by K. B. Bogen
“Nowhere?”
“And everywhere. I travel around the world, trying to find me a dragon. Occasionally, I hook up with some young fella who’s still a bit wet behind the ears, and help him stay alive until they’re dry.”
“Now, wait a minute ... !” Erwyn felt his face redden.
“Now, now. Don’t go gettin’ yer dander up. I didn’t mean it as an insult. Ye’ve got to admit, yer a bit inexperienced.” He smiled. Erwyn could tell because the edges of his mustache twitched upward.
The boy sputtered for a minute more, but the old man was right.
“Yes, I guess I am,” Erwyn admitted. “I just wanted to make it through this by myself. Anyway, what business is it of yours?”
“And yer doin’ a fine job, so far.” The old man ignored the last question. “I just thought I’d tag along and see what kind of mischief I can get meself into. I figure a young journeyman sorcerer probably attracts all kinds of interesting people.”
“What do you mean ‘attracts all kinds of interesting people’?”
“You know. Magic attracts magic. And magic attracts adventure. Don’t they teach you young folks anything?”
Erwyn stared at the old man for a moment. Magic attracts magic. Pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Since he’d left the School, he’d been beset by all sorts of unexplained and unexplainable events.
Like the army riding into Burgdell just before he decided to go there. And the bird chasing him across the field when he couldn’t make up his mind. Sharilan and the enchanted forest. Chesric finding him in that same enchanted forest. Everything.
Maybe that was it. “You mean I can’t avoid trouble because, sooner or later, it will find me?”
“Somethin’ like that.”
“Sounds a lot like homework,” Erwyn grumbled. “Cause and effect, huh? By using magic to survive, I get forced into a position where I have to use more magic to survive. Right?” This could be a problem. It could also be interesting. “So that business with Sharilan, and the bird and everything was just the natural outcome of my using magic?”
Chesric had been smiling indulgently, but suddenly his expression grew serious. Some of the sparkle left his eyes. “Sharilan? What do you know of her?” His voice was stern, demanding an answer.
Noting that tone of voice, Erwyn looked toward the old man. “I met her in this wood.” He pointed the way they had come. “Back there. Why?”
“If she’s mixed up in this, there must be more to you than meets the eye.” Chesric looked at Erwyn critically, as though seeing him for the first time.
“I doubt that very much.” The old man’s scrutiny made Erwyn uncomfortable. “Who is she?”
“Sharilan is a most powerful sorceress. The old meaning of the word.” He raised one bushy eyebrow for emphasis. “She practices evil magic, human sacrifice, the lot. And she don’t care one whit fer those she hurts in the process. If she sent ye on a quest, ye can bet her reasons weren’t good fer anyone but her. Are ye sure that was the first time ye ever met her?”
“Yeah. I’d definitely remember her if I’d seen her before. You say she’s an evil sorceress?”
“The worst.”
Erwyn felt his knees begin to wobble and there was a sinking feeling in his gut. He did remember the archaic meaning of the word “sorcery,” and he didn’t like it.
“Take it easy, boy.” Chesric grabbed Erwyn’s arm. “Here, have a sit. Ye look a might green around the edges.”
“Wouldn’t you, if you just found out you’d had a close encounter with someone like that?”
“Ye’ve got a point.”
“So why’d she pick on me?”
“I don’t know fer sure. I can think of a few possibilities, though.”
“Like?”
“Like maybe yer potentially very powerful and she’s out to eliminate a future rival.”
“Not likely. What are my other choices?”
“Yer either very unlucky, or so magic-poor that she figures she can use ye any way she likes.”
“Could be either or both. But there’s another possibility you’ve either overlooked, or deliberately omitted.”
“Which is?”
“That I’m an agent of hers, sent on some sort of errand for her.”
“I doubt that.”
“Why?”
“Well, if ye were, ye wouldn’t likely be standin’ there tellin’ me about it.”
“Oh.”
“Me, I favor option one.
“Whatever for?”
“Mostly because if it’s true, then ye might be kinda fun to have around. Liven up an old man’s final years.”
“And if it isn’t true?”
“Then yer goin’ to have a mighty difficult time tryin’ to stay alive. Sharilan don’t hang on to a tool long once she’s through with it.”
“Great! So I’ve either got to learn a hell of a lot in a very short space of time, or I’m going to die. Is that it?”
“That about sums it up.”
Erwyn felt one first-class depression building. “So I might as well just give up while I’m behind.”
“I wouldn’t recommend the givin’ up part.”
“What do you suggest? I’m not likely to become a super sorcerer overnight. Things like that don’t just happen.” He kicked at a pile of leaves in frustration. “Oh, I do pretty well at the basic charms and things, but you only need a small amount of magic talent to be able to do that. Midwives do it all the time. But the advanced spells ... I don’t have much hope of mastering them. I barely got into the School. I didn’t even score very high on the entrance exam.”
Erwyn couldn’t interpret the look Chesric gave him as the old man replied, “Boy, ye’ve got some strange ideas in yer head. Those tests don’t tell ye how much magic yer capable of. They only tell ye how much magic yer capable of at the time of the test!”
“You mean, I can learn the higher level spells?”
“Sure, if ye really want to. It’s all up here.” He tapped his temple. “Have ye been tested since ye went to that there school?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. I suppose some of the tests they gave us might have been evaluation tests. It all runs together after a while.” Erwyn sat down on the damp ground and put his arms around his knees.
“Besides, the teachers at the School didn’t give us the results of any of our tests, except for telling us whether we passed or failed.”
“There, ye see? They’ve probably been testin’ ye all along, and ye didn’t even know it.” Chesric clapped Erwyn on the back and reached down to help him stand. “Jest out o’ curiosity, why do ya always refer to it as ‘the School?’”
“Because it’s a lot shorter than ‘the Sorcerer’s Apprentice School.’ And it’s not like there’s more than one of them.”
“I see,” Chesric commented, nodding. “By the way, I can’t just go about callin’ ye ‘boy,’ boy. How ‘bout I just call ye Erwyn?”
He extended his arm, which Erwyn clasped firmly. It took him a few minutes to remember that he hadn’t actually told the old knight his name. More important, Chesric had managed to talk at great length about a whole lot of things. Without really answering any of Erwyn’s questions.
Brief Encounter
The Magic Gets in the Way
“DOING A GOOD DEED CAN OFTEN HELP CEMENT RELATIONS BETWEEN YOU AND THE NATIVES. IT MAY ALSO LEAD TO COMPLICATIONS.” — Sorcerers’ Almanac, Section Three: On People and Their Influence
“Doesn’t this stupid forest ever end?” Erwyn shifted his pack and kicked angrily at a rock.
They’d walked for-seeming-ever and still hadn’t seen daylight. Erwyn was tired and hungry. And to top it off, Chesric had kept up his running commentary on the unusual local flora.
At first, Erwyn tried to listen to what the old m
an had to say. It helped pass the time. Besides, if he kept his ears, and mind, open he might accidentally learn something important. But now his feet hurt. He wanted to see something other than trees and the back of Chesric’s rusty armor.
He kicked another stone and watched it sail into a pile of decaying leaves. As he turned back to the path, he noticed Chesric watching him.
“Problem?” Erwyn planted his hands on his hips and stared back at the old man.
“Not yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Only that, considerin’ where ye are, ye might want to stop abusin’ the real estate. Before it starts abusin’ you.”
“Come on, Chesric. They’re just rocks!” Feeling defiant, he kicked another. The fist-sized greenish stone flew into the air and landed against a tree with a loud “Yeowtch!”
Did he just hear what he thought he heard?
With Chesric looking on, he rushed to pick up the rock. Rolling it over in his hand, he examined it. It seemed ordinary enough. Solid, like a rock. Feathery veins of blue-green shimmered across its shiny black surface. It didn’t even rattle when he shook it.
“Well?” Chesric finally ran out of patience.
Erwyn shrugged. “It’s just a rock. I think maybe we were hearing things.” He dropped it back on the ground.
“Did you have to do that?” The rock moaned. “Like I’m not sore enough already.”
“You ... you can talk!”
“Of quartz I can talk. I’m a roc.”
“But rocks aren’t supposed to talk.”
“Another expert. Listen, kid, I don’t know where you get your information, but every roc in my band talks constantly. Imagine the noise! Sheesh!”
“Now, hold on just a second. You’re a rock, but you can talk, but ... ?”
“I thought we’d established that already. You’re a little slow today, aren’t you kid?”
Erwyn glared at the creature. “So how come none of the rest of these rocks talk?” He picked up a gray-brown pebble and threw it against a tree. Not even a whimper. “See?”
“Geez, of all the sorcerers in the world, I’ve gotta run into a genius. I’m a roc, kid. R-O-C. Roc. A big bird. Understand? I’m under a curse.”
“How’d you know I’m a sorcerer?”
“That puke and yellow badge on your chest. Don’t you look at your clothes when you put them on?”
“Hey, watch your mouth, if you’ve got one. I don’t have to stand here and be insulted.”
“Really? Where do you go to get insulted? Sorry kid, reflex action. Let’s face it, sittin’ around on the ground for a few months ain’t any way to learn good manners. I’m sorry. Really.”
“Uh-huh. So, how’d you end up in this predicament, anyway?”
“The little woman and I had a falling out. She said I took her too much for granite. So, I went out with the boys to let off a little steam. I drank too much, and, feeling a little boulder than usual, I picked up a pretty trinket to take home to Ruby. To make up to her.” He sighed. “It was a real beauty, too. Simply marble-ous.”
“And?”
“And the trinket turned out to be some sort of magic power focus, and the old geezer who owned it was a wizard or something. He took it back, the old pyrite. Anyway, he started waving his hands and mumbling and pointing in my direction. Boy, was I petrified! And darned if the old boy didn’t stone me. I’ve been sitting here ever since, waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For someone like you to do something about it.”
“Me?” Why did he always have to do everything?
“Makes sense to me.” Chesric finally stuck his nose into the discussion. “How ‘bout usin’ one o’ them magic spells of yers?”
“Because none of my spells will work on this. There are some potions and ointments and stuff that might do the job, but I don’t exactly have the equipment handy to make any. Standard spell-removal techniques won’t work if a power focus was used.” He paused, trying to remember. What had Chesric been droning on about? Oak, ash, and thorn. Rowan, aconite, rosemary. He looked around. No thistle, no unicorn root, no ...
“Aha!”
“What aha? What’s that mean?” The stone rocked in impatience.
Erwyn grabbed the roc and knelt beside a large fern. He swept the fronds aside and dropped the roc into a patch of tiny white flowers.
The blue-green lines on the stone glittered among the dark green leaves. Suddenly, the stone exploded in a burst of violet light and pink mist. The blast knocked Erwyn and Chesric to the ground.
“Holy moly!” The roc towered over them, flapping its wings. “I’m free! How’d you manage it?”
“Holy moly. You’re standing in a patch of it.” Erwyn almost laughed at the bird’s confusion. “As Chesric’s been saying for hours, the Western Wood is a pretty strange place.”
“And here I thought ye weren’t even listenin’.” Chesric beamed with pride.
“Some things do sink in. Besides, I’ve had some prior experience with moly.” An experience he’d never forget. If it weren’t for the patch of moly Master Berdun had cultivated in the school garden, Erwyn might still be a bench in Nasty Nazurski’s cauldron room.
The roc flapped his wings, twisting and turning to be sure everything was all right. He bounded over to the young sorcerer.
“If there’s anything I can do for you, anything, ever, you just let me know. Okay, kid? You can count on Rocky. Boy, oh boy, I can’t wait to see the guys. Thanks a million, kid. This is just terrific. Say, what’s your name, so’s I can tell everyone?”
“My name’s Erwyn, and, if you don’t mind, I’d rather you didn’t go telling everyone about me.”
“Why not? You should be proud of yourself. You’re the greatest.”
“Because if you go telling everyone about me, it could be very inconvenient. Anyway, don’t you think you ought to go see your mate first? After all, ‘going out with the guys’ got you into the trouble I just got you out of.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I guess I should. Thanks again, kid.” He flapped his wings a few more times, causing the leaves to dance across the path. Then he launched himself into the branches overhead.
Erwyn watched, fascinated, as the trees parted to allow Rocky passage. He turned to smile at Chesric. The smile became a grin as he saw what lay behind the old man. Apparently, freeing the roc had freed them from the endless forest, as well. “You know, Chesric. Sometimes you’ve got to abuse the real estate. If I hadn’t kicked him, we would never have found Rocky. And if we hadn’t found Rocky, we might never have found that.” He nodded in the direction they’d been headed.
A few yards down the path, the trees opened out onto a valley bathed in the crimson and yellow rays of sunset.
“Great! Why don’t we camp right here, under the trees?” Chesric said, laying down his weapons, as well as a pack that Erwyn didn’t remember seeing before. “That is, if it’s all right with you. Yer the leader of this expedition, after all.”
I seriously doubt that, Erwyn thought. Aloud, he replied, “Sure. That’s just fine.” He had the feeling the decision had been made without him, anyway, but couldn’t think of a reason to argue.
Dropping his pack where he stood, he started clearing a space for the fire, like he always did. Chesric looked on for a few minutes, then left without a word. He returned with an armload of wood, but his armor was missing.
“What happened to your armor?” Erwyn asked, eyeing the rumpled, sweat-stained tunic and hose the man wore.
“Can’t hardly move around comfortably in that thing,” Chesric answered. “I took it off while ye was gettin’ the ground ready.” While he spoke, he stacked the wood and laid the fire.
Erwyn watched his companion. The old man built the fire with only three medium-sized branches and a few twigs,
like a letter “A” with a beard.
It looked a lot faster and easier to build than Erwyn’s version, but not as interesting. When Chesric finished, the boy composed himself, preparing to light the fire. He built the spell slowly this time. He didn’t want a repeat of his earlier experience.
“NEVER ALLOW LITTLE DISTRACTIONS TO INTERFERE WITH THE CASTING OF A SPELL.” — Sorcerers’ Almanac, Section Six: On the Successful Use of Magic
Chesric watched the boy with interest.
Erwyn had just started to cast the spell when ...
“Whatcha doin’?”
Erwyn lost it. Released prematurely, the spell zapped the first thing in its path. Which happened to be his sleeve.
“Shit!” He grabbed his cloak and wrapped his arm. Then he glared at the old man. “I was trying to get our fire lit. Now I’m trying to put my arm out. Why?”
“Wouldn’t it be more appropriate,” Chesric said carefully, “to use a plain ol’ flint an’ steel, instead of wastin’ yer energy on cookfires.”
Erwyn just stared at him. “Sure, no problem. I’ll just pull them out of my pack here.” He snatched at the bag. The flap flew open, scattering its contents across the dirt.
“One journal book,” Erwyn held it up to make certain Chesric saw it, “one Beginning Spells Book containing thirteen, count them, thirteen meager little spells. No flint and steel there.
“One slightly dull knife, two relatively clean tunics, a pair of pants, and a packet of jerky I hid in my pocket before I left. No flint and steel there, either. Got any suggestion? Maybe I should just make up a spell to conjure them.”
He tossed the pack on top of his belongings.
“That’s all ye’ve got with ye? Don’t they give ye some sort of travel guide or instruction manual?”
“As a matter of fact, we were told we could bring a copy of the Sorcerers’ Almanac, but I decided not to.”
“Would ye mind tellin’ me why?”