. ‘Although I can’t tell you everything, we are working on that problem – among others.’

  ‘Well met, Nora,’ Einion said. ‘Will you join us for food or ale whilst we wait for Daphne to return?’

  ‘She’s got the kettle on in the workshop. Einion, Pedir, will you join us when it is convenient?’

  ‘But…’ Abby was silenced by a look from Nora and glared at the witch as she walked away.

  ‘All in good time, Abigail,’ said Einion. He stood up. ‘We haven’t forgotten Tom.’ He walked away whilst Pedir calmly ate his salad. Rhiannon didn’t have anything to say and so Abby sat awkwardly, waiting for Pedir to finish his food.

  ‘I’ll clean that up,’ said Rhiannon in English, as Pedir popped the last leaves into his mouth.

  Pedir chewed carefully and swallowed before answering. ‘Thank you. I would prefer to do that myself but I suspect Nora will be upset if I wait any longer.’ And with that, he handed over his plate and left Abby alone with Rhiannon.

  14

  Differing Lessons

  Thomas was happy that he was now living in King Richtus’s private quarters. He had been given the honour of open access to the king within his private area of the camp, and Thomas never left those quarters unless directed by the king.

  He could still hear the constant banging of hammers on metal that rang out through the day but that did not concern him much. His arm throbbed where King Richtus had struck him moments ago; he was sure there were splinters in his arm but he dared not stop now.

  ‘Pain is your friend, Thomas. It tells you that your body is still alive. We do not seek out pain for its own sake, but we should not run from it.’ King Richtus swung his wooden sword, forcing Thomas to block a rapid series of blows. ‘Come now, you are barely even trying. Is this how you would represent me on the battlefield?’

  ‘No, your majesty,’ said Thomas, lunging awkwardly in an attempt to stab the tall elf in the throat.

  ‘Now,’ said the king, easily knocking aside Thomas’s sword and striking him so hard on the shoulder that Thomas dropped his wooden sword. ‘That kind of lunge might do for a foot soldier but it will do nothing against the kinds of enemies I need you to kill. You must commit yourself to such attacks. You are no use to me dead, boy. We are enemies until this training is done. You cannot care about my health and you cannot hurt me. Now pick up your sword.’

  Thomas looked at the king and hesitated. His arm ached, his feet were sore from practising barefoot on rough earth, and he knew there was a lump on the side of his head from being struck earlier.

  ‘Pick up your sword, boy.’ King Richtus somehow managed to convey derision and concern as he spoke. He swiped with the flat of his blade against Thomas’s body, each word punctuated with a vicious blow.

  ‘Yes, your majesty,’ said Thomas. He stooped down and snatched up his sword, scything at the shins of the tall elf. Once upright, Thomas aimed a stab towards the king’s stomach and then began to swipe as hard as he could.

  ‘Better,’ King Richtus laughed. ‘I will teach you how to focus that anger and to delight in the pain that you will cause my enemies.’ The king easily blocked each swipe of Thomas’s sword. ‘You must work on your basic strokes. I will provide you with weapons that will send your enemies screaming to their deaths – but such gifts will be wasted if you can’t even swing a sword properly.’

  The king blocked a final stroke from Thomas and launched himself forward, striking Thomas in the chest with his fist before hitting him on both arms as the boy fell to the floor.

  Morgill Olkeyr watched his king beat the human child with a wooden sword and wondered why King Richtus was trying to educate such a limited creature. He waited until the human was sprawled on the floor again and coughed to get the king’s attention.

  ‘Yes, Morgill?’ the king asked, not looking away from the boy.

  ‘Your presence was requested when…’ Morgill paused, not sure if he should mention what was happening on the far side of the camp in front of the human.

  ‘Excellent,’ King Richtus said, understanding his courtier’s hesitancy. ‘Thomas, practise your blows against the target this afternoon. You have much to learn and quickly. You may not stop or clean up until I return. I expect you to do me proud.’

  ‘Yes, your majesty.’ Thomas was tired already but determined to show his king that a human could complete this training.

  ‘Well, get up then,’ replied the king, with a friendly smile. ‘There is work to be done.’ He turned, tossing his wooden sword aside, and strode across to Morgill.

  ‘Thank you, sire,’ Morgill said, turning his back on the boy and leading King Richtus away.

  ‘You don’t think the human is worth training?’ asked the king once they were out of earshot.

  ‘I do not question your sport, sire, but what is to be gained by pretending he will succeed?’

  ‘He will succeed, Morgill. I have every confidence that, trained and equipped by me, he will prove to be more than useful. Do you not have faith in your king?’

  ‘Of course, sire.’

  King Richtus the Gaunt laughed as they left his private quarters and started towards the far side of the camp where a number of his elves were working very hard as they dug for a particular type of metal ore that could be turned into decaying metal. ‘I applaud your discretion, Morgill Olkeyr. Most courtiers could not lie so well. But I don’t keep you to agree mindlessly with me. There is more than sport at stake here – much more. I look forward to hearing your apology. Now, let us hope that this is not another false alarm. I am running out of supervisors to punish.’

  ***

  Abby watched Rhiannon stack Pedir’s plate with the other used crockery and knew they would be washing them up once the meeting was finished.

  ‘You should make him clean all the plates.’

  ‘I’m sure he would,’ Rhiannon replied. ‘But how would that help?’

  Abby looked at the young dwarf but could not read her expression; she did not have much experience with dwarves. ‘It would make me feel better for a start. Some warrior I am.’

  ‘Abigail.’

  Something in Rhiannon’s tone of voice stopped Abby from snapping back and she asked meekly, ‘Yes?’

  ‘How are you feeling? Tell me the first thing that comes into your head.’

  Abby wanted to look away but she couldn’t, even as she felt herself blush. ‘Sick. I feel sick. I have since they took Tom. At first I was angry but once that faded I felt sick. I’m worried.’

  ‘Have you wondered why a Council of Guardians of the Peace Accords that separate the magical realms, a gathering of beings with almost un
imaginable magical power, would need our help?’

  Abby didn’t know what to say. She stared at the young dwarf, who smiled at her.

  ‘Abigail, we are arming you for your own protection because powerful beings have expressed an interest in your future. I have only seen you demonstrate a modest talent with a sword. I mean no disrespect, the magic of the Land of Fairy can have a strange effect on those who travel there, but please understand that the most helpful thing we can do for Nora, Daphne, Pedir and Einion is to make their lives as easy as possible. They have more important things to do than washing up or worrying about what we think.’

  ‘Or arming a human girl,’ Abby said quietly.

  ‘I am not going to second guess them, Abby. If Einion wishes to provide for you, there will be a reason. I know you cannot understand the honour that a runesmith’s gift grants, but such things are not given lightly.’

  Abby felt worse. ‘I don’t understand any of this. I feel so helpless.’

  Rhiannon laughed. ‘I know how you feel but worrying about it won’t help. I know you can’t stop the thoughts entering your head but you don’t have to pay attention to them. If you focus on where you are and what you are doing, life will get much easier.’

  Abby looked at the younger dwarf, who was smiling amiably. There was nothing forced about her expression, just an easy upturn of her mouth half-hidden by her beard. Abby was still confused but she was also fed up with saying that she didn’t understand. It was as if she had traded one set of problems back home for a whole set of new ones.

  Something in her expression must have given her away because Rhiannon said, ‘Perhaps I did not explain it very well. Can you keep a secret?’

  Abby would usually have laughed at such a request, knowing that secrets were a unit of currency at school, but this seemed a more serious request. ‘I’m not sure who would believe me if I tried to tell them a dwarf’s secret, but I will tell no one you don’t want me to.’

  ‘This is something you have to keep between us. Perhaps you may tell the human witches, as I’m sure they know, but absolutely no one else.’