by Sharon Lee
"I have a staff," Kinzel agreed willingly, "and spent some years studying with the mage of Bronzemere-"
The man drew back a pace, but Kinzel didn't notice.
"-and though I'm but three or four days on my own I was help enough against a 'prentice boy, and doubt he'll come steal your cats again."
The man's gaze raked Kinzel once again, lingering on the staff with its ancient wood and green, vigorous, vine. He stood aside then, beckoning Kinzel into the house.
"I am Tonedrin. The clouds speak of rain soon, and since you and the boy neglected to be conjured into frogs today you'll want a roof over your head tonight. I can guarantee no fire - the firestone is lost somewhere and my neighbors are not overfond of me - and my sloth of a son, Idren, let the hearthfire choke out while he gave chase to this 'prentice you speak of."
The boy's objection was bitten off as Kinzel entered the house; Kinzel's thanks were overlooked in the sudden rush to straighten a home unused to visitors. The door was yet unclosed when rain began to fall in huge, well-spread drops.
The cats dashed in, adding to the confusion of the moment, and the roar of the sudden downpour diminished as the door was finally closed against it. There was no silence, however, for Idren seized on the moment to launch questions at the first wizard he'd ever had to hand.
There was no room between the questions for answers.
The chatter leapt from the wonders Kinzel must have seen, the catapults and archers who shot bolts tipped with fire and the huge cities paved with cobblestones of diamonds and gold, to wonders Idren envisioned for himself - engines to cut the wheat crop, traps for the rats in the cornshed...
This last drew Kinzel's interest; he had known hunger as a child when the appetite of rats had destroyed half a grain crop.
"Go on, then," the father's voice rose from the other side of the room, where he spun a small wheel of wool in the gathering darkness. "Show him if you will."
The boy dashed from the room, followed by his two shadows, the cats. A few moments later he returned, breathless, bearing a wooden lattice-work in the form of an empty column. Inside was the skeleton of a rat, bones shattered, transfixed on a sharpened peg of wood.
"This was my idea last spring, to save corn. I whittled and made three of them, but not a single rat did I take. One caught a rat, but it gnawed itself free."
"Chewing some good leather cord, as well, you should say...." came the interruption from his father.
The boy ignored the disparaging voice.
"I put this one down near the seed shed, between the little hill and the spring. I found it when the snow cleared out." Idren shoved the trap into Kinzel's hands, his face full of pride.
"My arrow killed it!"
The trap was a curious device, indeed. Kinzel noted the catch that allowed the rodent to enter the trap but prevented escape. Another trip triggered the sharp spike once the rodent was secure. If only injured, a live rat would have no way out; a dead one would go nowhere in any case. Kinzel shivered a little at the single-minded deadliness of the thing.
Kinzel held the contraption a few more seconds before handing it back to the boy.
"Perhaps the other traps caught nothing because they smelled too much of you. If you learn to pick the proper herbs you might mask-"
"Nay, none of that, please, sir. He already fades away like smoke when there's work to be done. An' my one arm is as strong as two of most men, yet sometimes there's need of two hands, so I must have his help."
Kinzel nodded agreement and Idren turned his talk elsewhere, arriving shortly at the probable foods of mighty magicians, which brought Kinzel immediately to his stomach's attention.
"Idren. Have you any skill in fire-laying?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, sir. I lay a good fire."
"Then here is a bargain for you. Lay me a fire and I shall give you a gift for your courage today - a victory it would have been had you been able to fight him evenly, I wager. I shall give you my firestone, and a bit of smith's steel, and you'll fetch fire again when you need it."
"Aye, sir, of course!"
Idren ran off to gather wood, the cats at his heels.
"Now that is magic, my friend, to have Idren work so spritelike."
"I think him a fine boy. I should have wits so keen!"
"It is only games he does, only that. He must learn to work. I learned to work hard, and after I did I taught others to work hard as well. I was the Prince's horsemaster. Taught the Prince and his son, both, and was still better than they. I trained the soldiers to horse once the Prince knew all he would learn. Oh, aye, I knew work."
The man stopped suddenly.
"Until?" asked Kinzel, unthinking.
"Until? Until I saved the Prince's son from folly with an unbroken stallion and the act took my arm from me. I caught the boy and threw him from the ring to save his heedless life. And took the hoof myself, up here." He touched his left shoulder gently and shook his head in old disbelief.
"Oh, the prince was proud of me. Said so himself in a fine speech made in front of all the court-kin. But he'd not have a one-armed man in his employ. So he gave me these lands, as he'd hung its proper owner for something or 'nother, as princes will. Me and the lad - we get by well enough. If I had my other arm I could use the land better; could work right with horses again...."
Idren came clattering through the door, dropping bits of kindling and mumbling bad words to himself.
The man turned to his wheel, silent. Kinzel remembered his life of relative ease once he'd become Madog's apprentice, and felt a touch of shame for reminding the man of his old life.
Idren, unaware, built the stack of wood.
Idren came to Kinzel's chair. "Sir, the fire is laid. I chose a different lay than my father favors. But this will burn hot, that we may warm the stew. Later I shall re-lay it to make a proper hearth-fire against the night."
Kinzel reached into his pouch and drew out an oilcloth packet that had been a going away gift from his family to a little-to-be-missed son. He gave it to the youth without remorse: better it were given again and used properly and with joy than stay a reminder of an unkind leave-taking.
Idren unwrapped the stone carefully, thanking Kinzel with praise so wide that the young mage grew embarrassed. It was with a start that the boy recalled the task at hand.
Idren bent over the wood, brought the firestone close, and the glow of well-fired wood lit and began to warm the room.
"You lay a good fire, indeed," Kinzel told the boy, even as he searched for the source of that small tingle of power....
"Sir, you should not have played such a trick on me," said Idren, his eyes full of wounded trust.
"But how have I? You have a fire and it burns well!" Kinzel said, uncomfortable with the fact facing him.
"But I did not strike the fire!" the boy protested. "I began to think of where I wanted to place the spark, and it ran - from my head down the steel, across the stone, to the wood - and lit itself!"
Kinzel, in a low voice full of amaze, said, "Then you keep the Power."
Idren heard the words: his eyes grew big as a cat's in the night. "I have no magic, please. Please sir, I have no magic!"
The boy's fear roused the cats, whose ears went wide with the confusion of it. Kinzel held his hand out to the boy.
"Perhaps you had no magic ere today, but now - when the Power was driven from that 'prentice you were there. It is not something you should fear, I think." He licked his lips, considering how best to explain - oh, for the beautifully turned phrases from Madog's books! - and then as the fire warmed him he spoke again.
"Idren, the Power is very like a flame itself, driven from one hearth it seeks another to burn in, for it is its nature to do so."
Idren tipped his head. "And I was the nearest place? That's why my clothes and hair-" then his face twisted "But I will be like him!"
"No!" cried Kinzel, sitting himself crosslegged next to the boy in front of the hearth. "You are yourself. No magic could cha
nge you so without your aim to change."
Tonedrin pushed away from his wool-wheel and moved about the room uncertainly, avoiding looking at his guest or his son. Idren still held the firestone and steel in loose fingers.
Kinzel, crosslegged before the fire, was blank-faced in concentration. Finally his round face grew firmer as he settled on a plan.
"Idren, come here to me, please."
"Sir?" said the boy, moving ever so slowly closer to the mage.
"You play games, Tonedrin says. You think things that might be, and make things work in ways others haven't thought on. So, for me, would you try a small game?"
"Aye," said the youth, his voice wavering uncertainly.
"Aye, good," Kinzel soothed. "Let us take a thing you know well and think on it. That bench, there. Remember what you know of it, think about it hard, eh?"
The boy nodded, eyes fixed firmly on the bench.
"Now, I will tell you several words. I want you to repeat them, and when you do, to think that you would like to see a fire burning on the bench, dancing there without hurting it."
"That's a funny thought," offered Idren.
"Still, what we will do is say the words I give you several times, then think and strike your firestone."
Kinzel gave him the words then, with careful pronunciation since the northern accent was slightly slower than that he'd learned from Madog; and then Kinzel heard the words until they were correct.
"Let us do this thing now, Idren."
Idren barely moved his hand and the words were slow, yet a lovely tall green flame sprang up from the bench, a green nimbus about it, swaying for several seconds. Then flame died out suddenly as Idren gasped and dropped stone and steel upon the floor, mouth agape.
"Go look upon the bench," Kinzel instructed.
Idren rushed to the spot and ran his hand over the old wood. "Cold. There's no scorches or sparks-"
"You have the Power, friend Idren. If you need a spark, it will come to you. You have it."
The room was quiet for a moment, neither the renewed sound of rain beating against the roof nor the popping of the hearthfire penetrating the look Idren gave Kinzel.
Then, quietly: "I really have magic now?"
Kinzel nodded gently. "May you use it wisely."
And then a cat meowed at a fidget-toy and they laughed, but for Tonedrin who was quiet still.
Three: Nightstorm
"Kinzel! Damn it ... damn it Kinzel! Why are you never about when there's need-"
The familiar voice was barely audible. Kinzel sat up on his blanket by the hearth-fire, gulping with fear. Whatever he had done wrong this time, his Master was surely in no humor to be merciful-
"Kinzel. Merely a word if you will."
He saw the thing now, a smoky column of inner-lit orange. A summons from Madog, to be sure. Or, recalling that he was his own wizard now, a communication. Kinzel leaned forward, touching his staff and bringing it across his lap. "Madog, I am here."
"Ah. That is useful," said the slowly tumbling mist. It moved nearer Kinzel and sank to the floor, forming a likeness of Madog as it touched the hardwood. The glow from within persisted.
"Kinzel, my friend, normally I would not trouble a staffed one with such a matter, allowing events to follow themselves as the Clock wills, but I have an interest in this affair beyond the normal-"
Kinzel, bleary from sleep, tried to focus on the roiling image.
"Madog, I am not a riddle-master as you-"
"Patience, Kinzel, patience. The difficulties you have engineered for yourself so quickly amaze me. You do have some time to prepare, and I will aid you, asking aid in return."
"Mas - Madog, please, speak plainly."
"There are others with you. One is strong in the Power."
"He is unschooled."
"As you say. The problem, then, is Fallan, who seeks revenge in quite a bit of anger. It will take him longer to find you than it did me - his apprentice seems to have reported you as something over two yards tall, carrying a golden staff twice your reported stature, that topped with a green diamond as large as a human skull - so a simple template match will not suffice.
"Also, he has much else to occupy his mind, it would seem, and his apprentice is no use to him, having misplaced his own skills and Power under mysterious circumstances this very noon. How did you do that, if I may ask? 'Twas neatly played-"
"Madog!" cried Kinzel in exasperation, "I shall withdraw my consideration if you do not tell the tale in a straight line!"
"To be sure, good Kinzel, to be sure. Fallan is after a balanced revenge. He seeks to harm you. You have severely injured a favorite project of his by removing power from his apprentice. More, since this apprentice was exceptionally strong and very skilled. I thought him to have his staff well before you-"
"More, friend Wizard."
"Ah. Yes. Fallan is organizing a group of such magicians, wizards, and etcetera that owe him favors. He tells them he will strip you of your powers. Frequently in a wizard that causes death, of course, and in any case the group has yet to settle on which of six ways of removing Power will best suit his purpose." Madog sketched out the six ways, all of which required borrowed magic and all of which required a death to bind the spell. A human death.
"Also, Kinzel, Fallan is puzzled, as am I, as to which method you used. There seem no extra bodies lying about, and you had no time to prepare or borrow-"
"Madog, no one died! I used none of the methods you described."
"Eh?"
"I murdered no one, I assure you. I acted in defense only...."
"Kinzel, Kinzel. Of course, as your own wizard you may have your secrets. But theory clearly shows that a life must be forfeit-"
"Theory is wrong then," muttered Kinzel irritably, "or not as complete as it could be. All I did was to defend the boy and me against attack. I prepared to act - declared that none should be allowed power who would so misuse it! - and the staff acted, diverting and drawing out his power-"
The summons faded and began to lose form as Madog's face showed sign of panic. "Kinzel, a staff is a tool - and a weapon if you will - but it must be used. People may act on their own behalf, and some of the stronger spirits, and a staff may be primed to act when a condition is met, but things? - only the Clock may act of itself to such degree - or, perhaps the Branch, but there is little enough proof..."
"Tell me of my danger, Madog, please. I used another method, believe me!"
The orange cloud drifted from the floor a moment, obscuring the wall behind it. It resettled, slightly denser and squatter.
"As you say, Kinzel. The night moves to the Clock's pace. Already I have chased sprites from the rooftops twice, and flushed slime from Bronzemere's outer wall three times and - hold, Kinzel, I explain!"
The summons had noted Kinzel's impatience perfectly.
"Fallan has sent me pests, so many that I suspect he had them prepared and held locked away for an opportune moment. He sends them, and had I an apprentice they might have been dispatched without troubling me. But he has sent so many - and I am alone here - he is robbing me of time. Taking me from my studies to deal with plagues of roaches and clogged drains! His justification for sending these things to me is that he feels I erred in turning you out upon an unsuspecting world without a proper ethical background. It is true that one should not interfere with another wizard's studies-"
"Fallan's 'prentice would have killed me! And worse, the boy and the cats as well! The staff defended us, I tell you, and worked for the Right, as I demanded!"
"In any case," the summons went on after a moment, "Fallan plans to keep me busy so that I may not warn you: he is already thwarted at this, you see; and then he will send you trials. A good apprentice would be able to handle one or two, but sent in a group it would take a minor wizard - such as you - with some preparation and good fortune, to deal with them. And then you may be depleted and vulnerable for days after, unable even to light a cooking fire.
"I don't b
elieve Fallan will slay you outright, Kinzel, for there would be repercussions and hearings. He does mean to rob you of your Power, or see you exhausted until your Power can never be that of a full wizard. Fallan is powerful of himself, Kinzel, and in league with three moderately powered wizards he would be capable of outright slau - what? At my window?
"Kinzel, I normally keep above politics, but I cannot now. Just remember this: they speak as locusts thick at feeding.
"I must go: a fury and two demons knock at my window, and there's a firesprite among the roses! Defend yourself well, and if you must attack, do. Good fortune!"
The summons dissolved quickly into a slight orange glow. The glow drifted, found the hearth, and disappeared into it.
Kinzel hugged his knees to himself on the crude pallet, not noticing the smell of clean straw or the smoky firelight. He'd sat thus for five slow breaths now, contemplating choices.
He could leave. The boy and the one-armed man were not part of this. Or should not be - and how could he depend upon Fallan to see that, who would unleash an apprentice to steal cats and attack people?
He could, perhaps, contact Fallan himself, explain the necessity, for surely the apprentice had not spoken clearly of the deed. He could offer to return the Power-
But no. He could not. Arrogance and cruelty did not deserve the Power.
Then what? He knew nothing of wizardly battles; his days of studies had been filled with herbs or minerals; his contests had been between his mind and the books - the last person he'd struck was his eldest brother: one blow landed in his own defense 14 years gone by!
He knew so few spells, for having read so many. He knew so few patterns, even less of the chants and the hand-thrown spells and the - he was no hunter!
Drawing his staff even closer to him, Kinzel stroked it as he might a smooth sapling. Or a cat. His mind centered on the stroking and he murmured to the staff, whether for comfort or aid he scarcely knew.
"I am Kinzel, who fights for the small goodnesses of children and of cats. I seek to answer need in this night, though I am ignorant and troubled in my heart. The need is to keep Balance; to keep Right in its place is my goal. Let me act as ought a wizard, let me defend myself and my charges with honor and speed."