Magician's Heir

by D Bruce Cotton

  When the sun reached its apex, the soldiers paused only to pass around strips of salted jerky. Adam groaned. A few minutes rest for the midday meal would’ve been welcome. Instead, he accepted a piece of the jerky from a soldier. Salty and as tough as old leather, the jerky left him parched. And he had nothing to wash it down but stale water from a leather pouch. Soon his jaws ached almost as much as the rest of him.

  After the meal, Adam fell into a kind of trance. The soldiers’ murmured conversations, the intermittent whinny of a horse, even the occasional bite of a buzzing insect no longer registered. His entire world narrowed into one giant throb of pain.

  Daylight waned before he came out of his stupor. As dusk faded toward night, a new fear crept in. Did they plan to travel through the night?

  The company stopped just before full dark. Had he any strength left, Adam might have cheered. Instead, he almost fell out of the saddle while dismounting. When he touched the ground, his trembling legs folded like an old piece of rubber. After several minutes of rubbing cramps from his tight muscles, he staggered, bowlegged, over to an old log and collapsed.

  Around him, the soldiers made camp. Their practiced movements showed they’d done it many times before. One group unpacked the horses while another led them off for feeding and watering. Small tents sprang up around the clearing and soon a small cook fire brightened the clearing. After unpacking and preparing the provisions, the soldiers settled in to eat and converse.

  Aristomus walked over, a blanket in hand. Kneeling, he draped it over Adam’s shoulders. “You should move about and try to eat, Adam. If you lie here, the pain will be far worse on the morrow.”

  Adam winced as he slid off the log. But he turned away and ignored the mage. Pulling the blanket tighter, he mumbled something about horses and a glue factory. Despite the pain, he fell asleep in seconds. With a sigh, the old mage straightened and walked back to the fire in search of a meal.

  ARISTOMUS WARNING PROVED accurate. The next day, Adam didn’t awaken until sunlight forced him to peel back crusty eyelids. Cold night air had tightened his abused muscles until they felt as taut as overstressed wire. A first tentative movement elicited sharp stabs of pain in his legs, back and neck. But he didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself. With the supplies packed, most of the company had already mounted up for the day’s journey.

  A short distance away, Aristomus sat astride his horse, Belle’s reins in one hand. Only the look of pity in his eyes goaded Adam to move. The log provided enough support for him to climb to his feet, but pure agony greeted every limping step. When he reached Belle at last, he took the reins from the mage’s outstretched hand.

  Adam looked up at the saddle and wondered how he’d ever get up there. Sharp spikes of pain shot through the knotted muscles of his legs and his spine felt like cracked glass.

  Then he heard a chortle of coarse amusement from behind him. His stiff neck creaked as he turned to see Henslow approaching atop Raven. White teeth shone in a grin from his thick black beard. But none of his present humor touched the Captain’s eyes. They remained hard as flint.

  “It would seem our companion cannot deal with the rigors of traveling on such a noble steed.” He spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “Perchance a smaller mount would better meet his needs.” Henslow looked over at one of his men. “Derrik, can we find better arrangements for the young mage? A goat, perhaps?”

  The soldiers’ harsh laughter made Adam cringe. But it left him angry enough to attempt the saddle. Clenching his teeth, he forced a foot into the stirrup. Somehow he pulled himself up with his arms. But he couldn’t stifle a loud groan when his backside hit the saddle. Another round of amusement broke out among the company. Adam’s head hung in humiliation.

  Aristomus also seemed embarrassed for Adam. “Captain, I think it is time we moved on,” he said with a meaningful nod. Henslow motioned his men forward, and the company began the second day of their journey to Seir.

  Aristomus reined in beside Belle, then leaned over and murmured, “With your permission, I can provide relief from your pain, Adam.”

  “With magic, you mean?” Adam sighed. “Truth is I’m not sure I’ll make it through the day, let alone all the way to Seir. I’d appreciate whatever you can do.”

  Aristomus pulled his staff free and placed one metal-shod end to Adam’s chest. Despite his sore muscles, Adam tensed as the faint white aura sprang up around the mage. A cold wave of energy pierced the center of his chest. It flowed along his spine down both legs to the tips of his toes before rebounding to travel back up to his arms and neck and into his head. Adam’s teeth chattered at the pulse of cold energy. His scalp prickled as though the hair stood on end. Then, just as fast, the pulse of energy disappeared.

  Adam stretched, amazed. Though still stiff and a little sore, most of the pain had vanished. The cold faded somewhat, too, but he still shivered. “Th-thanks, I th-think.”

  Aristomus had already retied his staff in place. “You are most welcome, Adam. The cold will not last long, but it is important you eat now. This particular form of magic speeds up your body’s healing processes, but the energy required to do so came from you.” The mage reached into a pouch tied to his saddle and pulled out some flatbread, cheese and fruit which he handed over to his companion.

  Adam’s stomach growled loud enough to make him turn red with embarrassment. But he dug in anyway, mumbling his thanks around a mouthful of bread. The two traveled in companionable silence as Adam satisfied his deep hunger. When he’d washed down the last bite with a drink from his water pouch, he remarked with astonishment at how much he’d consumed.

  “Some of your hunger comes from how little you ate yesterday,” answered the mage. “But I compressed several days of normal healing into a few moments. It takes a tremendous amount of energy. I think you will find yourself quite hungry for the next few days.”

  Adam mulled it over for a few minutes. Then he asked, “So does the energy from all magic come from another person? When you lifted me back in the jail, I didn’t feel any weaker.”

  “No. It is true only of healing magic. And even that is avoidable at need.” Aristomus reached out and gave his mount an absentminded pat. “Should I need to heal someone with serious injuries, using his own energy—his life force—might hasten his death. In such situations, it is necessary to expend your own energy. But to heal another with your own life force is a tremendous drain. Only the strongest mage can restore more than a few in this way.

  “The source of energy for all other magic comes from within the mage himself. We are fortunate other types of magic do not require as much energy as healing. Still, it is possible for a mage to drain himself should he push too far.”

  “Drain himself? What do you mean?”

  “Why, if a mage expels too much of his own life force, he dies. It is why someone with the talent for magic requires much training and experience. Knowledge of the different forms of magic is not as important as understanding your own limitations, Adam. A mage need only go too far once...”

  “Suicide by magic,” finished Adam. “Yes, I think I see what you mean. But what about those,” he pointed at the mage’s staff. “If all the power for magic comes from within, why do you need a staff?”

  Aristomus reached down and stroked the smooth wood of his staff. “That is more complicated. In theory, we have no need for a staff. But when making the attempt, either nothing happens at all or the magic produced is wild and uncontrollable. The staff focuses our energy so we can apply it as intended. And montoria wood has special properties. It not only helps focus the magic, but concentrates and amplifies it.”

  “And the metal bands?”

  “Those are a more recent discovery. While montoria wood augments our power, each expenditure of magic lessens the wood’s efficacy. In times past, we replaced staffs often. But these metal bands act to preserve the wood.

  “And the runes,” he said, running his long fingers over the symbols carved in the metal, “a
lso safeguard the wood. They provide a barrier against the more destructive magical energies.”

  Adam had a lot to think about. But with the mage seemingly in a talkative mood, he hesitated to remain silent. “Aristomus, back when he took me prisoner, Captain Henslow said something that’s been nagging at me. He said he’d received orders days ago from the Council to arrest and question strangers, mages in particular. Then he made me take off my jacket. It’s almost like someone knew ahead of time about the markings on my shirt. Is that even possible?”

  “Ah, I can understand your confusion, Adam,” he replied. “Those orders came direct from Master Serton, head of the Council of Mages. Master Serton has the gift of precognition. It is a rare ability; one not seen for many generations. And it is an uncertain talent, one not controlled or influenced by its holder.

  “Master Serton suffered a terrible vision. In it, a stranger bearing the mark of the Dark Mage visited Lakeshore. He foresaw this stranger would claim to be a mage and cause great harm. To prevent this tragedy, he dispatched riders from Seir. The message arrived only a week before you.”

  Troubled, Adam replied, “But that makes no sense. Serton had his vision before I even existed in this world. I admit I know little about magic, but that doesn’t seem possible to me. And remember, I’ve never claimed to be a mage. In fact, I’ve continued to deny it at every opportunity.”

  Struck by a sudden thought, Adam’s eyes widened. “The search ended after they arrested me, didn’t it? Aristomus, did anyone even consider I might not be the one you searched for?”

  Aristomus’ face turned deathly pale. He spurred his horse forward and shouted for Captain Henslow. As Adam watched, Aristomus reached the Captain and heeled his mount. He spoke fast, gesturing back at Adam. Henslow glanced over just once, his expression unreadable. He appeared to think for a moment before calling over two of his men. After they received the Captain’s instructions, the soldiers wheeled their mounts and headed back the way they’d come.

  Everyone watched until the two men dropped out of sight. Then, at Henslow’s command, the company turned and continued on. Aristomus waited for Adam to catch up before falling in beside him.

  “So he believed me?” asked Adam.

  “He did not wish to,” sighed the mage. “But he deemed the risk too great to chance. Lakeshore’s security is his responsibility, and we both have many friends there. His men will make all haste to warn the city. Captain Henslow left Lieutenant Siminz in charge. He is the Captain’s second in command and a good man. He will prepare the city if your suspicions prove true.”

  Despite his assurances, Aristomus appeared melancholy as the group continued on. Word of Adam’s doubts filtered among the men and a sense of gloom settled over everyone. The rest of the day passed with little conversation. Despite the mood, Henslow kept the group on the move until well after dark. Though tired and sore by the time they made camp, Adam felt in much better condition than when the day started. Aristomus’ healing helped, but his body had also begun responding to the physical punishment. When he climbed down from his mount, he still had enough energy to feed and water Belle himself. And the meal shared with the Lakeshore soldiers made him feel better, despite the lack of conversation.

  The next morning, the weather seemed to mirror the emotions of the group. Dark clouds gathered, and by noon covered the sky. A gentle rain fell, further discouraging the company. Aristomus pulled a woolen cloak from one of his saddlebags and passed it to Adam. His own cloak appeared to provide him some protection from the rain.

  Quiet dominated the group. Only the muddy squelch of hooves and the hiss of steady rainfall broke the silence. Adam’s nose wrinkled at the smell of wet wool as he pulled the hood of his cloak tighter. The rain increased until it became a downpour, soaking everyone. The weight of Adam’s waterlogged clothing just added to his misery.

  Aristomus tried to cheer him up. “Fear not, Adam. Despite this rain, we make good time and should arrive at Codtown not long after dark. It is a small village, true, but still large enough to support an inn. Tonight, at least, we will have somewhere warm to sleep!”

  The thought of a soft, dry bed brightened Adam’s mood somewhat. He still felt Belle’s hard backbone through the saddle, but his body better absorbed the punishment now. For the first time since he’d left Lakeshore, Adam believed he might make the journey to Seir in one piece.

  Chapter 7, Codtown

  The company rode on through the afternoon’s steady downpour. Adam yearned for the day to end, wanting nothing more than to reach Codtown’s inn and get into something warm and dry.

  League after league, the group trudged through thick mud and deep puddles. The light of the cloud-veiled sun dimmed as night approached. By the time full dark arrived, the rain stopped at last. Bit by bit, the clouds parted to reveal glimpses of a night sky frosted with stars.

  Still soaked, Adam shivered in the cold night air. “How much further?” he asked Aristomus.

  “Not long now, Adam,” he replied. White vapor billowed from his mouth. “A hot meal and warm bed is what you need. Codtown’s inn serves a spicy fish stew that will soon set you right.”

  Not long after, the party passed over a low rise and Adam saw the twinkle of lights below. They’d reached Codtown at last. The dark night and partial cloud cover made details difficult, but as they drew closer, he made out a wharf set on an inlet off the lake. Many small fishing boats rocked at their moorings alongside the pier.

  Codtown’s builders set the town back from the lake on a small rise, most likely to lessen the impact of floods whenever the lake rose. Lanterns hung at irregular intervals revealed a wooden wall surrounding the town. Built of vertical timbers embedded in the ground and lashed together for support, the fortification fell far short of Lakeshore’s walls. Adam estimated it at not much over eight feet tall.

  The travelers headed straight for the lakeside wall. Twin wooden doors, shorter than the wall itself, marked the entrance to Codtown. A darkened guardhouse stood just outside the closed gate. When no one came out, Henslow sent one of his men to check inside. The soldier emerged just moments later and gave a slight shrug of the shoulders. Henslow barked a curse, then slid off Raven’s back and approached the gate. He pulled a wicked-looking dagger from his belt and used the pommel to rap against the wood.

  When he received no answer, Henslow fumed and hit the gate again, this time hard enough to rattle it on its hinges. Soon after, they heard a voice approach from the other side.

  “’ere, ’ere, now! What is all the ruckus? Ol’ Gensler is comin’. Keep yer shirt on!” The fumble of latches and ties being released came from the other side of the gate. Then a small, flimsy panel popped open. A gnarled old man with a ruddy face and tousled gray hair poked his head out and gave Henslow a once over. He held a small lantern in one hand while he rubbed sleep from his eyes with the other. “A’right now!” he growled. “Who is it pullin’ ol’ Gensler up from ’is nice warm bed?”

  Adam expected Henslow to explode. But instead, his voice came out under tight control. “Gensler, is it? I am Captain Henslow, here with Master Aristomus and a retinue of soldiers from Lakeshore. We are on our way to Seir and seek lodging for the night.”

  “Well, now. Inside, you say?” The old man seemed unsure of himself. “I got orders say the gate stays closed after dark. No ’ceptions.”

  Now Henslow let show some of his anger. “You will make an exception for us, damn it! Open this gate now or I will see your head on a pike!”

  Sudden sweat broke out on Gensler’s face as he knuckled his forehead in a quick salute. “Right away, m’lord, right away!”

  The panel closed with a snap and Adam heard Gensler mumbling under his breath as he worked to open the latch. “Poor ol’ Gensler! Never a moment’s rest! ‘Muck out the stables, Gensler! Clean the privy, Gensler! Guard the gate, Gensler!’”

  The gate creaked open on rusty hinges. Gensler held it open with one hand while knuckling his forehead with the other.
The line of horses passed single file through the gate and into Codtown.

  The town had a narrow dirt lane awash with mud from the earlier rain. Small, ramshackle buildings lined the street and the heavy smell of fish drifted along with the breeze. Riding behind Henslow and Aristomus, Adam overheard the Captain mutter, “I will have the garrison commander’s head for this!” Having been on the wrong end of Henslow’s anger, Adam didn’t envy the poor soul.

  Codtown proved quite small. Adam assumed most of the people lived outside the town’s fortifications and retreated inside in the event of an attack. It took just a few minutes to reach the center of the settlement. The lane widened to a small square consisting of a two-story inn, a municipal building, a dry goods store and blacksmith shop. The group rode up to the inn where Henslow and Aristomus dismounted. Unwilling to stay behind, Adam climbed down and handed his reins to the soldier assigned to take charge of the other horses. Pausing a moment, he glanced at the battered sign hanging over the inn’s entrance. In dull, weathered colors, it pictured a fisherman with pole in hand who appeared to doze on the bank of a river or lake. Aristomus and Henslow had already slipped inside, so Adam moved to follow.

  A crowd packed the inn’s large common room, making it difficult to move. Fishermen, farmers and merchants all rubbed elbows at small, wooden tables. Laughter and the clink of pewter mugs filled the room while a fire roared in the hearth, raising the temperature enough for Adam to shed his wet cloak.

  Behind the bar, an enormous fat man filled mugs of ale and barked out orders to the serving girls. His white apron gleamed, shining bright against a dark shirt and trousers. When he noticed the three men, he raised an arm in welcome and made his way through the crowd, calling out apologies for jostled arms and spilled drinks. When he arrived, he gave a graceful half bow. His wide belly strained hard against the apron. “Ah, Captain Henslow... Master Aristomus! It is always a pleasure to welcome you back to the Fisherman’s Rest! And welcome to you, too, young sir.” He snapped a quick wink at Adam. “I am Nestor Burliman, owner and innkeep of this fine establishment.”