Aeromancer

by Don Callander

  The Wizards led the dainty filly between them up the lawn and around the cottage, hearing old Precious’s boots ring solidly on the bridge planks behind them as he recrossed to his fields and orchards and sleeping wife.

  ****

  Flarman Flowerstalk rose early, despite the lateness of the pancake picnic the evening before, and tended his dairy cows and chickens, rather than awaken his former Apprentice and now Master-Wizard-in-his-own-right.

  Black Flame accompanied the older Pyromancer to the byre under the High and watched as Flarman oversaw the milking of the four High cows (leaving a generous portion for the two newborn calves), swept out yesterday’s bedding with a gesture that called upon a stray breeze, and waved down fragrant fresh hay from the loft. The Ladies of the Byre had already filed out across the cobbled yard and through the gate into the early-summer meadow just beyond.

  Flarman had been startled for a moment at the sight of the tiny horse, but a few kind words and a handful of last summer’s barleycorn mixed with rich Valley oats won her trust and approval.

  “You’ll be more comfortable without that blanket, I think,” Flarman suggested.

  He unbuckled the thick leather strap that held a gray blanket in place across her back. She gave a grateful shake and shed the covering—and Flarman gasped in surprise!

  For the blanket had hidden a pair of beautiful, sturdy wings, reaching up higher than the horse was tall at the shoulder. Their feathers were of shimmering gold and pale cream, in contrast to her gray-and-dapple coat.

  The filly shook her wings with evident relief and swung them up and then down to loosen crimped feathers, almost sweeping the Wizard off his feet at her first eager flap.

  “Oh, I say!” he said with a laugh, catching himself from falling against a bale of wheat straw, on which he then sat suddenly. “What a beauty you are, indeed!”

  Black Flame jumped on his shoulder, both to assure himself the old Wizard was unhurt and to get a finer view of the newcomer, who was looking at Flarman apologetically.

  “Where did you come from?” asked Flarman, but the pony merely shook her head sadly and nosed gently against his arm.

  “Well then—finish your breakfast,” the Wizard advised. “I’ll leave the gate open so you can stretch your legs and wings in the warm meadow air while we’re breaking our own fast.”

  The gray-and-gold horseling nodded happily and trotted from the byre into the morning sunshine; in unspoken thanks at being unconfined at last, her wings glistened and flashed in the sun.

  “Where in World did she come from?” Flarman asked his young friend and pupil, Douglas Brightglade.

  “The horse?” asked Douglas, reaching for a piece of golden-brown toast and watching while Butterknife jumped forward to spread it with creamery butter. Jam Pot stood ready to add her own sweet strawberry contribution as soon as the butter was spread and melted in to Butterknife’s satisfaction.

  “The flying horse, you should say,” said Flarman.

  He described the little animal’s golden wings, unfurled in the bright meadow morning light.

  Douglas accepted a generous dollop of strawberry jam from Jam Pot.

  “Precious brought her over early this morning, sir. She came to seek shelter in his barn sometime late last evening.”

  “Good old Precious! Never could turn away a stray,” laughed the older Pyromancer.

  “But I must have been half-asleep last night... this morning ... for I didn’t notice any wings,” Douglas added.

  “They only came to light when I unbuckled her saddle-blanket,” Flarman explained.

  Myrn Brightglade came singing down the winding stair, bearing both of her children, one on each hip, bright-eyed Brenda and sleepy-eyed Brand.

  “A flying horse!” she exclaimed, popping each twin into a high chair on either side of her before she sat down. “Must’ve been too sleepy to notice!”

  “A flying horse!” exclaimed Marbleheart, bursting into the big sunny kitchen from the courtyard. “There’s a flying horse circling the High!”

  Douglas and Myrn rushed out to look. Flarman stayed to watch the twins, who squealed in delight at the antics of Salt and Pepper fighting a mock duel with shining, sharp fruit knives in the center of the vast kitchen table for their amusement.

  “I discovered her wings when I took off her blanket,” explained the older Wizard when the young couple returned.

  “She’s exercising them, just now,” Myrn said with a nod. “So beautiful! We just waved at her. No need to interrupt, especially if her wings have been bound for very long under a blanket.”

  “I never heard of any such beast in this part of World,” mused her husband.

  Quickly checking the breakfasting progress of his children, he fell to eating his oatmeal with a will. The strawberry-jammed toast quickly disappeared, to be replaced by a second cup of steaming coffee with heavy cream and a plate of scrambled eggs and sausages, all hot and savory.

  “I’ve read of them in my studies,” Myrn told them, following her husband’s lead, but keeping an eye on the twins at the same time. “They’re not native to this part of World, are they? I seem to recall mention of them in the distant Grasslands.”

  “I think you have it, there,” agreed Flarman, tucking into a bowl of sliced peaches. “I know I’ve never seen one outside of books, nor heard of one in this part of World. What do you say about it, Rainman?”

  This last was directed to Augurian, who just then entered the kitchen from the hall.

  “Flying horses?” he asked, sitting at the table opposite Flarman. “Cream, please! I’ve heard of them ... but never in our corner of World.”

  Creamer dashed over to the Water Adept’s place and tilted a generous dollop into his coffee. Sugar Caster was standing right behind Creamer. The Water Adept loved sweet and creamy coffee with his breakfast.

  Blue Teakettle, supervising breakfast preparations from her usual perch on the front of Range, clucked impatiently at Griddle. He’d spent the night producing perfect pancakes over an open fire and now was being asked to grill rashers of hickory-smoked bacon and patties of pork sausage for the people of Wizards’ High and their guests, but with good will and savory results.

  “Have you ever seen one, Magister?” asked Myrn of Augurian.

  Brand decided it was time to feed his mother’s left ear some oat porridge, but she deftly managed to forestall catastrophe and guide the spoon back to its proper orifice.

  “Only from a distance,” Augurian replied thoughtfully. “Once, long ago, when my travels took me into the Nearer East for a short while.”

  “Never been that far east, myself,” murmured Flarman, pushing back his empty porridge bowl and reaching for another piece of hot buttered toast. “What’s it like?”

  “Mountainous. Dry. Sandy desert or endless grassy steppes. Sparsely inhabited,” replied Augurian. “Interesting flora and fauna—of which flying horses are only one of many. I spent little time there, unfortunately. The War against The Darkness interfered with youthful wanderings, just as it did yours, Fire-starter.”

  “Are all animals there mute?” wondered his pretty pupil, rejoining the conversation now that her twins were actively engaged in feeding themselves, not each other ... nor the kittens waiting expectantly for droppings on the floor under their high chairs.

  “No, I don’t recall any dumb animals among those I encountered there. But I never really met a pegasus close-to,” admitted the Water Adept. “They must speak, for they are known far and wide for their classical poetry, I’ve heard.”

  “I think I’ll look into that question this very morning,” murmured Douglas. “I’ve a feeling this horse-with-wings has a tale to tell, if she could or would talk.”

  “I agree,” said Flarman. “I, too, will pursue some investigations in that line, m’boy. Let’s agree to compare notes over lunch, eh?”

  Douglas and Flarman left the Water Adepts ... Douglas to climb to the library at the top of the stairs, and the older Fire Wi
zard for his workshop under Wizards’ High.

  “Have you an assignment for me?” asked Myrn, gathering up her children.

  “No,” replied Augurian. “I’m going to do some research on the subject, myself. I’d like to discuss it with you, once you’ve settled our young persons.”

  He tickled Brand under the chin, much to the boy’s glee, ignoring the oatmeal that had lodged there during the baby’s attempts to feed himself.

  “Uncle!” cried his twin sister, and the Water Adept paused to give her a kiss and a pat. She was much the neater eater of the two, he noticed.

  “After your baths,” Myrn told her twins with a warm smile, “I understand Bronze Owl’ll talk to you of fairies, goblins, and banshees and such.”

  “Nanshees!” crowed two-year-old Brand gleefully. “Bronze Owl’ll tell us of Nanshees!”

  “Nothing frightens these two,” Augurian chuckled. “Join me when you can, Journeyman. We must speak of your Journeying.”

  Myrn threw him a kiss and nodded eagerly.

  “Come along, little Banshees,” she said to her babes. “No, this time you shall walk. Flying spells are all very well, but they don’t do anything to develop strong young legs, do they?”

  While the several Wizards went off to research the origins of the little winged horse, Marbleheart Sea Otter headed for the still-icy waters of Crooked Brook, intending to swim a bit and check on the development of a bed of freshwater oysters he’d planted in the shadowed water under Old Bridge.

  On the way he stopped to greet the Ladies of the Byre, contentedly cropping tender spring grasses and watching their two calves cavort in the sunshine.

  “What do you think of this winged horse?” Marbleheart asked the Matriarch of the Milk Cows.

  She lowered her head to look the Otter in the eye and then shook her horns.

  “No comment, eh?” the web-footed animal said, sighing. “Well, that makes it more difficult, doesn’t it? She not being able or willing to speak, as it were.”

  The beautiful little horse trotted over to greet him shyly, nodding and pawing the damp earth in a pleased-to-meet-you fashion.

  “Is it that you can’t speak?” Marbleheart wondered. “Or that you don’t care to?”

  The horse, given the choice, managed to indicate her complete inability to speak.

  “Was it ever thus?” asked the Otter, shaking his head sadly.

  The filly shook her head also.

  “You could once talk? Is that it?”

  The little horse nodded vigorously.

  “And you miss it, don’t you?”

  The horse signaled a definite “Yes!” by bobbing her head up and down several times.

  “Well, the ‘mancers’ll fix you up, never fear—if it’s possible for their powers of Wizardry. We’ve got a whole bunch of expert Wizards here, you see. You came to the right place!” He gallumped off to check on his oysters and when he looked back later, he noticed the little horse looking much more chipper than she had, teaching the calves to jump over stones on the bank of the Brook as their mothers and aunts looked on contentedly.

  “There’s a story in yon pretty head,” Marbleheart said to Augurian’s Familiar, Stormy Petrel, who’d come to watch his good friend swim and dive. Stormy nodded judiciously.

  Chapter Two

  Journeying

  As it turned out, the discussion of the flying horse was delayed.

  In midday when Douglas came down from the library seeking his lunch he found Prince Bryarmote seated at the big kitchen table, calmly munching one of Blue Teakettle’s best molasses cookies and sipping steaming tea.

  “Ho!’’ cried the young Wizard, clapping the burly Dwarf on his broad and muscular back. “Well met! How’re the cookies?”

  “None better!” Bryarmote said with a laugh, giving the young Pyromancer a rib-rattling hug. “Have one! Take two!”

  Douglas took a pair of the delicious dark brown wafers marked with artistic cross-hatchings and swirls of white frosting by a certain artistic Fork, and called for a glass of milk.

  Milk Pitcher waddled across the wide tabletop on her short legs to fill his glass. Blue Teakettle signaled to Dinner Bell to make an appeal, calling everyone to the midday meal.

  “What brings you here?” Douglas asked his old friend. “You’re certainly looking fit and fiddled!”

  “Never better,” agreed Bryarmote. “Marriage does agree with us both, I see. Where’s your bride and the little Wizard-lings? I didn’t see them when I arrived a few minutes ago.”

  “The children are in the charge of Bronze Owl, who’s giving them early lessons on fairy-folk and half-worldlings,” mumbled Douglas around the second bite of molasses cookie. “Owl’ll bring them to lunch now that Bell has pealed.”

  Sure enough, within two minutes the entire company of residents and guests of Wizards’ High appeared from all directions, for lunch was a time to discuss the morning’s activities and prepare for afternoon’s work.

  Flarman, the last to arrive, wiped a smudge of soot from his nose and plumped down in his chair at the head of the long table, greeting his old friend the Dwarf most heartily.

  “Welcome, Delver!” he cried. “I should have known you were coming, for I noticed in late morning that Blue Teakettle set an extra place at table.”

  “She always knows, somehow, doesn’t she?” marveled the Dwarf in admiration.

  From her perch on the front edge of Range, Blue Teakettle burbled happily and bobbed a thank-you curtsy to the Dwarf, spilling drops of hot water which sizzled merrily when they struck the hot stovetop.

  Everyone wanted to know how Princess Cristol fared these days, and whether she was yet with child. Bryarmote and Cristol had been married for several years.

  “These things take considerably longer for Dwarfs than for you Humans,” Bryarmote insisted with a bright crimson blush, but he was pleased that they’d asked. “All in good time, dear friends!”

  “Why do you come at this time?” asked Douglas at last, no longer able to control his large Bump of Curiosity. Barman nodded eagerly and Myrn clapped her hands softly.

  “Nothing World-shaking, probably,” replied the Dwarf. “A matter of a missing neighbor, only.”

  “Neighbor?” asked Flarman, leaning forward. “Who? Not someone of Fairstrand, surely. They’re your nearest neighbors.”

  “No, not a Fairstrander, although they first brought it to my attention when they delivered fresh fish to my kitchens, as is their weekly habit. Captain Beckett of Fairstrand personally came to me three ... no, four... days back. He’d called at New Land’s Flarmansport—”

  “Named for a certain World-famous Fire Wizard, you know,” said Flarman Flowerstalk with a chuckle.

  “As we all well know,” agreed the Dwarf dryly. “Clangeon told Captain Beckett that Serenit has gone missing!”

  “Serenit! Missing?” cried Cribblon. “That’s not like Serenit.”

  “But true,” insisted Bryarmote. “He hasn’t been seen in his home or valley since last Saturday morning, according to Clangeon.”

  “That’s not like Serenit,” echoed Litholt Stonebreaker, frowning. Douglas and Myrn nodded agreement.

  “It is, however, very much like his old self... Frigeon,” said Bronze Owl solemnly.

  “No, I don’t think that,” Douglas said sternly. “Besides, Serenit lost all Frigeon’s wizardly powers when he was defeated.”

  “Still...” The Owl shrugged with a soft clash of metal pinions.

  “Much more likely he was stolen away or led astray,” considered Augurian. “What does Clangeon think?”

  “He’s beside himself! Not much help, I have to admit,” said Bryarmote sourly.

  “Is it possible,” said Cribblon, looking very concerned, “that Serenit has backslid? Is it?”

  “Possible... but I don’t believe it for a minute!” cried Douglas. “He has no Magical Powers, as I said.”

  “If he got ‘em once,” Bryarmote growled darkly, “he could get �
��em again.”

  “Not without our noticing,” Myrn insisted, quite firmly. “No, I don’t think Serenit’s backslid. He’s become lost... or captured ... or something like.”

  The company at the luncheon table was silent for a time before Myrn laid aside her napkin and said, “Well!”

  “What’s in your pretty head, my dear?” Litholt asked.

  “I believe in Serenit, as Douglas does. If he’s disappeared, there’s a good ... or a bad ... reason for it, Magisters!”

  Flarman pushed back from his place, leaving his lunch half-finished.

  “I’ll have a look into this at once, if you’ll excuse me. I feel responsible to and for Serenit.”

  “As do I,” agreed Augurian. “I’ll come help you, if I may.”

  “Come and most welcome,” replied the Fire Wizard. “Douglas? Myrn?”

  “Go ahead, beloved,” said Myrn to Douglas. “I’ll see the twins put down for their nap, and join you in the workshop.”

  By the time she arrived, the Wizards and Familiars had cleared a large space on Flarman’s vast and cluttered work-table and were watching him set up a complicated arrangement of flasks, glass and rubber tubing, spiraled condensers, metal stands, petcocks, clamps, and a large crystal retort half-filled with an oily orange liquid that roiled and burbled of its own volition.

  “We’re setting up a Tracer Spell on Serenit,” explained Douglas in a whisper to his wife, so as not to disturb the working Wizard. “Watch now!”

  Flarman lighted the spirit lamp under the retort with a flick of his right index finger. The bright blue-and-yellow flame caressed the round bottom of the retort and the orange liquid began at once to boil and give off tendrils of pinkish steam.

  “It’ll turn pale yellow as the Essence of Searching passes into steam,” Augurian murmured. “Now....”

  The long, tapered spout of the retort directed pink steam into the coiled glass condenser, where, in the bottom of each coil, a pale yellow liquid began to condense, pushed onward by the force of more steam from the retort.