A History of Magic

by Scott J Robinson

  “Rawk?” the dwarf said.

  “Yes, hello, Rake. I was hoping to talk with Thacker.”

  “Ummm...” Rake looked at his companion, who shrugged. “Sure. I suppose.” He opened the door and stepped aside.

  “Thank you.”

  Thacker was sitting with his feet up on the desk. He had a tankard of ale in one hand and a newspaper in the other. “Rawk? What are you doing here? You just missed your partner.”

  “What did she want?”

  “She... Well, you know.” He tried to get his feet back on the floor, but with his hands full it wasn’t easy. He eventually gave in and put down his drink. “She just needed to check up on some things. How about you? What can I do for you?”

  “Well...” Rawk knew that dwarves made the best swords; they made the best everything. And he had used dwarvish swords before. But he had never asked a dwarf for a sword. He’d never spoken to a dwarf about swords. Before a few weeks ago he had barely spoken to dwarves at all.

  “Come on, out with it. I’m extremely busy.”

  “I’ve gone through three swords in the last few weeks.” That actually wasn’t very fair on the swords. Only one of them— the best of them— had actually failed. “So I need to know where to go to get another.”

  “I heard about Kult and Dabaneera. What happened to the other one?”

  “Slade is covered in something horrible and smelly that I don’t want to touch.”

  “Fair enough. But as luck would have it...” He hauled himself onto his feet, as if he’d been working hard all day, and made his way to a table against a side wall. He took up a cloth wrapped bundle longer than he was tall and offered it to Rawk.

  Rawk took the bundle and it was immediately obvious what was inside. He folded back the cloth to reveal the three swords. They were all approximately the same length and they were all well made and straight, but that was where the similarities ended. Rawk placed the swords on the desk and picked up the first. It had a thin, single edged blade with no adornments. He waved the sword experimentally and placed it carefully on the table. The next was overly ornate with a laminated blade and half a dozen jewels on the guard and pommel. He tested that one too, before taking up the final blade. And as soon as he touched it, he knew it was different. He glanced at Thacker and saw the dwarf smiling.

  “The first two were swords Rezik had lying around his workshop. The last one, he made especially for you.”

  “But...” Rawk moved away from the table so he could move through some simple forms, spinning around the room until his knee almost gave out on him.

  “Perfect, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Kult and Dabaneera weren’t made by masters, but they were good swords made by talented smiths. And swords like that always get their specifications recorded at some stage. It might not be when they are made, but dwarves like to know the details. If you get a sword sharpened by a dwarf, he’ll take enough measurements to recreate the sword if he wants. A good smith can tell a lot just by looking. He can tell even more just by picking the sword up. And that sword there is a combination of Kult and Dabaneera.”

  “It’s astounding.”

  “Rezik is about the best there is. He’s also a friend of Biki’s. He heard what you did for her.”

  “It was only two days ago.”

  “No, you went to see her three days ago to tell her what happened. Most humans wouldn’t have even done that.”

  “You couldn’t make this sword in three days.”

  “Well, you know how dwarves are when get an idea in their head...”

  Rawk spun the sword around to look at the other side of the blade. “I want this sword. How much is it?”

  Thacker shrugged. “It’s a gift from Rezik.”

  “No.” He shook his head.

  Thacker’s eyes narrowed. “Pardon?”

  Rawk cleared his throat. “I’ve just got this thing recently about paying people what they are worth. Somebody made a timber sign for the Hero’s Rest as well. I want him to send a bill.”

  The dwarf nodded slowly. After a moment, he made a note on a sheet of paper on his desk. “I’ll find out about the sign.”

  “Gabbo knows who it is. He told me the name, but I can’t remember.” Rawk looked at his new sword but was thinking about Clinker and his wall-scrubbing machine. Could the dwarves make machines that made fighting easier? Was there something they could build so he wouldn’t need a sword at all? He glanced at Thacker but didn’t say anything. “I guess I should go. Sylvia and I have plans.”

  “Plans?”

  “Not like that.”

  “Of course not.”

  Rawk sighed. “Read tomorrow’s newspaper.”

  “They won’t be having one tomorrow.”

  “Why not?”

  “They don’t have them every day.”

  “Oh. Right. Anyway, make sure they send the bills.”

  Thacker gave a salute from his chair but didn’t otherwise move as Rawk rose to his feet. But once on his feet, Rawk didn’t leave.

  Thacker sighed. “What is it? I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Do you know Juskin the bookseller? He’s over near Mount Cheese.”

  “Of course.”

  “Well...” Rawk cleared his throat. “He’s got these things that he puts on his eyes.”

  “Spectacles.”

  “Right. Yes. I think that’s what he called them.”

  Thacker wrote down an address on another piece of paper. “Go and talk to Gessup. He’s still perfecting the idea, so it may take him a while.”

  “Thank you.”

  -O-

  “Is that her?” Rawk pointed to an elf woman striding down the street. He heard Sylvia sigh and turned to look at the elf.

  “Does she have one arm?”

  “Well... Yes, actually... And another one.”

  “When I see her, I shall let you know.”

  “What if you don’t see her though?”

  “The door is not that big, Rawk. I doubt she will slip through without me noticing.”

  “I just want to be sure.”

  “Well, can you please be sure in a more quiet fashion.”

  “It that her?”

  “Rawk, I... Yes. Yes ,it is.”

  “Huh.”

  “I would have noticed her in a moment.”

  “So now what do we do?” Rawk looked up and down the street, wondering if the sorcerers were now hunting in packs, waiting around corners to see if any of their friends were attacked. But Shef hadn’t known who Falling Leaves actually was. It was only coincidence he had recognized the others that he already knew.

  “We wait.”

  “Great. So, do we wait here? Or do we go in so we can keep an eye on her?”

  “You want to go into the brothel and watch Falling Leaves to make sure she doesn’t slip out the back door?” The elf raised an eyebrow.

  “Something like that.” He smiled at Sylvia. “It would be interesting to see what all the fuss is about.”

  “I think not. It is much smarter to stay here.”

  “Since when have I ever done the smart thing?” But he waited where he was, hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “You have a new sword?”

  “Yes. It’s called Kaj. I named it after the wolden wolf I killed outside the city. The duen’s pet. And it may well be the most magnificent sword I have ever held.”

  “It doesn’t look all that special.”

  Rawk glanced at his weapon, wondering if he should be offended. “No, it doesn’t, does it? But I suppose I don’t look all that special, either.” It was just his luck to get such a magnificent weapon when he had already retired. Perhaps he should have talked to some dwarves years ago.

  Sylvia laughed. “I guess looks can be deceiving then.”

  Rawk turned to look at her. “Are you saying something nice about me?”

  She looked away for a moment. “You are not all bad, Rawk.”

  “Why, thank
you.”

  -O-

  Rawk grunted. “We wouldn’t have had to wait this long if Falling Leaves was a man.” It seemed they had been waiting outside Denu’s Nest for half the night though it was probably barely two hours. Rawk was starting to wonder if they should be watching the back door. He was also wondering if he should go into the bakery for another pastry. He could smell the preparations for tomorrow’s bread. The baker and his assistants were all laughing and singing.

  Sylvia grabbed his shoulder. “There she is.”

  He looked up and saw Falling Leaves sauntering down the stairs of the brothel, looking very pleased with herself. She paused in the flickering illumination of a street lamp, looked each way along the street, then started to make her way up the hill.

  “So what do we do now?” Rawk asked, rising to his feet.

  “We follow her, obviously.”

  “I know that. But, do we confront her and force the information out of her?”

  Sylvia just looked at him as she started to follow.

  “What then?” He cast a longing look back at the bakery then hurried to catch up.

  “We follow to where she is staying and see if we can find the note saying where the meeting is.”

  “That’s your plan? That’s at least as bad as any of my plans. We don’t know that there is a meeting.”

  “There must be soon.”

  “Yes, because cabals of evil sorcerers keep to exacting schedules.”

  “Let us just follow her.”

  “Will she recognize you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Even with the scarf?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will she attack us?”

  Sylvia hesitated and shrugged. “Perhaps. She was always a little bit crazy.”

  “Then maybe we should...” Rawk didn’t know what they should do. He thought about it as he continued to trudge up the hill. “Clinker.”

  “What.”

  “Over there.” He hurried over to the young dwarf.

  “Hello, Rawk.”

  “Hello, Clinker. Are you following me again?”

  “No.”

  Either he was getting better at lying or he was telling the truth. “Anyway, I have a job for you.”

  “What?”

  “See the one armed elf?” Falling Leaves was visible up ahead, just turning a corner.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think you can follow her without being noticed?”

  “Why?”

  “So Sylvia and I can follow you without being noticed even more.”

  “Of course I can.” Clinker gave a nod, scooped up his satchel and ran up the hill.

  Of course he could. Rawk was going to shout a warning to be careful, but that would have been about the most conspicuous thing he could do himself. He just hoped the lad knew what he was doing and signaled to Sylvia to keep up.

  At the corner he could see Clinker at the next corner, standing on some stairs and looking in the dark window of a closed shop. A moment later, he glanced at Rawk, turned and made his way along the side street. Hurrying up to the corner, Rawk glanced in at the shoes the boy had been examining and saw a pair of boots that he liked.

  In this manner, from corner to corner, watching out for the boy, they made their way around the side of Two Watch Hill, staying a few blocks up from the edge of the river. It was almost twenty minutes before the rhythm of their journey changed and when it did Rawk was not quite sure what to do. Clinker was standing just up the street, leaning against a lamppost and going through his satchel. So he waited where he was, Sylvia close by his side, buffeted by the last of the day’s traffic.

  “What do you think is happening?” Sylvia asked.

  “I’m not sure. I’ll go and see.”

  Rawk sauntered up the street, looking around and trying to look casual. He pulled out a coin as he approached the boy.

  Clinker didn’t look up. “I lost her.”

  “What?”

  “One minute she was right there and the next... I couldn’t find her at all.”

  Rawk looked around, as if he might see what the boy could not. “Which way was she heading?” he growled, putting the coin back in his purse.

  Clinker shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, you’re no bloody help, are you? I’ll do it myself next time.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Sorry doesn’t help. You have no idea... Bloody dwarf.”

  He saw Clinker watching him, tears in his eyes. “Get out of here. I have to work out what I’m going to do.”

  Clinker hurried up the hill without looking back, satchel clanking all the way. Rawk went the other direction.

  “He lost her,” he said, leaning against the wall near Sylvia.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “Nothing.”

  “He’s just a boy.”

  “He said he could do it. And now we have no idea where Falling Leaves might be. This was our best chance.”

  “That may be, but you cannot blame Clinker.”

  “Of course I can.”

  It looked as if the elf would argue the point, but she sighed and looked around. “Perhaps she lives around here.”

  But around here smelled like moldy leather and the only accommodation, as far as Rawk knew, was taken up by the leather workers.”

  Rawk looked around as well, reigning in his anger. “I don’t know. Maybe there’s another brothel around here.” But he knew there wasn’t. The closest one was a few streets over. They had visited it the day before.

  “So what do we do now? Wait again?”

  “No, let us continue a small way to see what we can see.”

  They walked fifty yards up the street, trying to remain inconspicuous. That wasn’t really possible, but Rawk did his best to appear unapproachable.

  When they reached the next corner, Sylvia held out her hand to stop Rawk. “Wait.”

  Rawk looked around. He looked around some more. “What?”

  “Magic.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Obviously not.”

  “But...”

  Rawk almost yelped as Sylvia grabbed his shirt and started to pull him towards the side of the street. Which was probably where they should have been in the first place, instead of standing around in the open with nowhere to hide if it was needed. They hid in the shadows of the recessed doorway of a leather dying shop. And they waited.

  Rawk scanned the street. He saw the usual gaggle of people, most of whom, thankfully, weren’t taking any notice of the people lurking in the doorway. His tightened his grip on Kaj’s hilt and exposed and inch of blade. He licked his lips. And he didn’t relax until Sylvia sighed and shook her head.

  “She is gone now.”

  “Gone? She who?”

  “Falling Leaves.”

  “She was here? Just now? Did she see us?”

  “I do not believe so.”

  Rawk stepped back down into the street and looked around some more. There were not that many people so he was sure he would have seen Falling Leaves if she had just been standing around.

  “She was using a cloaking spell.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It is a spell that makes it hard for people to notice you.”

  “So... she was using magic to hide herself?”

  “Is that not what I just said?”

  “Could you see her?”

  Sylvia shook her head. “I could feel the magic, that is all.”

  “And it’s gone now?”

  Sylvia sighed.

  “So, what do we do?”

  “I do not know.”

  “How many brothels did we visit? And now we’ve lost her.” He looked up the street where Clinker had gone and had the horrible feeling he’d also lost someone else.

  A priest paused nearby and turned to look at hem. “Have you given yourself to the Great Path?” the man ask
ed.

  Rawk grunted. “Bugger off, you old fool.”

  Sylvia touched his arm. “Come, let us see what we can see. There are still traces of the magic...”

  Rawk followed silently as Sylvia walked slowly up the street with her eyes almost closed. She mumbled to herself and Rawk tried to steer her around the traffic after she bumped into a young woman and a merchant with a tray full of pies. He couldn’t make out what she was saying, but it put his nerves on edge anyway. And just when he was about to ask what was going on she gasped and stopped so quickly she almost fell over.

  “It is gone.”

  “What is?”

  “The magic. It cut off as if...” Sylvia shook her head. “It cut off as if a magic shield had been lowered. But that isn’t possible.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “Well...”

  “So nothing? No clue?”

  She shook her head again. “No. I am a sorry. She could be in one of these building around here or...”

  “Damn it. I am never going to get the stink of those brothels out of my hair.” He turned and stalked away down the street without looking back.

  Inevitably, Rawk ended up at the Armory but, of course, Celeste and Grint weren’t there. Instead, there was a woman with a fiddle and a squeaky voice. There were only ten people in the audience and it looked as if the only reason they were there was because they were too drunk to leave. Rawk intended to join them. He sat in his usual table at the front of the room and it felt as if everyone was watching him. He thought he could hear them muttering, wondering why there were still exots in the city, why there were still sorcerers. And Rawk had no answer for them, apart from, I’m too old. I don’t know what else to do. He ordered an ale and drank it down without even noticing the taste. He did the same with a second. And after just four songs, third drink half finished on the table, he pushed himself to his feet, wavering for a moment, before heading for the door. He seemed to bump into all ten people on the way.

  “Shut up,” he shouted to one man who complained at the treatment. At least he intended to shout, but it came out as nothing more than a slurred mumble. “Shut up.”

  Outside the door, he leaned against the wall. His head was spinning and the staircase looked unusually long. By the time he made it to the top, he was almost crawling. “Three ales and I’m drunk,” he thought. It wasn’t even three. Two and a half.