Footwizard

by Terry Mancour

  “Really? You don’t consider Minalan a great wizard?” she asked, surprised.

  “Oh, he’s talented enough at magic,” considered the footwizard. “But that means little, in wizardry. Is he wise, my lady?” he asked. “Wisdom is the measure of a wizard. Not magic.”

  “Oh, I’m tolerably wise,” I said. I was a surprised as Alya at his assessment. One usually expects a little light arse-kissing form one’s retainers. It’s part of the joy of the nobility.

  “You are . . . progressing, my lord,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Wisdom is a hard road toward an uncertain destination. The mightiest amongst us can play the fool, if we are not careful. Sometimes even when we are,” he mused. “You may be a great wizard, someday. If fate and fortune allow.”

  “Well, by what token would you judge that sort of thing, Master Fondaras?” Alya asked, amused. It was a glorious day for it, too – the kind of summer morning where all the world conspires to vibrant beauty.

  “A wizard is judged on his actions, as a reflection of his wisdom, my lady,” suggested Fondaras. “True mastery of wizardry has little to do with magic. It has everything to do with knowing how all of the pieces fit together.”

  “The pieces of what?” she asked, curious.

  “Of all the world, my lady,” Fondaras said, as if he was stating an essential law of reality. “A good wizard knows how all of them should fit. How the sunshine affects the green grass, or how the flower seduces the bee. Of the natures of man and beast,” he said, waving expansively. “A good wizard knows all of these things. A great wizard knows them so well, he need never speak of them.”

  “So you find no value in my lord’s magical endeavors, then?” Alya asked.

  “Oh, they are of great value,” Fondaras admitted. “As I said, he works mighty wonders and brings the benefits of magic to his people. There is some value in that, I suppose. But is that wise, my lady? Just because he can do it? No, a great wizard would have considered the matter more thoroughly before acting.”

  “I suppose I will just have to muddle along in my mediocrity, then,” I mused. “Since I don’t have the potential for greatness.”

  “In wizardry, my lord, I would have to say you have nothing but potential,” he said, thoughtfully, and rode toward the rear of the caravan.

  “He is an odd sort of fellow,” Alya confided in me.

  “Perhaps,” I considered. “But is he wrong? I honestly cannot say.”

  “You know you are wise, Minalan,” my wife defended. “Don’t let that old man tell you differently!”

  “Oh, footwizards can be an eccentric lot, but there is a lot of value in what they do,” I countered. “Not in their spells, necessarily, but in their knowledge. Banamor was a footwizard,” I reminded her. “Look at how well he’s done.”

  “Only after he quit being a footwizard,” Alya pointed out.

  “Fondaras is well-respected amongst the Good Fellows of the Road – that’s one of the things they call themselves,” I explained. “But he’s also respected among the Imperially-trained magi. If he says I’m a mediocre wizard, then I have to accept that at face value,” I said, philosophically.

  “But you are the Count of the Magelaw!” she protested. “You are the Spellmonger! How can he say such things?”

  “Because he really is wise,” I pointed out. “I employ hundreds of magi, and almost all of them are happy to tell me how great I am. But Fondaras? I have to impress him. That’s going to be hard.”

  “Why would you think it necessary?” she asked.

  “Because he has things to teach me,” I decided. “And he knows wizards. He’s been wandering the Wilderlands for over thirty years. Even during the invasion, when everyone else was fleeing. That, alone, gives him some credibility as a wizard.”

  “I still think it’s silly that you would accept his judgement on that,” Alya dismissed.

  “Perhaps,” I conceded. “But the fact that I do is telling. Fondaras is right,” I insisted. “I am a great mage. But a great wizard? Perhaps not. But he did say I have potential.”

  “Actually, he said you have nothing but potential,” she reminded me. “That’s hardly flattering.”

  “Wisdom rarely involves flattery,” I observed. “Oh, I’m not selling my accomplishments short. I’ve done some impressive things. But Fondaras has an issue with one of my philosophies: that magic should be in service to man.”

  “And what is his competing philosophy?” Alya asked, pointedly.

  “That magic is the wizard’s servant, and the wizard is the servant of all mankind,” I decided. “Or something like that. I can appreciate his perspective. The history of the Magocracy is filled with incidents where magic actually made things much worse for the people. Of course, sometimes it took generations to realize it, but . . . I cannot argue that there is something to be said for his philosophy.”

  “And why is philosophy so important to you?” Alya prompted. I think she was enjoying the conversation. She sounded a lot more like the pre-maimed Alya than she had, recently.

  “Because everything we do is a reflection of our philosophy, whether we recognize it as such or not. I think it best to understand that. It helps us establish our own motivations. Or something like that – don’t forget that introspection is an occupational hazard of the magi.”

  “I suppose when you contend with the abstract on a regular basis, such thoughts are natural to occur,” she sighed. “It all seems terribly complicated, though. Overly complicated. You and Fondaras are both good men, and you both feel compelled to serve your society. Should that not be enough?” she challenged. “Why complicate matters more with idle discussion?”

  “Well, I’m not certain it is idle,” I countered. “It might be obscure, boring, and – as you say – needlessly complicated, but matters of philosophy are not idle. They have meaning. Nor is their discussion pointless. Fondaras and I might disagree on many matters, and change each other’s minds not one whit, and still both of us can claim to come away from the discussion as improved men.”

  “So, it’s like a spinning circle,” she decided. “Where the women gather to spin threat, weave and sew? And gossip inevitably erupts? There’s a lot of talk like that, there. That’s one of the reasons I dislike them so. It all seems like an exercise in futility, discussing things like they were flogging them to death. Only, in your case,” she pointed out, “you don’t even have thread and cloth, at the end of it.”

  It was hard to argue with that.

  Our ride was very pleasant, those first few days through the great grassy fields of Callierd. We saw fewer and fewer people as the road turned to trail and then to mere track. Soon it vanished altogether, and we were pushing across the plain to the northeast. The weather held beautifully, too, with very little rain at all, and what little fell chose the late night to do so, when we were in our tents, and was blessedly brief. The two giant falcons flew lazy circles overhead, one at a time, scouting out any potential dangers and guiding our track with precision.

  I’d demanded an end to protocol, the first night around the campfire. This was not a noble processional, after all, this was a small expedition, and titles and honorifics felt forced and unnecessary. That was greeted with welcome by all, though it was hard to overcome the habits of a lifetime for some.

  Mealtimes evolved into a routine, with only small portions at breakfast and luncheon, with larger, more substantial meals for dinner. We relied heavily on pre-prepared meals from hoxter pockets, at first, as we knew the time when we could depend on them would end, and we’d have to survive on the stores we carried with us. Thankfully, Gareth had carefully planned our provision for the journey, and there was always an abundance.

  Each evening, dinner concluded with time around the campfire, where we quickly evolved a casual society that indulged in some remarkable conversations. Listening to Masters Azhguri and Suhi argue, for instance, was always amusing. Hearing Lilastien’s tales of ancient Perwyn before it sank enthralled us
every evening. She also took it upon herself to introduce us to some of the music of our ancestors, through Forseti’s prodigious memory. That was a particular delight to Ithalia, who discovered she loved some of the musical forms demonstrated by the ancient machine. I found a few of them pretty catchy, myself. That became a nightly ritual.

  Even listening to Tyndal banter with his men, Taren, and Ormar the Alchemist, proved entertaining. I didn’t know Ormar well, but the sarcastic little warmage was utterly convinced of the superiority of alchemy over enchantment, which drew Tyndal into many wonderfully technical subjects, as well as annoying the non-magi among us.

  But it was the conversations between myself and Fondaras that I quickly grew to favor. Usually later in the evening, before we went to bed, the two of us would smoke our pipes and discuss matters of philosophy, wisdom, legend, and lore. I found the man engaging, intellectually, but far from arrogant. Indeed, his humility and willingness to admit to his own faults added to his persuasive charm. I’d experienced it before – during the Great March, when I had first hired him, he had often entertained the Kasari children around the campfires at night with his tales.

  The opportunity to converse with him at length, however, revealed a depth that one would not associate with a simple footwizard, no matter how well traveled he might be. Despite his lack of formal education, Fondaras proved very well-read; indeed, he was conversant with classic works of magical lore that I’d only heard about, and had a broad knowledge of obscure subjects, both magical and mundane. The other magi would join in the discussions, sometimes, as would the Alon and even those who lacked rajira, like Alya and Nattia, the Kasari rangers, and the knights.

  On the third day, the landscape changed again. The grasses got shorter and more wiry, and we began to see the effects of the alkali waste’s proximity on the rest of the land. It wasn’t as if there was a dearth of life, yet, but the character had changed. I made a point of stopping and collecting samples of particularly unusual plants and filling the expedition book with sketches. I wasn’t the only one.

  “We’ll come to the edge of the waste tomorrow,” Fondaras said, as he brought out an old, folded piece of parchment with his map upon it. I knew he could use a magemap, for he had done so on the Great March and also as the head of my field wizards in Vanador. But he had pointed out that those advantages would be lost, once we entered the field of the jevolar. Parchment was more reliable. “It will be an abrupt change. And then perhaps half a day through the outer edge of the wastes. After that, things will start to get challenging. But not nearly so challenging as when we come to Tyr Morannan,” he warned.

  “What sorts of beasts shall be wary of, Master?” Tyndal asked, thoughtfully.

  “There are several,” Fondaras lectured. “Firstly, there is a long, snake-like creature of great size, thrice the length of a horse, from nose to tail. A vicious predator. It is segmented and bony, like a living spine. But its head is fearsome, with an overwide mouth filled with rows of teeth.”

  “What is the name of this beast?” asked Ormar, intrigued. He had an insatiable curiosity about such new discoveries.

  “As there are no tribes who live nearby, the only name is from the Kasari who traverse the wastes: fiacail fal.”

  “Fence tooth,” Nattia translated, her eyes wide.

  “For its mouth appears as a grate of savage, jagged swords,” agreed Fondaras, nodding gravely. “It moves fast, particularly at night, when it seeks water the most. The fumes have no effect on it, and it goes into a craze of thirst during the summer. While its shell is hard, it can be attacked and driven off. Perhaps even slain. But you will not outrun it, nor should you try. It is sensitive to sound, some have said,” he added.

  “Then there are the swarms of smaller creatures, the uafas,” Fondaras related. “They lie near the center of the wastes, where they hug the shadows during the day in a lethargic state. At night, however, they tramp across the rocks devouring everything in their path. I’ve encountered them twice, and both times lost horses to them. Their sacrifice preserved my life, but it also slowed my journey.

  “They seem like hard-shelled crustaceans, almost like tiny skulls with many legs,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “But their mouths are vicious, and lie under them. They can strip the flesh off a man in moments. Uafas fear fire, however,” he explained. “They are sensitive to the heat. If a man is vigorous with a torch and a sword, he can keep them at bay and outdistance them.”

  “They sound lovely,” Ormar grumbled.

  “There are worse things in the wastes,” Fondaras said, with a shrug. “Those are just the dangers we are most likely to face. I have rarely seen a bird in the wastes, but there are flying insects and a species of night-web, bone white, that appears like lace in the sky. But neither of them are common, nor dangerous. If we keep to the trails, the fiacail fal and the uafas are the most we might have to bear.”

  “Both types of beasts seek water,” Ormar reasoned. “Yet water is dangerous there. That is fascinating, alchemically.”

  “There is even a river that runs through a portion of it, fed from some underground spring. One cannot get more than a hundred yards of it without choking for breath,” Fondaras reported. “Both creatures are more abundant there. Thankfully, it lies east of the route we have chosen. And our party is large enough to keep them from striking, I would hope. But there are static dangers as well. Types of toxic plants and lichens, and stranger things yet. They might not slay you, but they can drive you mad. Indeed, most of the dangers remain unknown and uncatalogued, if I had to guess.”

  “That’s why we are writing everything down,” I pointed out to everyone, hefting the journal for emphasis. “Everything. I want a detailed record of this journey. From everyone’s perspective.”

  “We know, we know!” complained Tyndal. “Every morning, you remind us!”

  “Some need it more than others,” I answered. “But it might be the most valuable thing we return home with, if our other quests fail.”

  “If nothing else, when they find our bodies in the wastes, they will know how we got there,” grumbled Ormar.

  “I hope to find some way to make the journey easier,” Gareth proposed. “I’ve prepared some items that should assist, for the first half of the journey, at least.”

  “And I brought a cart load of alchemical supplies,” Ormar pointed out. “And an entire rack of empty sample jars. If the alkali wastes live up to their reputation, they have to be a figurative gold mine of minerals and salts!”

  “I’m uncertain if the folk of Anferny would welcome such a change in circumstance,” reflected Fondaras. “They enjoy their remote location and their infrequent interactions with the rest of the duchy. They may not want to give that up.”

  “I can’t imagine it would be a popular destination, even for pilgrims,” Tyndal considered. “It would be hard to run a temple in a place where the gods are forbidden.”

  “It’s not that they are forbidden, it’s just that they can’t manifest,” I argued.

  “That sounds fairly forbidding, to me,” Tyndal replied. “My point is, why would anyone go there?”

  “There are wonders there, wonders not found in any other land,” Fondaras answered. “I do not doubt you will find yourself enchanted by the land without magic. Let’s hope you return to speak of the wonders, some day.”

  It might have been wise, but it was not a particularly comforting thought.

  Chapter Seven

  The Edge of the Alkali Wastes

  The stark nature of the great alkali wastes cannot be understated; it is not mere desert, but a vast sea that seeks to suck the moisture, the very life from your body. Every step within promises death; the desire for rain, a well, a stream becomes profound. Yet that very life-preserving water is the most certain way for the wastes to claim you. Even the water from outside becomes tainted, over time. A wise traveler learns to use his thirst and his yearning for relief to propel him forward toward less deadly lands.

 
from the Expedition Book of Anghysbel,

  Recorded by Countess Alya of Spellgarden

  Whatever strange ocean once covered the plains of the great wastes, it had possessed many islands at one time. But at its edge, where its waves lapped the shore uncounted eons ago, it had left a silty deposit of soil and mud that, when the waters receded, had yielded a vast flat of fine particulates . . . and a dazzling host of alchemical compounds that seemed to shun the normal kinds of life. You could see precisely where this vast lake or inland sea once lay. Indeed, there was a kind of beach of lifeless sand that decidedly indicated the beginning of the arid wastes and the end of grasses and weeds. Fondaras made us stop a half-day’s journey away at a spring he and the Kasari rangers assured us was the last potable water until we came to Anghysbel.

  The horses did not like it – neither did the people. It stank, and we smelled it in the air long before we arrived within sight of it. The stench of Sulphur and other gasses began to fill the air when we were still in the verdant zone. By the time we reached the dunes at the edge of the waste, the smell was overpowering.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Ormar said, after he began to test the soil with his cart. “Just a little hydrogen sulfide and some hydrochloride, perhaps some nitrogen compounds – no worse than a bad fart,” he assured, after taking a sniff. “So far. We don’t need masks, yet,” he declared.

  “This looks as good a site as any for our first base camp,” suggested Gareth.

  “If you mean it looks like virtually every other stretch of the waste, I cannot disagree,” Tyndal nodded, discerningly. “The Kasari maps say this is the trailhead. If we’re going to establish something permanent, this would be the place.”

  “This is where the Kasari depart,” Fondaras agreed. “There are other paths through, but this is the one they deem safest. The one that leads to Tyr Morannan and thence to Anghysbel.”

  “Then set up your outpost, Gareth,” I nodded. “That little rise just before the trail seems best. I’m anxious to see it.”