He waved his wand, and the energies blinked into being. “Why is it so important? I'd think creating magic would be more essential than casting a spell that did away with it.”
She brought forth her rod and flung it toward him with the utterance of an incantation he didn’t recognize. Erupting from the tip of her scepter, a ball of energy flew across the room, then exploded with a flash when it struck an invisible barrier in front of him. His hand shook as the flash dissipated, and his own spell faded out of existence. With his realization of what she had done, Laedron’s heart filled with a fear of death.
She stared at him until he finished quivering. “That's why it's important, Laedron. Doing away with another mage's spell is key to your survival.”
His hand still twitched, and no matter how he tried, he couldn't control it. Having never been the target of an offensive spell before, Laedron had a hard time regaining his focus due to the exhilaration and sudden burst of adrenaline. “I understand. I didn't mean to be arrogant or dismissive, madam.”
Her stern exterior melted away, replaced by her usual kind countenance. “I didn't get a feeling of arrogance from you. I wanted to demonstrate the point in terms you'd remember from this day forward, and I think that you shall.”
He bowed his head in submission after he regained control of his body. “It was something I'll never forget.”
She walked across the room and sat at her desk. “Let us move on to the next lesson while there is still time left in the day. Have a seat.”
Sitting on his common chair at the smaller desk helped relieve some of the tension and buckling in his knees, and it eased his mind to know he wouldn't lose his balance and fall.
“Now, we'll go over a few of the basics of Transfiguration magic, the art of changing the world. What do you know about it?”
“I know that you said you can change something into something else with it. Ma used it to fix a hole in our wall once, but I didn't understand how. Didn't you say magic isn't permanent? The hole is still repaired to this day, as far as I can tell.”
“Transfiguration is an interesting and useful aspect of magic. Yes, you can change copper into gold or a man into a rabbit, but its uses are deeper than those superficial amusements. Allow me to demonstrate.” She drew a stiletto from her bodice.
“What do you plan to do with that?” he shouted, falling backwards out of the chair.
Raising an eyebrow, she took a strip of cloth in her other hand. “You think I would demonstrate upon you, young man? Nonsense.”
Relief washed over him, and he let out a deep sigh. “Sorry, madam. After the spell earlier, I didn’t know what you had in store for me.”
She shook her head and cut a hole in the linen. “If you will calm yourself and come here, I'll show you how to repair it.” She gestured to his chair.
Wiping the sweat from his upper lip, he nodded. Returning to her side, he righted his chair and sat.
“Everything I do, I do so that you will be the best mage we can make, but you must trust me. Without trust, it is all for naught.”
Though he still carried a fear inside, he believed her. His mother had survived the training, after all. Surely Ma went through all this herself years ago, he mused before thinking of his sister. Will Laren be strong enough in a few years to follow our path?
As she chanted, she motioned with her rod in a circle over the tear. Taking on a luminous sheen, the cloth seemed to weave itself closed before his very eyes. When she completed the spell, she held the cloth out for his inspection.
Flipping it on either side, he couldn’t detect a blemish or rip. “Interesting and quite impressive. Is there anything more to be gained beyond saving yourself a penny on a tailor’s service?”
“The spell is useful for the repairing of wounds, also. That is its most common usage.”
“Healing wounds? I don't understand. Transfiguration magic is permanent?”
As she placed the bit of cloth to the side, she took a deep breath. “You can use magic to rejoin things which were broken, so to speak. So long as the magic weaves your skin together completely, it will remain joined because the magic is not what's holding it together any longer. Your skin naturally connects to itself.”
“What about things that aren't naturally held together?”
“In that case, they would break apart rather easily, I would say. With nothing to hold them together, what else would happen?”
Laedron pondered that for a moment. “So why do the pillars still stand in the sea?”
“The stone juts up from the water, but they defy nature by remaining for so long. The sea itself is a mystery, too. It was summoned by magic, yet it stays. These are two features of our world which have disobeyed every foundational rule of magic and nature I know. It's as if she truly was divine.”
“Surely there must be a way to reproduce that effect. There must be a way to make magic permanent. Azura can't be the only one capable of such things,” he said with a dismissive attitude.
Smiling, she said, “Naiveté is a luxury enjoyed by youth and fools. She was the most powerful of mages, Laedron. Her talents are not easily matched, and it's certainly not from a lack of want or trying.”
“Yes, but if she doesn't concentrate on it still, it must have been made perpetual somehow.”
Walking to a candle a few feet away, she peered into the dancing flame. “Mages have spent their entire lives trying to find such powers, young one. They spend their lives in pursuit of something that cannot be obtained, and they waste themselves and their talents.”
He stood and approached her. “Perhaps they don't know where to look.”
Turning to face him, her features became stern. “Perhaps not. Perhaps they are too blinded by their own greed and lust for infinite power. The power to create unceasing magic is the power to control all things. You could become immortal or invincible. You could change anything you held into gold or jewels, and it would remain that way.”
“You could do good with such an ability, too, Ismerelda.”
She turned away. “Through a desire to do good, many sorcerers have ended up walking a dark road. They did what they thought was right out of desire for their morality, but they eventually developed agendas which suited them out of pride.”
“You speak of magic as if you hate its spreading. Why teach me if it's so risky?”
Her eyes met his, and she smiled again. “I only tell these things to you so that you might be cautious and thoughtful. Many have come before you who were easily corrupted and hungry for control, young sorcerer.”
“I won't turn out that way.”
“I'm glad you at least have confidence in determining your own destiny. Let us continue to build your esteem of magic, shall we?”
“What do you have in mind for me next?”
The ends of her lips curled into a grin. “An important lesson, of course. Like all the others. Ready yourself.”
Standing across from her, Laedron held his wand at the ready.
She eyed him. “Nullifying magic is important, but there are still ways around such spellcraft.”
He bobbed his head nervously.
She continued, “As before, prepare your dispelling.”
Speaking the words, he swished his wand through the air, then white light appeared into existence around him. He felt some pride at first that the spell manifested faster than it had previously, but he feared what Ismerelda might do next.
“Now, here's where the trick comes in,” she said, flicking her wrist and muttering a phrase. The nearby candle post creaked and vibrated, leaning toward him. Releasing his spell, he dodged the falling pole and shielded his head with his forearm.
“Like all magic,” she said, “things put in motion by a spell will continue on their path until stopped by another force. In this case, it was the ground.”
“I doubt most mages would give me time to knock a candlestick into them. How is this practical?”
She took a deep breath. “No, but it do
es teach you to think of your surroundings. You don't always have to cast a spell at them; if your target is protecting himself from spells, you could use something else he isn’t expecting.”
“Is there any way to defend against such tricks?”
Nodding, she said, “In the circle, it is known as redirection. The energies of one spell can be transformed into another, but the result isn't as effective. However, it could mean the difference between a candlestick landing upon you and not. Ready yourself.”
As she stood the post upright, he took his stance again.
“When it begins to fall toward you, adjoin the words for telekinesis to the dispelling incantation.”
After Laedron manifested his dispelling field, she manipulated the candlestick once more. Just as it fell, he redirected his spell into it; the pole took flight for a few feet before landing harmlessly on the floor.
“Excellent,” she said. “We shall practice this a while longer.”
The training went on through the evening, with Ismerelda hurling smaller offensive spells at him while he concentrated. He was able to repel her weaker conjurations with relative ease, and he lengthened the time he could concentrate on a single spell by several minutes before collapsing. Intermixed between the staged duels, she gave him an opportunity to practice redirection.
Before he realized it, they had returned upstairs to find nightfall setting upon the city. The first day of training was over, and he was both shaken and exhausted by everything he had seen and learned.
Leading the way to the kitchen, she said, “I'll make us something to eat. Do you care for quiche?”
Being unfamiliar with the word, he became confused. “What's a quiche?”
“It's a pie made with eggs and milk. I add salted meat to mine. I think you might enjoy it.”
To sample any of the items mentioned would be a welcome experience to his empty stomach. “It sounds delicious.”
Reaching into the waist flap of her blouse, she removed a small leather pouch. She produced a gold coin from the bag and handed it to him.
The gold piece reflected the gleaming torchlight of the kitchen into his eyes. Though he had heard stories of minted gold in the larger cities, the most valuable coin he had ever held was cast in silver. The image of the crown prince was stamped into the metal with ornate script scrawled along its perimeter. He gawked at it for a few moments before his gaze met hers again.
“Take that to the market and fetch us some things.” She wrote on a scrap of paper. “Here's a list of the things I'll need to make it. Go to the dairy stand first since he'll be the richest and most able to return the difference on that coin.”
Bowing his head to her, he said, “Yes, madam.”
He walked down the hallway, through the parlor, and into the narrow alley leading to the market square. Part from hunger and part from all the knowledge he had taken in that day, his head ached. The sun had set in the west, and the lantern tenders were busy with their appointed rounds of lighting the street posts.
Arriving at the market, he read over the list Ismerelda had written as he walked. Glancing up from time to time, he proceeded through the square to locate the dairy stall. After a few minutes of searching, he saw great wheels of cheese on display in front of a man wearing white linens.
The portly man kept a watchful eye on his goods as Laedron approached. Quite unlike the other merchants gathered in the market, he had a well-trimmed beard, short hair contained in a fashionable hat, and his clothes weren't marred by dirt or stains. “What can I get for you, lad?”
Glancing at the list, he looked at the table. “A quart of milk and some of that fine cheese there.”
“You're in luck, young man. The milk is fresh and cool. That'll be four silvers,” he said, gathering the order.
Laedron presented the gold coin to the dairy tender. Without a measure of hesitation, the man shelled out the difference. “Here you are, lad. Six pieces. A pleasure.”
Not wanting to seem surprised at holding six silver pieces in his hand, he pocketed the money and proceeded to the next item on the list. Having purchased almost all of the ingredients, he reached the last item—flour. He walked to the last place he had seen Marac and Bordric, and he found them there with their cart almost empty.
Marac's eyes lit up with excitement as Laedron approached. “Look who it is, Da.”
Gesturing to Laedron, Bordric smiled. “I'm going to give your ma a year's full supply of flour when we get back. We've made a small fortune making it to market first.”
“Do you have any flour left?” Laedron asked, eying the cart and hoping they hadn’t sold all of their stock.
“Of course! Take as much as you need, my boy,” Bordric said.
Laedron found his generosity unusual, but he attributed it to his sudden, jovial demeanor. He pointed to a sack. “Thank you, Mr. Reven. I'll have that one.”
Hoisting the bag of flour from the cart, Marac handed it to Laedron. With a gruff sigh, Laedron threw it over his right shoulder and carried the other things under his left arm.
“Leaving so soon?” Marac asked. “You just got here.”
“I'm afraid so. I wish I could stay and talk, but Madam Ismerelda's waiting for me to get back with all this stuff so we can eat supper.”
Bordric rummaged through the cart for a moment and removed a small wooden crate. “Here, take this. I wouldn't want you dropping any of those things in the street.”
After placing his purchases into the box, he set the sack of flour over the top of it. “Thanks. It'll be much easier to carry like this.”
“We'll be in town for another half-day after tonight. I hope you can come visit again,” Marac said. “You know I always enjoy seeing you, my friend.”
Laedron nodded in reply, but knew he couldn't make any promises. “I'll try. See you soon.”
His eyes traced the grooves between the cobblestones as he walked back to Ismerelda's house. Seeing the Revens rekindled his memories of home, but the sentiments faded as the distance grew. Not long after leaving the market, he was surrounded by a sudden, strange feeling. He felt eyes tracing his every move, and he looked around for their owner. Hearing a set of footsteps behind him, he increased his speed.
Arriving at Ismerelda's fence, he opened the gate, ran into the house, and locked the door behind him. Upon walking into the kitchen, he placed the crate on the floor near Ismerelda.
She was busy preparing everything for the meal from the materials she already had. “Is something bothering you, Laedron?”
“Just a strange man following me in the streets. A thief, most likely.” He paused. “I don't know how to feel about this quite yet... I feel strange about being here training in seclusion. It's nothing like what I expected.”
“The city's full of those who would take advantage of weaker ones.” She removed the items from the crate and arranged them on the counter. “Beyond that consideration, what is different?”
“I expected to go to Morcaine at first. I imagined that I'd be dressed in the academy robes like all the other students. It would've felt like a true scholarly experience, going to classes and staying in the dormitories.”
“I can tell you that dormitories are scarcely a grand experience. It's not what it's made out to be.” She shook her head.
“All the same, I had the image of what magic training was supposed to be in my mind. When Ma said I was coming here, I was more than a little upset.”
She stared at him, the corners of her mouth curling into a pleasant smile. “I'll try not to take that as an insult, young man.”
He waved his hands in the air. “No, you misunderstand me. Ma's always said wonderful things about you and your skill. It wasn't that I thought I wouldn't learn anything, but I knew you only take one student at a time. No dormitories, no other mages, just you and me the entire time.”
“That was disconcerting to you? I'd think a young sorcerer would want privacy and quiet to concentrate on his studies.”
�
�Forgive me, ma'am. I only thought about the possibility that I could meet others like me, young mages looking to learn spellcraft. Kindred spirits, you know?”
“There's plenty of time later to socialize, Laedron. Leave the loafing and time wasting to the dregs of the larger magic academies.”
Sitting on a stool opposite her, he gazed at her bitter expression. “You don't have a high opinion of mage schools, do you?”
She kneaded the flour into dough. “I've worked in several, including your precious Morcaine. They are spectacles of the world to all types of people. I've found them to be inefficient institutions which squander the talents of their occupants in exchange for mediocrity amongst the whole.”
“They can't be all bad. They've produced some of the greatest sorcerers in history.”
“Only out of luck and chance, most likely. The masters who have come out of there are a byproduct of an oppressive system, and each one of them that I've ever known broke away from their lackluster molds to become something much more impressive without being told the inner workings of magic. It had to be done on their own without the help of their teachers.”
She formed the dough onto a baking pan and combined the ingredients in a mixing bowl. “No, those fine academies are good at producing many, many average mages at one time, not a few exceptional ones, or even a few of passable, moderate skill.”
He considered her words. “The average ones could become something better, though. If they're trained in larger numbers, wouldn't it suffice to say that there's a higher chance for more extraordinary mages to be created from the process? Maybe the academies are useful in that respect.”
Grinning, she poured the mixture into the pan and covered it with another layer of dough. “Perhaps you're right. Many of them are doing better at the universities than they would have with no training at all, that's for certain.”
When she finished pinching the edges and cutting the remainder of the dough, she cut some slits in the top and put the pan in the oven. “Will you join me in the parlor for a drink?”
He followed her to the plush sofa near the front door. Opening one of the cupboards, she procured a tall glass bottle and two bronze goblets. The worn label was marked with a language he'd never seen.
“Where is that from, if you don't mind my asking such questions?”
She poured a clear sparkling liquid into each cup. “There once was an old kingdom to the southwest of here called Mescalan. The fertile region was known for its fine grapes.”
“Where L'est Mescala is now? You were around that long ago?”
She laughed. “Oh, no, Laedron. That was two thousand years ago or more. This bottle was made long after that kingdom fell to the Sorbians, to your people. The brewers still spoke the old tongue and knew the ancient recipes.”
Taking the goblet, he quaffed the wine, then coughed. “It's certainly dry, isn't it?”
“Yes, dry and stout. It grows finer with age,” she said, obviously enjoying hers.
He set his cup on the table. “Can you tell me more about Azura and her adventures?”
“I can tell you of how she began. It's a fitting story for a young sorcerer trying to find his place in the world.” Rearranging the pillows, she relaxed on the sofa. “You must remember that what I am about to tell you is considered heresy and blasphemy by the Heraldans, so don't repeat it in public.” Her words were an unkind reminder of the times in which he lived.
Leaning closer, he listened as she continued the tale. “Azura was born in the city of Uxidia, where the Heraldan church has raised its capital.”
His eyes widened. “She was born an Uxidin?”
“Yes, Laedron. She came two or three generations before me, but we knew each other well. Her parents were important to the village and held a venerable station. This was long before men created titles for themselves, but they could have been considered the rulers of that small country.
“All Uxidin children practiced magic openly, and the race of men were astounded by it when they arrived on our shores. Before their contact with our people, magic was the stuff of the Creator and fantastical creatures of the imagination. They became accustomed to our ways, and several of the first visitors were able to learn our magic. Azura had shown an aptitude for both spellcraft and teaching, so she was a natural choice to be an ambassador of sorts to those humans.
“Over the passing years, Azura made quite a name for herself amongst the vast numbers of humans who had come to settle in the area. Our land was fertile and pleasant but not without its dangers. In those days, it wasn't uncommon to encounter the undead in the plains.”
His jaw dropped. “Undead? That far to the west?”
Before speaking, she swallowed the wine in her mouth. “Yes, the undead wandered freely. They weren't contained to their swamplands because there simply weren't any armies or kingdoms willing to contain them, no one to rid the land of the defilers.”
“I don't quite understand. Why did the undead come?”
“They are simple, Laedron. Those who have died and returned obey the commands of their master. For over a thousand years, that master was Vrolosh. He was a practitioner of the dark art of Necromancy, an art that isn't commonly seen nor spoken of.”
“Was he Uxidin, too? I thought your race didn't dabble in evil magic.”
“No, something else entirely. He was of the Netheren, an undead derivative of the Zyvdredi, and he became immortal by his own hand; he wouldn't allow his thirst for power to be cut short by his own death. He sacrificed himself to the dark god Syril in exchange for everlasting life, but his tribute had to be paid: fresh souls for eternal torment.
“When Vrolosh returned, he set his eye upon all of Uxidia. The dual purpose was to deliver souls to his master while increasing the size of his army. Since Syril only needed the souls, Vrolosh could use the emptied bodies to fuel his war machine. At first, the pickings were easy for him.
“Azura's first call for an army fell on deaf ears. She asked the Uxidin to stand and fight for the land, but most of them refused her. It was better, in their eyes, to simply leave the land and settle elsewhere beyond Vrolosh's cadaverous reach. They argued they would be putting their immortality at risk, and the humans were hardly worth defending.”
“They were content to let innocent people die?” Laedron asked. “People who couldn't defend themselves?”
Ismerelda tilted her head. “Perhaps, but perhaps not. It's different for those who don't die to make easy decisions about war. The fact that they won't meet their end unless by a bizarre accident or their own willful act changes things. The decision is easier for men since their lives have a guaranteed conclusion, regardless of want or attempts at prevention.”
“What did Azura do?”
“She appealed to the humans to join her, which they did. Her promise was to aid them in defending their lands against the coming darkness and to teach them more of magic. They had little choice, as it was either annihilation at the hands of the undead or making a stand against them.
“Azura marched the ragtag militia far to the east to meet Vrolosh and his army, and the battle was terrible and vicious. When Vrolosh was nearly defeated and victory was in sight, the only thing that could be heard was the echoing of his laughter—a hideous noise felt deep in the bones.
“The dead rose and took up arms once again, surrounding our position at the center, and the necromancer was at the front of his forces. His pride and carelessness were his downfall. The earth turned to spikes, and the floodwaters came. Azura destroyed him once and for all, freeing us of his tyranny and his charges of their eternal service.
“After Tristan denied her, she was never seen again. The common people saw her as the Creator in earthly form because only she was able to undo the works of Syril. They equated that with divinity, thinking surely only a god could destroy something another god had created. Over the years, a cult developed, and that cult transformed itself into a church, which we now call the Heraldans. We are still divided to
this day on the issue.”
Leaning back, he rested his head. “Why not tell others the truth of what happened?”
She laughed. “Such is heresy against the church. People don't want to be told what they believe is essentially a lie. Not only that, but I'm not truly convinced myself the Creator didn't have a part in her works that day.”
Confused, Laedron asked, “You think she could've been the Creator disguised?”
“Not exactly. I knew her parents, so I know she wasn't a goddess. However, the Creator may have worked through her. She performed feats of magic which hadn't been done before, nor have they been repeated since. Some say she was divine or was the cause of a divine intervention, and others say there was nothing spiritual about it. I can't decide one way or another for sure, and I was there when it happened.”
Laedron smiled for a second, his eyes locked on hers. “Thank you.”
“For what, Laedron?” she asked, confusion in her voice.
His mind swam with thoughts of distant, foreign lands teeming with adventure. “For telling me that story. I could listen to your stories for hours on end. I bet you have quite a few to tell.”
“More than I could ever tell. More than I'd ever want to say.” From her tone of voice and the downward cast of her eyes, he could tell that she had seen many things that didn't bear repeating.
“Those memories are best served staying in the back of my mind.” She paused and closed her eyes, no doubt peering at the mental images of events she'd witnessed firsthand. “Not long after the war, my people left those lands and scattered themselves around the world. My family went to live in the forest now called Evdurein, but I find the comforts of this city more to my liking.”
“But why?” he asked. “Would you not rather be with your people?”
“I enjoy teaching magic. If I were to teach it in the forest, your kind could never come to learn. Outsiders aren't allowed in Uxidi settlements anymore, so here I stay.”
“Why are your people so reclusive now?”
“After the Great War, the elders of my people decided it was best for our kind to separate ourselves from others and live in isolation. Arrangements were made between the sovereigns and our kind that our lands wouldn't be disturbed or impeded upon so long as we were allowed a parcel of land on which to live. It was mutually beneficial.”
He nodded. “I see. Your people never have a yearning to explore and adventure in the world, though?”
Her face relaxed until her mouth formed a grin. “Of course we do. Uxidin are not without their passions. I live outside the fold, as do some others. We keep to ourselves or adventure on our own most of the time. We aren't banned from your human lands, but my people do prefer their privacy for the most part.”
The delightful scent of baked quiche wafted into the parlor. The aroma was enough to make Laedron's stomach grumble with expectation, regardless of how nauseous he had felt a short time before.
“That should be sufficient,” she said. “Let's have a look, shall we?”
Standing, she walked to the kitchen, and he followed close behind. She removed the quiche from the oven and placed it on the stovetop, the steam escaping from the slots in the crust. She sliced it and served him a generous piece.
Passing his lips, the crust crumbled, then dissolved in his mouth. The meat and egg played upon his taste buds all at once, each fighting for their turn to delight his palate. Both of them turned their heads to the hallway at the sound of someone knocking on the dense front door.
Ismerelda glanced at Laedron, then stared at the door. “Wait here. I'll see what it's about.”
After she walked out, Laedron crept to the door of the kitchen to spy. She opened the front door, revealing a cloaked figure standing on the other side.
“How might I help you?” Ismerelda asked.
Speaking in an authoritative tone, the man said, “No need to be coy with me, Ismerelda. You know exactly who I am, and we have no time for games.”
“No time for the formalities?” she asked. “Very well, then. What do you want of me?”
“We're in perilous times.” The man removed his cowl. “You are needed at the enclave as soon as you can arrive.”
“I'm training a new student. Can it wait?”
He passed her a parchment scroll. “It's of great importance. Bring the new one with you. He won't be safe on his own.”
She eyed the messenger, a deep concern reflected in her speech. “When will they be meeting?”
“In five days hence, madam. I know it's short notice, but the archmage wouldn't have called an enclave unless he deemed it absolutely necessary. Make haste.” Finishing, he turned and walked away.
Ismerelda closed the door and returned to the kitchen. Laedron was quick to sit in his seat and appear as if he hadn't been listening.
“Is everything all right?” he asked when he saw her face wrought with worry.
She opened the scroll. “Things are happening, Laedron. The archmage is concerned about the recent happenings with the Heraldan church. He's calling an enclave.”
Taking a deep breath, he asked, “What does all that mean exactly, madam?”
“All practicing mages of the Circle are bound to meet at the enclave when it's called. I can't even recall the last time it happened or under what circumstances, but the archmage wouldn’t have summoned us without good reason. We must go to Morcaine.”
His heart fluttering with an unrestrained eagerness, he licked his lips. “Morcaine?”
With a bow of her head, she said, “Yes, the vast Morcaine, a city of many splendors—and intrigue, depending upon your fancy.”
“I've always wanted to see it,” Laedron said, composing himself. “I'm sorry for being so excited, madam.”
“You're more avid to go than I am. I fear for what may happen.” She rubbed her forehead and looked down at the scroll again. “We'll leave at noon, the day after tomorrow. Go and get some rest.”
After hastily undressing for bed, he lay awake with his back against the mattress, staring at the stars through the window. I wonder if Ma or Laren are looking at these same stars, he mused. I hope they’re safe, whatever may come. Following his prayer for blessings and good fortune, he turned away from the window and fell asleep.
The next morning, he rose to the smell of breakfast drifting across his nose. Little time remained before they would be off to the capital, and he had no doubt in his mind that Ismerelda would want to make the best use of it. After pulling up his breeches and grabbing his wand, he went to the landing and descended the stairs.
“Good to see you awake.” She lowered a parchment scroll she’d been reading and gazed at him. “There is much to do.”
“Another message?”
“The same one, but no matter.” Placing the paper on the counter, she stepped to the side, revealing a platter of food. “When you finish your meal, join me in the cellar once again.”
Not wanting to keep her waiting, he ate as quickly as he could without giving himself a stomachache. Once in the cellar, he sat at his desk and opened his spellbook.
“Now I shall teach you of the Alteration aspect. Though I would usually begin with a recount of dispelling and redirection before any new material, we’re deprived of time.”
He nodded, dipped his quill in the ink, and took notations while she spoke.
“As I explained, Alteration magic deals with illusions. In order to make a mirage, you must be familiar with what you are trying to mimic. The more complex the apparition, the harder it will be to maintain.
“Even though an illusory image cannot interact with the material world, it can still be convincing. It’s also easier to create than the actual thing. Whereas making a real human is a daunting task, summoning the mere image of one is often plenty to accomplish the effect.”
“Could you, in theory, create a whole new person?” Lifting his quill, he glimpsed the stern expression on her face.
“You could, but there is little evidence of t
his occurring and even less concluding such magic has ever ended well.”
“But it has been done?”
“Yes, but without permanency. Anything created by magic returns to the void, including living things. Now, we shall practice. Ready yourself.”
Standing, he drew his wand, but Ismerelda remained seated. With a wave of her rod, she chanted, and an exact copy of herself glimmered beside her. Shortly afterward, the image’s shimmering outline faded, and it looked just as she did. She chanted and moved her wand, and the illusion responded as if controlled like a marionette. When she closed her eyes and grew silent, the mirage ceased.
He imagined the many uses of such a spell. “Impressive.”
“In order to perform the enchantment, you must be intimately familiar with the subject to be imitated. Your wand—create a replica of it.”
Taking a deep breath, he swished his wand from side to side and repeated the words. The image flickered in and out of being before it was lost completely. “I can’t.”
“Can’t you? Concentrate.”
“Might I select a different subject?”
Her face drooped. “I would think any mage could recall the details of his own wand with little trouble, but you’ve intrigued me. Go ahead and make whatever you’d like.” She folded her hands on the desk.
Taking his stance again, he grasped the wand tightly when it vibrated between his fingertips, and uttered the incantation. Not long after, the old oak from Reven’s Landing shimmered in front of him, replete with every detail he could recall. Even scenes from his memories appeared, the events and people portrayed just as he remembered them.
“Creator!” Leaning forward, she watched the apparitions while they danced and played. “This place must have been important to you.”
Bobbing his head, he released the spell. “The most important. It was my favorite spot in Reven’s Landing.”
“I remember a place much like the clearing by your tree from my own childhood.” She smiled. “A long time ago and so hard to see now.”
“Care to tell me of it?” He sat on his chair.
“My memories have become cloudy over the years, especially those before the time of the Great War. What I could once recall with hardly a second thought now resides in an obscured, dark place in my mind. Such is the cost of being immortal.”
“How far back can you actually remember?”
“Of course, I remember Azura and the early years. They were a major part of my life and not easily forgotten. Beyond that, I can easily recall things from the last fifty years or so, and some other things with more difficulty. Some things are lost, such as the finer details of my ancient youth. I envy you in that respect.”
“I would think it would be the other way around. To live forever is a tempting prospect.”
“Tempting for those who do not, young man.” She dipped her head. “If I didn’t have my steady flow of new students, I would likely go insane like some of the others.”
“Their age drove them to madness?”
Her lips tightened into a frown. “The same thing happens with your aged humans from time to time; the loss of your most precious memories comes with deep anguish. Likewise, my kind suffers these effects, but we’re never released from the pain through death—unless by our own hand or another’s.”
Seeing her face riddled with sadness, he said, “I’m sorry to ask about it.”
“No need to be sorry.” She took a deep breath, cleared her throat, and looked at him. “Let us continue.”
Dipping his quill in the vial, he wrote as she spoke.
“The last of it is Captivation magic, and it’s a rather new art. Though you can use it to exert control over another, its common practical use is to communicate with others who do not share your tongue. And animals.
“The incantation is spoken, and you must concentrate while you speak. The power of magic converts the words into its base emotions and thoughts, conveying them to the recipient in their rawest form. That’s why we can communicate with animals in this way, although they may not always understand our meaning. Advanced beings are capable of higher thought and feelings, so remember that when trying to talk to a squirrel.”
He nodded. “And what of control?”
“To influence another in this method is a great feat indeed. You must concentrate while bringing out the thoughts you want to portray. Then, you must strengthen these thoughts to draw them to act the way you want. It’s not a method of commanding them outright; you use your powers to sway them one way or another.”
“Can you give me an example, perhaps?” He poked his lower lip with the quill.
“Let us suppose that you were angry with me, and I would prefer you to be cordial. I would then speak the incantation to bring about the spell and feed positive thoughts of myself directly to your mind—especially those which I feel would be the most effective.”
“How do you do that?”
“I would take what I know of you, or if I didn’t know you well, I would study what I could of you. From what I know of you personally, I would liken myself to your mother. I might choose to expound upon your fantasies of me with your being a young, vigorous male.”
Averting his eyes, he felt a flash of heat fill his cheeks. “I would never… You’re my teacher…”
“Don’t take it as a point of contention. I simply meant to prove a point.”
“Yes, madam.”
“Use whatever you can learn of an opponent to your advantage. Now, let’s practice. I shall go first.” Presenting her rod, she chanted.
Little more than a dim glow manifested, but he knew the spell was working when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The blade of the stiletto gleamed in her hand after she drew it, and fright rose within him. The dagger became his sole focus of attention, and his fear grew stronger until she released the spell. He quivered even after the magic had dispersed, then wiped his brow on his shirtsleeve.
“A strong sensation, is it not?” Lowering her scepter, she returned it to the desk. “Your turn.”
“What sort of feeling should I portray?”
“Whatever you like.”
He concentrated while speaking the words and holding his wand in front him. With his memory selected, he closed his eyes and streamed his consciousness across the room. He could almost feel the water pass over his chin, then his mouth, his nose, and finally the top of his head. Though the memory of nearly drowning in the pond near Reven’s Landing was two years old, he recalled every detail of the experience and the feeling of death creeping into his body.
Twisting her head, Ismerelda held her breath. She even stretched her arms in an effort to swim. She gasped and screamed, “No more!”
She choked on the air when he released the spell, then she inhaled deeply. “Never do that again.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said. I should have been clearer.”
“I’m sorry, madam. I only meant to impress you.”
Closing her eyes, she bobbed her head. “You have. Do not doubt your potential.” While she composed herself and caught her breath, Laedron sat in silence. “Practice your dispelling for a while, and we’ll break for the rest of the day.”
“Shouldn’t we use our time as best we can? You want to stop early?”
She nodded. “I don’t feel like I can continue. We still have some time on the trip, so worry not.”
Through the rest of the day, he trained with little conversation. Each time he finished a spell, he glanced at her, but her mind seemed to be in another place. Only the odd mistake brought comment from his teacher, and he felt ashamed of what he had done. In his mind, he had caused her bottomless despair, having brought an immortal to the brink of death in her own mind. Her resulting demeanor made him feel dirty for penetrating her thoughts, and though he had already apologized, he wanted to beg her forgiveness.
When he could no longer see sunlight from the stairwell, he stopped. What felt like an eternity
passed before she seemed to notice. “It’s night, madam. Should I retire?”
Nodding, she propped her head on her hand. Before ascending the stairs, Laedron turned to look at Ismerelda one last time, and she maintained her blank expression.
Upon entering his room, he retrieved his bedclothes from the dresser and went to the bathroom. Pulling the handle on the pump, he drew a bath. His head still ached somewhat from the earlier lessons, but the cool water would do little to alleviate the pain. He undressed, stood over the water, and thought, I'm tired of taking chilled baths. For once, I'd like to have some hot water.
He rummaged through his clothes and located his wand, and he grinned mischievously. Placing the tip of the wand into the water, he spoke an incantation and swirled it around. The white porcelain reflected the warm yellow and orange light dancing through the water until waves of heat spiraled from the surface.
He dipped his toe first, followed by a foot, and then his entire leg. Finally, he brought his other leg into the tub and lowered his body into the hot water. Though it was uncomfortably warm at first, he didn't care; a hot bath was a rare luxury. The water loosened and relaxed his muscles from the tension they had carried all day. More importantly, the heat drew out the sharp jolts sparking across his brain.
The water drifted around his body while he daydreamed of his home in Reven’s Landing. He remembered scenes from his early childhood he had thought lost and forgotten. For a brief moment, he saw his mother's face, young and fair, and the face of his father. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hold on to the fleeting memory. Recalling his home in the clearing the way he had last seen it, he felt a yearning to return and see his mother and sister once more. He found he was both anxious and apprehensive about going to Morcaine, whereas only days before, he’d wanted to go there more than anything in the world. Ismerelda's words echoed through his mind and made him feel a certain need for caution going forward, but to experience the splendors of which he’d been told was exciting, regardless of the dangers.
When the water cooled, he exited the tub, dried off, and dressed in his bedclothes. Before he reached his room, he saw the flickering glow of light from downstairs. Ismerelda was still awake, but he decided not to disturb her. With mixed emotions and thoughts, he drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Seven
The Road to Morcaine
The Circle of Sorcerers: A Mages of Bloodmyr Novel: Book #1 Page 6
