by K. B. Bogen
I ran for hours before I reached the forest. There was something strange about it, something hauntingly evil, hauntingly beautiful. Without a second thought, I entered the enchanted wood, determined to get to the root of the problem.
The sorceress within the wood tried to enslave me, but I fought valiently to free myself. I would never give in to her demands, never, though my life should be forfeit. Finally, I fought my way clear of her spells and traps, and escaped.
Sharilan.
So much for the “ignore it and it will go away” approach. His mind kept returning to the woman in the wood.
He had a sneaky feeling it was important to find out what game she played, and what role she expected him to play in it. There was more to this business than simply freeing a girl from an enchanted castle.
He shook his head and continued his writing.
I was alive, but my tunic would never be the same. In her desperation, the sorceress had shredded my clothing. I was, however, determined to make use of the information she had let slip.
Somewhere, there is an unfortunate damsel in distress. It is my duty to save her, even if it kills me. I must press onward, into the jaws of death.
That might be a closer to the truth than he wanted to believe. Lords! What kind of mess had he gotten into this time? So many questions and only one answer. And he was getting a little tired of “I don’t know.”
When in doubt, change subjects. Erwyn looked across the clearing.
“What do I do with you?” he murmured to his still-sleeping guest.
Erwyn thought for a moment and came up with an answer. He didn’t know.
He couldn’t leave him, alone and unprotected. Okay, so the old guy did have a sword and lance, not to mention plate armor. But other than that, he was defenseless.
On the other hand, Erwyn couldn’t have him tagging along for the next four years.
On the third hand, if normal mortal folk never visited this wood, what in the Name of the Four Hells was the old man doing here in the first place?
Here he was, barely into the first year of his travels and, rather than filling his days with the bliss of boredom, he’d had to deal with a quest, a mysterious mage, a damsel in distress, a mystery, a mysterious knight, and a bucket-load of unanswered questions. Erwyn never was very good at leaving unanswered questions unanswered.
Like the time he just had to find out how to work the Fourth Class levitation spell ...
Up, Up, and Away
Dust the Rafters While You’re Up There
“CURIOSITY AND INVENTIVENESS CAN MAKE THE LIFE OF A SORCERER BOTH INTERESTING AND REWARDING. A LITTLE CAUTION IS GOOD, TOO.” — Sorcerers’ Almanac, Section Six: On the Successful Use of Magic
He couldn’t wait a year to have it taught to him properly. Nope. Not him. He went looking for enlightenment.
Late one evening, after classes were over and all good little apprentices should have been meditating or practicing their spells, Erwyn sneaked into the Applications Master’s library.
The Masters were in their private dining hall, laughing over the “mistake of the day” and whoever made it.
The door had a simple iron lock. In no time, Erwyn opened it, using his dagger and no feat of magic at all. He didn’t think that there might be any other sort of protection set on that door. Okay, he didn’t think.
He entered Master Gordrun’s sanctum sanctorum quietly. Before him stretched row upon row of leatherbound books. Magic books, recipe books and history books. Books with ordinary letters stamped on their spines, books covered with glowing runes, and books with no writing on them at all.
There was one book in particular that Erwyn sought: Gordrun’s Reference Book. The Instruction Manual. The Liber Magicorum. The place where old Gordrun got the spells he used to torture his pupils. An ancient book, decrepit, and filled with all the spells a fledgling magic user could possibly desire.
His heart beat loudly as he glanced furtively down the hall and carefully closed the door.
The book lay open on a high wooden pedestal on the other side of the room. A tall candle rested on a small shelf next to the book, illuminating the pages.
Erwyn started across the room. He was halfway across when ...
Creak!
“Crap!” He froze, listening for any sound from the hall. It was probably the only loose board in the room, so of course he found it. Now the Masters would find him. He stood there for almost half an eternity, waiting, but no one came to investigate.
Sighing with relief, he managed to cross the rest of the room and reach the book without further mishap.
He stared at the pages of the book in front of him. “Wow!”
Before him were hundreds of incantations, gestures, potion recipes, descriptions of magical devices. Each page was beautifully decorated with illustrations. Mythical beasts leaped though magical forests. Vines heavy with fruit twined about enchanted maidens. Small furry creatures peered out from beneath dew-laden leaves.
He felt a tightness in his chest and realized he’d been holding his breath. His fingers tingled as he turned the pages, savoring each of them in turn until he found the levitation spell he sought.
It was simple enough. He memorized the feel of it, the gestures involved. The spell seemed to sing in his brain. It was so easy!
He built the spell in his mind, giving it power from his own store of energies. And pushed.
Then he realized he’d goofed. He was supposed to rise gently, like a feather. Instead, he shot upward like an arrow. It was wonderful.
Air rushed past him as he soared toward the vaulted crack! ceiling. He floated near the rafters, rubbing his aching head.
“Oh, no!” He looked down toward the distant floor.
He’d forgotten one tiny detail. He knew how to go up, but he had no idea how to get back down!
He bobbed there, twelve feet above the book that could have been his salvation. Moreover, stranded as he was on the ceiling, he couldn’t turn the pages to find the counterspell even if he could read it from there, which he couldn’t.
“Erwyn, you’ve gotten yourself into a real mess, now.” That was an understatement. “So what are you going to do about it?” Good question.
Being found floating against the ceiling would be extremely embarrassing and could conceivably get him suspended ... er ... kicked out of school. There had to be some way to get down.
While he hung there, wondering what to do, the door opened and a black-clad figure shuffled into the room. Erwyn’s heart stopped. At least, that’s what it felt like.
It wasn’t Master Gordrun, fortunately. Old Master Falwrickel stood just inside the door while the boy tried vainly to float out of sight.
Erwyn took a deep breath, preparing himself for a display of temper such as he had never seen. He was, however, disappointed.
The old man glanced once at the young apprentice dangling against the ceiling. Then he tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe and bowed his head. But not before Erwyn caught the hint of a smile on the Master Sorcerer’s face. The old man shuffled into the library and the door swung gently shut behind him.
Master Falwrickel searched through the rows of books as though Erwyn weren’t even there. Erwyn watched him, wondering.
With a cry of triumph, the old man pounced upon one small volume bound in red leather, then shuffled back toward the door. Just before he opened the door, he turned back to the boy, that smile still peeking out through his wrinkles.
“Apprentices get themselves into some of the most interesting predicaments, don’t you think?” He paused, stuffing his book into a hidden pocket in his robe.
“You know,” he added mischievously, “levitation spells work on other things besides people. Think about it.” After which, he opened the door and left.
Erwyn thought he could hear a soft chuckle as
the latch clicked behind the old man. He considered the matter for a minute or two. “Other things besides people?”
He looked around. The room contained nothing except some musty old stuffed animals, a long wooden table, some writing materials, and lots of books.
Books? That was it!
Gathering his scattered wits, Erwyn recalled again the levitation spell. Carefully, he aimed the spell at the book below him, spreading it to include the candle as well. He frowned, concentrating a small portion of his energy on his goal.
Book and candle rose toward him slowly. It wouldn’t do to crash them into the ceiling, too. But it certainly was hard work being careful.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside and Erwyn’s heart skipped a few beats. His concentration faltered. Book and candle fell toward the floor. Quickly, he “caught” them. The footsteps continued down the hall, leaving Erwyn weak-kneed (or a reasonable approximation, considering). Eventually, the book and candle reached him, and he leveled the spell off.
Erwyn hurriedly searched the book for the correct counterspell. He found it with no trouble. The counterspell turned out to be only a little more complicated than the levitation spell, and he memorized it in minutes.
With all the control he could muster, he tried to lower himself, the book, and the candle gently to the ground.
Moments later, the book and candle landed on the table with a muffled thump, and he released the spell. Unfortunately, while the book and candle were safe, he wasn’t. He fell the last couple of feet, his ankle twisting painfully beneath him as he landed heavily on the floor.
Erwyn returned the book to its stand and hurried to the exit as fast as he could. He locked the door on his way out, then limped toward his quarters and safety.
At least, he thought he was safe, assuming old Falwrickel didn’t tell anyone. Boy, was he wrong!
The next morning at Applications practice, Master Gordrun had a surprise in store for his young pupil. “Today, students,” he said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, “we are going to make a slight departure from the norm.
“A few of you think you are ready to attempt some of the higher level spells, so today we are going to let you try one or two. Apprentice Erwyn,” he looked directly at the boy with a predatory smile, “would you like to help me demonstrate the Fourth Level levitation spell?”
Erwyn never knew how he managed to keep from fainting.
At first, he thought Falwrickel had ratted on him. Not so, he learned later.
Each door had a simple iron lock, so simple absolutely anyone could open it. And each door had a warning spell on it, a magic burglar alarm. If the door was opened without negating the spell, the Masters would be alerted. After a reasonable time, someone went to check up on the “intruder.”
Apparently, the School not only tolerated such excursions, but actually encouraged them. Not openly, of course. But then, no one ever really tried to prevent an apprentice from sneaking into the libraries, by magical or any other means (excepting the lock, which didn’t count). After all, ingenuity and daring are desirable traits in a magic-user.
* * *
How long ago it all seemed. If anyone had told Erwyn a year ago that he would actually be thinking fond thoughts about the Apprentice School, he would have used that levitation spell on the person just to see exactly how far is up!
But now, he found himself honestly wishing for that quiet, peaceful time in his life.
Peace and quiet seemed to be in short supply these days.
Enlightenment
Where Magic Flows, Trouble Follows
“IT IS NOT NATURAL FOR TOO MANY PLANTS WITH MAGIC PROPERTIES TO GROW IN THE SAME AREA. IF YOU FIND SUCH A GARDEN, FIND OUT WHO PLANTED IT AND MAKE SURE THEY’RE FRIENDLY.” — Sorcerers’ Almanac, Section One: On Getting the Lay of the Land
Erwyn closed his book and returned it to his pack. The fire had burned down again. Since he hadn’t put much wood on it, he’d expected that. With his eyes on his still-sleeping guest, he rose and kicked the sticks apart, making a lot of noise in the process. No reaction.
He pushed a mound of dirt atop the embers, stirring the dirt and wood together, again loudly. The old man still lay snorting in his sleep.
Erwyn shook his head and refrained from laughing aloud. Not wishing to delay any longer, he hoisted his pack and got ready to leave. He walked about six feet before ...
“Hold on there, young fella!” the old man’s creaky voice sounded behind him. “I’ve a mind to tag along, if it’s all right.” He spoke like a commoner, dropping and changing letters everywhere. “I’ll just get me things here.” Bending slowly, he picked up the weapons he’d left in the now-damp grass. They weren’t even wet.
“Actually ... ” Erwyn started to reply. He swallowed his answer before it escaped. Something more important had just occurred to him. “What happened to all that ‘Aroint thee, varlet’ stuff? You sure talked a lot differently last night.”
The old man smiled nervously. “It was the first thing I thought of. I, uh,” he paused, fumbling for words, “wanted some company.”
“I think a simple ‘Mind if I join you?’ would have sufficed. Anyway, I’m probably not going the same direction you are.” He smiled hopefully.
“Sure ye are, sure ye are.” The old man laughed and stepped up to Erwyn’s side.
“But which way are you going?”
“Same way you are.”
“But ... ”
“Come on, young fella. Time’s a-wastin’.”
So Erwyn allowed himself to be towed along the path, muttering feeble protests all the way and cursing himself for being too spineless to stick up for himself.
While they walked, the old man kept up a running commentary on just about everything in their path.
“The Western Wood is a very special place,” he was saying. “Take those trees over there,” he gestured toward some trees to their left. “Do ye know what they are?”
Erwyn shook his head. “Nope,” he replied, without looking up, then added softly, “And only a short time ago, I actually missed being back in school!”
Fortunately, the old man wasn’t listening.
“Those’re oak trees,” he continued. “Those’re ash.” He nodded in another direction. “And over there,” he pointed somewhere to the right, “are some rowan trees. Hawthorn, cedar, aconite. So close together. Don’t ye understand the significance of this?”
“No,” Erwyn answered automatically.
Actually, he was looking down at his feet shuffling in the dirt and leaves. He didn’t know what the old man was talking about.
“What’s so strange about it?”
“Well,” the man said, fixing Erwyn with a hard stare, “it would be unlikely for ‘em to just grow here by accident. Someone planted ‘em here on purpose. Ye see, young fella, those plants have magical properties.”
Erwyn stopped. “Huh? What did you say?”
The old man’s voice changed as he reiterated, “I said, those plants have magical properties.” For a moment, he didn’t sound like a crotchety old peasant anymore. He even pronounced his “d’s.” “Their wood is used in making wands and staffs. Mages use the leaves, nuts and berries for potions and to ward off evil.” He seemed to realize his mistake suddenly and the peasant accent came back thicker than before. “Ye wear that on yer chest and ye don’t know?” He poked at Erwyn’s Guild patch.
“Well, uh ... ” He meant to say something about the waffling accent, but instead retreated before the old man’s verbal onslaught.
“Some magic user ye’ll be, assumin’ ye survive at all. These here are the basics of magic. The tools of the trade.” The man shook his head. “Ye should know ‘em by heart.”
Erwyn flushed guiltily for a moment, then made a half-hearted attempt at a defense. “There didn’t seem to be much point. I’m not
very good, anyway. I’ll probably never need to know that much about the ‘tools of the trade,’ as you call them.”
Wait a minute! What did he have to feel guilty for? He hadn’t been that bad. He’d actually listened to most of the stuff his instructors tried to cram into his head, unlike some of his fellow students. When he bothered to show up for class, that is.
“Anyway,” he continued aloud, “I don’t think they ever told us apprentices anything about that stuff. It’s probably the kind of thing we’re supposed to learn while we’re journeymen.”
“Well, yer a journeyman, aren’t ye?”
“Yeah, but ... ”
“So, now ye know.” The old man turned back to the path. “Good thing I came along to help.”
“Now, wait just a minute!”
Erwyn grabbed the knight by the arm and hauled him back around to face him. Not an easy task, since the old guy still wore his armor.
“Who are you, really? And how come you know so much about an enchanted wood where supposedly no one ever comes?”
“My name is Chesric.”
The old man watched Erwyn for a reaction. He got none. How come everyone always seemed to expect him to recognize their names?
“And ... ?”
“And what?”
“What are you? Who are you? What are you doing here? And how do you know so much about magic? Are you a spy from the School?”
“Bet ye didn’t ask this many questions while ye were in that there school.” The old man nudged Erwyn in the ribs. Then he became serious again. “I don’t really know that much about magic, but I’ve got a lot of common sense. A staff made from the ash works just as well to protect someone without the Gift as with it.
“Rowan berries, too. And hawthorn. And aconite. Don’t need to be a mage to use them. As to what I am,” Chesric shrugged, “I’m just an old knight on a quest ... to nowhere.”