The Journeyman for Zdrell

by David K Bennett

  “Ah, zdrell,” Gordal nodded. “That would explain it. My master mentioned that this magic would be visible to a zdrell master, though neither he nor I had ever met one. And you are so young. You must tell me more about yourself, and how you’ve come to be here. Sit, please. I insist.”

  Eril felt very good about this man, he had the same aura he’d observed in Master Silurian. He sensed none of the demon ‘taint’ he’d felt with Boregond, or even Flask. Though he knew little about him, he felt as though it would be safe to tell him the truth. Before he realized it, he had told Gordal his whole story, from the death of his parents, until he arrived at the fair. Gordal was an excellent listener, and encouraged Eril to talk about himself.

  Occasionally, Gordal excused himself to deliver a message to the guards or rang a bell that brought a messenger boy. Eril knew that the whole time he was talking to him, Gordal was also looking and listening over the entire breadth of the fair, he was not offended; rather he was impressed that the man could pay such good attention to both him and the fair simultaneously.

  When Eril finished his narrative, he asked Gordal how he had come to have his position, and how he did what he did.

  “Well, Eril, as you have been so forthcoming, it would be most rude of me to not share my story in kind.

  “When I was an apprentice, so many years ago, I had the good fortune of having a master much like your Master Silurian. He did not favor the demon ways, but dabbled in nearly every other branch of magic. He was fond of having his more promising students try their hand at many varied sorts of magic as well.

  “Once I had proven that I had the gift, he had me try all sorts of things. Unfortunately, I did not excel, I think my master despaired that if I did not find a specialty where I could, that I would follow the demon path, as it requires so little of the gift.

  “In his search, he had me try a spell that was very old, and reputedly came from the time before the great war. You have borne witness to the spell. It allows me to draw a web which can exist for a time without me. The lines let me sense things at a very great distance, as you well know.

  “My master was very pleased with my success with this spell. He could only vaguely perceive my webs, though to me they are very clear. I did not at first see the great value of my skill, but time has taught me how the power of knowledge can be crucial in many areas. I was not a quick student, and it took me years to realize why, when I demonstrated my skill for my advancement to master, that the judges were so impressed.

  “I spent years using my skills to amuse and entertain. I made a fair living, but only when I started to see the true potential of my ability did I come into my own. I have stopped wars, changed the outcome of battles, foiled assassinations and other plots too numerous to name. I go where I will and work with whom I please. I have been protecting this fair each year for over twenty years now. It pays well, and is far more entertaining employment than many of my other pursuits. That is how I come to be here.”

  Eril sat a while in contemplation. He was impressed.

  “How hard is it to do?” he asked.

  “For me, it is now the soul of simplicity. I simply draw a web, as I call it, attach it to some place and draw it behind me until I arrive at where I wish the other end to be.”

  “Can you show me how to do it? How many webs can you have at once?” Eril asked excitedly.

  “Can I show you how? I can only try. I have never had another who could learn, but then I have never met anyone who could see them either.

  “As to your second question, each web requires a certain degree of effort to draw. They each take a smaller amount to maintain. If I do not renew them, within a day or two they decay to nothing. It is tiring to draw the web, so I rarely create more than twenty in a single day. The most I have ever kept active at once is forty, and that was really too many. It has taken me years to get to the point where I can do as I am doing now, watching many threads simultaneously and carrying on a conversation. I can only watch about twenty threads without undue strain, which is how many I have here at the fair.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing. Can I try watching?”

  Gordal laughed. “Of course, you may. Although, I warn you, it can be disorienting at first.”

  “What do I do?” Eril asked enthusiastically.

  “Just sit right here,” he said, indicating the pile of pillows. “Move your head until you find the spot: you will know when you find it.”

  Gordal got up and Eril quickly seated himself and stretched up his head to the place where the lines came together.

  He nearly fell over when he found it.

  Images jumped into his mind from differing points of view. In rapid succession, he saw ten different places in the fair and heard a dozen different conversations. Sights, sounds, and even smells assaulted his senses. After only a few moments he slumped down and lay exhausted on the cushions.

  “How do you manage it?” he asked incredulously, still stunned by the experience.

  Gordal grinned. “You get used to it, in time. It takes practice, and I’ve had over one hundred years of it. I’m impressed you lasted that long. It took me years before I was able to handle more than four at once, and even that was a strain.

  “No doubt about it, boy, you have the gift. Now move over and let me get back to my post.”

  For a time neither said anything, and then Gordal’s eyes focused again on Eril.

  “Have something to eat over there,” he said, gesturing at the table laden with food. “This is a particularly busy time, so I don’t have the attention to spare. When you are done eating, go out and enjoy yourself. Come back tomorrow morning around second bell and we can talk further.”

  “Don’t you ever rest?”

  “Not all that much. I do sleep from midnight to early morning, but I can still hear things that are loud enough, and I’m a light sleeper.

  “It is a good deal of work, but I’ll rest for the next two months after the fair, so I consider it a good trade. If you’ll excuse me.” He rang the bell again.

  A boy ducked in and looked shocked to see Eril, but said nothing. Gordal directed the boy to a disturbance in the northern section of the fair, and the boy ran out.

  “That is the one bad thing about my gift,” Gordal sighed, “I can see and hear what goes on in all of the fair, but I can only tell those close by, or one of the people we have placed at posts. The post at the northern section isn’t currently manned, and of course, someone has to start a brawl there now,” he said, shaking his head.

  Eril only nodded and went over to the table, it was good food, and he was hungry.

  After, he sat watching for a while, but then decided he would come back when Gordal was more able to talk. Waving goodbye, he left the tent.

  Chapter 6

  The next day, Eril had to hold himself back from going to see Gordal too early. He spent some time sparring with Carthic, but his heart wasn’t in it. It seemed to take forever for second bell to signal mid-morning. Finally, he decided to fill the time by following as many of Gordal’s webs as he could find. The exercise worked, it took his mind off waiting and gave him an even greater appreciation for Gordal’s abilities. He found webs everywhere.

  As soon as he heard the second bell, Eril rushed to Gordal’s tent. He tried to slow down, at the end, so as not to appear so anxious, but he doubted it worked. The prospect of learning to cast these webs was the most exciting thing he had felt in weeks.

  Gordal was walking around and eating as Eril entered the tent. He gestured with a chicken leg he was holding.

  “You got here fast.”

  “It is after second bell, Master Gordal.”

  “Yes, yes, it is. But I was referring to how fast you came here from your wanderings. I saw you in the iron mongers’ area just a few minutes ago, and that is quite a walk from here,” he said with a grin.

  Eril felt the color rise on his neck and looked at the floor.

  “No need to be embarrassed, boy. You are anxio
us to learn. I can see why Silurian enjoyed having you for a pupil. I must confess, I too am anxious to see if you can learn this craft. It has been so long since I’ve tried to teach anyone anything. I’m more than a bit nervous myself.”

  Gordal gestured for Eril to sit in a pile of cushions separate from the ones he used for observing. “Sit and let’s get started.”

  Eril sat and waited expectantly. Gordal sat near him and explained the incantation he used and the gestures that went with it. He demonstrated by moving through the whole spell, finally he brought his hands together and pulling them slowly apart, at the center of each palm was line of force which was subtly different now from the others Eril could perceive around him.

  Gordal looked up expectantly at Eril. “Do you think you could do that?”

  “I’m not sure I can remember all the steps in the incantation, but I’ll try.”

  Eril repeated the motions and words Gordal had used, with occasional prompts. When he got to the last part, he put his hands together and pulled them apart as Gordal had done.

  Nothing happened. No line formed between his hands.

  Eril was frustrated, it had looked straightforward, he could not understand why it had not worked.

  “Don’t be upset, boy,” Gordal soothed. “It took me many tries before I was able to do it. Sometimes, I wonder how I persevered long enough to have my first success. Try again.”

  Eril tried again, with no success. He kept on trying for hours until the details of the incantation were etched in his mind. Finally, after dark, Gordal told him to eat and go rest, and they would try again the next day.

  § § §

  The next day, Eril returned. He had spent the whole morning trying on his own without success. He was feeling frustrated, and it must have shown.

  “You spent the morning trying on your own.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Eril looked at the ground and nodded in acknowledgment.

  “You know, some things just take time, Eril. You must not be too harsh with yourself or expect to be able to do this sort of thing on the first try.”

  Eril started to speak but cut himself off. He knew that Gordal was right.

  “You are so talented; you are not used to having to take time to learn. You haven’t had much opportunity to develop patience, have you?”

  Though he had never thought of it that way, he supposed Gordal might be right. Not since he had first tried to spin a knife had Eril felt at such a loss. He had always had The Master to guide him, but now, even though he could tell Gordal was very skilled, he felt that Gordal did not know how to help him.

  “I just don’t know, Master Gordal. It seems like it should work, but I just can’t get it. Somehow, I’m missing something. Maybe if I watched you do it a few more times, I could see what I’m doing wrong.”

  “A fine idea, boy, but watch with your eyes closed.”

  Eril nodded. He had planned to do that and hearing the idea from Gordal made him trust it more.

  He closed his eyes and reached out with his zdrell sight. As he did so, Eril realized that he had not tried seeing only through zdrell for some time. He had gotten lax. As he reacquainted himself with the world seen only through zdrell, he began to pick out more details and feel his anger and frustration slipping away.

  “I see you are finally ready,” Gordal said, nodding. Eril could even make out his expression, through zdrell his face looked quite different than it did with light.

  “Watch.”

  Eril saw that as Gordal moved through the words and motions of the incantation he was drawing and bending some of the force lines near him. In some ways, to Eril’s sight, it looked like Gordal was a blind man searching for an object in an unfamiliar room. He kept coming close to grasping a force line, but then it would slip away.

  While he knew he could easily grasp a line himself, without any of the extra flailing about, Eril still did not know what to do with a line once he had it. This was the part that still eluded him.

  Finally, Gordal grasped a line and held it. Eril focused all his attention trying to see what he did next. It was twined around his fingers, and then he gestured, somehow making a kind of knot in it. Then brought his hands together and slowly separated them. The line appeared to have two lumps in it. In between the two lumps, the line was subtly different, and it was using those two lumps that Gordal handled the line. He attached one end to the cushion where he was sitting, and then stood and attached the other to a post by the door. He walked back and sat, looking at Eril.

  “Well?”

  “I saw what you did more clearly, but I still don’t understand the crucial bit where you take the line you have captured and, . . . twist it. Somehow, you are transforming it so that it becomes your special line. But I still don’t understand how you do that twist.”

  “Hmmm. I understand your frustration. Unfortunately, Eril, I don’t think I can be of much help, you see, for me that is the easiest part, and I don’t know how to describe it so that I can help you. For me, getting the line in hand has always been the hardest part. You make it sound like that would be easy for you.”

  “Well, yes, it is.”

  “You see. For me, that twist is just as you say, a twist, and the line is ready. The work is getting to that point. More importantly, you can see what I am doing. I can’t do that. I do it all by feel. Until I finish that twist, I see nothing, eyes open or closed.”

  “I understand, Master,” Eril sighed. “I guess I just need to watch more and be patient.” But he did not want to be patient.

  Eril watched as Master Gordal went through creating two more lines, but he still failed to grasp the final movement. He went off alone and tried to do it on his own. Every time he tried to twist the line to create the lump, or knot, the line escaped his grasp or remained in his hands unchanged.

  § § §

  At Master Gordal’s urging, Eril took a break in his attempts and went off to tour the fair. It was such a large gathering and there was so much to see. Each day different traders and performers arrived and left. Every day he saw people from different lands, smelled and sampled different foods and heard new accents and dialects spoken, the mix was constantly changing.

  Eril paused to admire a few sleight-of-hand artists, but none were as good as those that he had seen perform in Salaways. There were several merchants selling arms and armor. The more he looked at what they sold, the more he realized that Kason’s goods were some of the best available.

  He examined jewelry at several shops with a critical eye. Much of it was pretty but poorly constructed so that he wondered how long a wearer could hope to own it before a stone slipped from its setting.

  He was looking at a highly ornamented dagger in one stall when he could not stop himself from laughing. The proprietor of the stall stepped over quickly, looking less than amused.

  “What is it you find so amusing about this dagger, young sir?” the shop keeper asked icily.

  Eril knew he had to be careful. “Well, I guess it is just that whoever made this,” he said, waving the dagger, “obviously assumed that it would never be used. Or they assumed that it would be used for no more than occasionally slicing the ribbon off a scroll.”

  “What do you mean, sir? That blade is of as fine a grade of steel as you will find anywhere.”

  “Yes, but look at the handle. The placement of the stones and their settings would never hold up to any serious use. It would be uncomfortable and would either break pieces off, or cut your hand with the gems, or both.”

  “How would you know?”

  “First, because I have eyes to see. Second, because I happen to be a journeyman jeweler myself. But anyone who looked carefully could see the weakness of the design. You don’t have to be an expert to see that something like this would not stand up to any real use.”

  “Ah, I see,” the proprietor said, with a sniff. “You have a professional interest. Well in that case, what is your opinion of this item?” he said, taking the dagge
r out of Eril’s hands and moving back to open a rosewood box lined with red satin.

  When Eril saw what was in the box, he was shocked and had to stop himself from laughing at the reverential way the proprietor had shown him his prize.

  “Now, sir,” the proprietor said with obvious contempt on seeing Eril’s suppressed mirth, “you may leave, or I can have you removed. If you laugh at the craftsmanship of a dagger produced before the Great War, you are no expert of any sort on the finer qualities of weapons.”

  Eril was speechless with suppressed laughter. He stumbled out of the stall and waved at the proprietor who stood glaring at him.

  The man had truly believed that the dagger he had shown Eril was made before the Great War, but Eril knew better. He had seen that dagger before; he had made it himself during his apprenticeship with Kason. Once he had recovered from his mirth, he thought of going back and pointing to Kason’s maker’s mark on the blade and hilt but didn’t want to create a scene.

  Later, he paid a boy to make a discreet inquiry of the shop keeper for the price of the dagger. When the boy told him the price the shop keeper had quoted him, he was even more shocked, though this time, he was not laughing. It was higher than anything he had ever imagined, easily twenty times what the dagger had sold for at Kason’s.

  Chapter 7

  The fair had a central stage similar to the one in Salaways used for the harvest festival. There were acts of different sorts performing from midday to late in the evening. Eril had attended a few plays and listened to the minstrels perform. He was still amazed by the wide variety of entertainment available.

  Wandering past the central stage, Eril saw a handbill announcing an evening performance of “Master Keltrode the Magnificent.” It also listed him as being “One of the greatest wizards in the land.” Eril was excited by the prospect of seeing real magic but made uneasy by the brash claims of the handbill.

  His experience with Master Silurian had left him feeling that wizards who truly did have power did not go to great lengths to advertise it. Those who were the most powerful were actually more likely to try to hide their power. This wizard was doing the opposite, and that made him think of Boregond. But even Boregond had, at first, hidden his true nature.