Foundling Wizard

by James Eggebeen

  Ryvor laughed at Lorit, “Her cooking has that effect on a lot of folks, until you get used to it.”

  “It smells delicious. I have not had fish stew in a long while. We rarely get fish. Only when the stream is full and the fish are spawning.”

  “Here we get fish all too often,” Ryvor replied.

  “And yet you eat like a starving beggar at every meal,” the middle-aged woman chided him. The resemblance between her and the young woman at the stove was remarkable. Take a few years away and they could have been twin sisters.

  “Don’t let him fool you,” she said to Lorit. “He loves fish stew.”

  Lorit rummaged through his pack and pulled out two rabbits that he had snared the afternoon before. “Here are a couple of rabbits I caught. Perhaps you could use them.”

  “We could use a change once in a while. Fish is abundant in the river, so we don’t have to go to market often. These will make a fine meal for tomorrow.” She placed them on the table and sat down. She gestured to Lorit to do the same.

  As Lorit sat on the chair across from her, another young girl came over and poured a cup of steaming hot tea. She pushed the cup before him, averting her eyes. “Enjoy,” she said quietly.

  “Thank you,” Lorit called after her as she hurried away with the kettle.

  “Did you say you were going to Bebrook?” Politaia asked.

  “Yes,” Lorit replied. The tea was smooth and had an odd flavor. It warmed him all the way down to his toes.

  “You will be with us for three days then?”

  “If that’s how long it takes to get to Bebrook, and you’re fine with my staying, that would be appreciated. I’ve done quite a bit of walking lately. I would really enjoy a quiet barge ride.”

  “You are welcome to ride with us. Anyone who brings food is already a fast friend of Ryvor,” she said, pointing to his kill.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” Jilang said as she stirred the pot on the stove. “Emveshon! Shakila! Come set the table!”

  The young girl who’d brought him the tea reappeared, carrying a stack of bowls. Following close behind her was a girl of about six summers. She was carrying wooden spoons and beaten copper mugs. They worked their way around the table until all the settings were in place. Emveshon fetched a set of salt and pepper grinders from above the stove and a few small jars of spices Lorit did not recognize.

  “Ardser! Pertcha!” Ryvor bellowed. “Dinnertime.”

  The boys rushed in and took their seats. Jilang placed the pot of stew on the table, along with several platters of vegetables and a sliced loaf of brown bread. They reached for the food hungrily. Ryvor reached out with his wooden spoon and whacked the boys’ hands before they could get the food on their plates. “Guests first,” he said, nodding his head to Lorit.

  Lorit carefully reached out and took a slice of bread. He ladled a small scoop of the rich soup into his bowl and stabbed a few vegetables and dropped them next to the bread. He sat back and folded his hands, waiting.

  “Go ahead,” Ryvor said. “Now you can eat!”

  Lorit watched the boys tussle over the food, eating as if it was a competition, and they were both after the prize. The girls were more restrained and proper in their approach.

  Emveshon looked about twelve summers. She reminded him of Onolt, with her hair pulled back, out of her face.

  Lorit worried about Onolt. The priest knew who he was, and since they read his mind, they knew about his family. He was worried that somehow his escape would cause harm to come to them. He missed his sister and best friend.

  “What’s wrong, son?” She ladled some of the fish stew into her bowl and ground a fine mist of pepper onto its surface. She looked over at Lorit and said, “Miss your family?”

  “Yes,” Lorit replied. “I’ve been on the road a while, and I do miss them. Especially my sister, Onolt. We’re very close.”

  “So, what’s got you on the road then instead of back home?” She reached for a slice of bread and carefully spread a thin layer of butter across it. She dipped it into the stew and bit off a piece, chewing quietly. She looked at Lorit questioningly.

  “Not sure I should say,” Lorit answered. “I don’t want to get you all into any of my troubles.” Lorit played with his bread and vegetables, not wanting to look too guilty.

  “You have problems with the temple?” Ryvor asked. “That puts a lot of young folks on the road.”

  “Yes,” Lorit replied. “How did you guess?”

  Ryvor inclined his head toward his older son. “Ardser tipped me off.”

  “Ardser?” Lorit asked, turning to look at the boy.

  “Yes, he has a little problem with the temple, too,” Ryvor explained. “Least he would, if we stayed in one place long enough for them to sense him.”

  Lorit turned to Ardser and asked, “How did you come to know?”

  “I don’t know. I just know things, and sometimes I can see things that haven’t happened yet,” he answered.

  “What do you plan to do?” Lorit asked.

  “Keep hiding,” he replied. “Keep quiet, and keep hiding.”

  The rest of the dinner was typical of a meal shared by a large family. After the meal was done and the dishes cleaned, they gathered around the small fireplace. Ryvor pulled out his lute and softly strummed a few folk songs while the girls took turns singing.

  Lorit missed his home more than he thought he would. He always thought that he wanted to get away from there, but after sharing the evening with the river folk, he wondered if he honestly wanted to be home rather than on the road.

  He rolled out his bedroll and lay down. Lorit let the gentle rocking of the barge carry him off to sleep.

  The barge rocked gently as it floated still on the river with the horse bedded down for the night. Lorit slept uneasily. His dreams were filled with vague impressions of priests and their torture mixed in with visions of home and Onolt, overlain with the comfortable madness of the family whose home he shared.

  Voices pulled him from sleep. A strange man was shouting, “Don’t move or I’ll slit her throat like a celebration swine!”

  Lorit struggled to sit up and make sense of what was happening around him. A large man dressed in a rough leather vest had his arm around Jilang’s waist. He held a butcher’s knife at her throat. Ryvor stood by, holding a small club. Behind him, Politaia grasped a heavy pan by its handle, brandishing it as a weapon.

  A second man stood near the stove. He had Ardser and Pertcha subdued holding each boy by the scruff of his neck. The first man looked over and said, “Go ahead Emundo, prepare them. They won’t make any trouble as long as I have the girl.”

  Emundo reached into his pocket and pulled out a dirty ribbon, holding a smooth river stone tied with a leather thong. He placed it over Ardser’s head. He released the boy, saying, “You stay still.”

  Ardser stood still, waiting, as Emundo retrieved another of the amulets and placed it over Pertcha’s neck. He pushed both boys toward Lorit. “Go stand over there,” he ordered them.

  The boys walked across the kitchen and stood beside Lorit.

  Emundo turned toward Ryvor. He held up another of the amulets saying, “You’re next.”

  Ryvor stepped back as the man approached. “Rakkun!” Emundo called, looking over at his partner who still held Jilang tight.

  Rakkun twitched the knife and squeezed the girl until she struggled to breathe. He didn’t say a word, but looked over at Ryvor, who slowly lowered the club and raised his hands to show they were empty.

  Emundo placed another of the amulets around Ryvor’s neck. “Go stand over there, by your boys,” he commanded. He noticed Lorit standing in the shadow and pointed at him. “You!” he shouted. “What are you doing here? We were told the old man had two sons. Who are you?”

  “I’m Lorit,” he replied, stepping out of the shadow. “I’m just a traveler partaking of their hospitality. I have no argument with you.”

  “You have no argument with us, but we have
one with you.” He turned to put Jilang between him and Lorit. “Bind him,” he said, looking over at Emundo.

  “I have no more amulets,” Emundo replied. “I was only expecting the three of them.”

  “Well, bind him with ropes then,” Rakkun shouted. “I don’t want to take any chances.”

  Emundo walked over to Lorit and grabbed him by the arm. He dragged him to one of the chairs around the table and pushed him into it. He fetched a piece of rope from his pack and tied Lorit’s arms behind him, fastening each wrist to one of the vertical posts that made up the back of the chair. He stepped back to admire his work. “That should hold you,” he said.

  Rakkun turned to face Politaia and nodded toward the chair next to Lorit. “You’re next,” he said.

  Emundo repeated the process of securing Politaia to the chair, just as he had done with Lorit. When he finished, he settled his bulk into the chair across from them. “That should hold them for now,” he said.

  Rakkun released Jilang and pushed her toward the stove. “Make us some tea,” he told her.

  The girl rushed over to the stove. She took down some kindling and lighted the fire, setting the kettle over the flame to warm.

  “You! Go hitch the horse and let’s get this thing underway,” Rakkun said to Ryvor.

  “Yes, sir,” Ryvor replied as he disappeared through the canvas door. Soon, the barge lurched forward as the horse resumed his steady plodding. They were underway.

  Rakkun walked over to Ardser and looked him over slowly. “You must be the boy they’re looking for.” He looked at Pertcha, who was more than a head shorter than his brother was. “You’re obviously too young. Go sit by your ma,” he commanded the boys. They slowly walked over and seated themselves in their usual spots around the table.

  Lorit struggled, but tugging at the ropes only made them tighter, cutting off the circulation in his arms.

  “Hold still there, lad,” Emundo scolded. “Do you need one of the pretty necklaces, too?”

  “What do you want?” Lorit demanded. “Why are you doing this?”

  “For the golds, boy. Why else?” Emundo replied. “There is a bounty on this boy. We collect two golds by bringing him to the temple at Bebrook.”

  Lorit struggled harder but had no effect on his bounds.

  Emundo walked over to Pertcha and pulled the boy’s arms behind him. He bound his arms to the chair as he’d done with Lorit. Standing up, he snatched the amulet from around the boy’s neck and shuffled back over to Lorit.

  He looked down at Lorit and said, “Maybe you need a little more enticement to sit quietly.” He dropped the amulet around Lorit’s neck and plopped himself back into his chair. He called out to Jilang, “Girl, where’s that tea?”

  “Coming, sir,” she replied. She grabbed the kettle from the stove and headed for the table. She poured carefully, watching Lorit for a cue. He shook his head slightly. He wasn’t in a position to back her up if she attempted anything.

  When Emundo dropped the amulet around Lorit’s neck, he felt the power rising up in it. He could feel the compulsion to obey whatever he was told, mixed with fear and shame at the thought of disobeying. He hoped he’d be able to resist when the opportunity for escape came.

  The day wore on as the two men lounged at the table. They occasionally barked orders to Politaia and the girls, who prepared them food and kept them supplied with drink. Toward nightfall they had Ryvor retire the horse and stand guard. Emundo tied the women to their chairs, just like Lorit and Pertcha were, before retiring to the sleeping mats for the night.

  “Don’t try anything,” Emundo commanded.

  Lorit could feel the compulsion welling up in him. It threatened to overwhelm him with a desire to obey.

  He fought against it, feeling it grow stronger and stronger as he did. As he fought the ropes, a feeling of shame rose in him. He was a naughty little boy who had just broken his mother’s best jar to get at the cookies inside. He was about to get the spanking of his life. He was frightened and ashamed to the point that struggling was no longer an action he wished to take.

  Finally, after failing to make any headway, Lorit relaxed. When he did, the shame and fear subsided. He pondered his predicament. He was under a compulsion to prevent him from attempting to escape, but he felt that he should be able to break its power, if he could only figure out the secret of the spell that the amulet contained.

  The moon was full and high in the night sky when Lorit decided that he could help someone else escape without triggering the compulsion. He relaxed and imagined the bonds holding Pertcha to his chair. He reached out and felt the ropes and how they were tied. He felt the knots, examining the loops and turns of each one in succession. Carefully he worked, in his mind, to unravel the knots. He could feel the rope surfaces slide past one another as the knots came loose.

  Pertcha looked over at him in surprise. “Quiet,” Lorit whispered. “Untie the others,” he motioned to Politaia with his head.

  Pertcha struggled with the knots for a while before whispering, “They are too tight. I can’t get them loose.”

  Lorit tried to ask Pertcha to take the amulet from around his neck, but as he began to speak, he could feel the compulsion rise up fighting against him. This time, he didn’t fight it directly but took a different approach. He stopped fighting the compulsion and told himself, “I’m not trying to escape. I’m just loosening the ropes so that my hands can get better circulation.”

  The shame faded to embarrassment then to a mild feeling that he was doing something he shouldn’t, but the overwhelming shame and fear didn’t appear this time. Slowly, he worked the knots loose, carefully freeing each strand. If he rushed, he felt the compulsion threaten him, so he took his time.

  Pertcha noticed his struggle and quietly crept over to Lorit. He lifted the amulet from around his neck, freeing Lorit to untie the knots that bound his own hands and then those of the women.

  “Go free your father and Ardser,” he instructed Pertcha. “Bring me the amulets. I have an idea.” As Pertcha headed off to free his father, Lorit stopped him. “Warn them to be quiet,” he whispered.

  When Pertcha returned with the amulets, Lorit took them all. He carefully leaned over the sleeping form of Emundo and gently draped the amulet around his neck. He straightened up to do the same to Rakkun, but the man woke before Lorit could reach him.

  “What’s going on here?” he cried out. Rakkun reached for his knife and was standing, facing Lorit, in a flash. He stood with his back to the wall, holding the knife in front of him. “Get up, Emundo,” he called, but his accomplice remained where he was.

  “Very clever,” Rakkun said, looking at Lorit. “You do that?” he asked.

  He started toward Lorit, waving the knife in front of his advancing bulk. “Let’s see how you handle a knife,” he said.

  Lorit took a step back, only to find that the table was blocking his retreat. He had to do something, or the man was going to slice him open like a freshly killed rabbit.

  He paused and looked straight in the advancing eyes of the man who towered a head taller than he was. He recalled the shame and fear from the amulet and directed them at his attacker, “Stop!” he demanded. “Drop the knife and stop where you are!” he commanded.

  His attacker slowed. Lorit saw him hesitate. His knife hand wavered slightly, but he kept advancing.

  Lorit reached out with his senses to find the fire burning in the stove. He pulled at it, channeling the energy into the fear and shame as he projected it at the advancing man, but it only slowed him down. He raised his arm and swung the knife at Lorit, only to collapse in mid swing.

  As Rakkun crumpled to the deck, Lorit saw Jilang standing behind him with the skillet grasped firmly in both hands. She poked the man with her foot and looked up at Lorit. “Not quite there yet, are you?” she asked.

  Lorit felt flush. He dropped his eyes, and said, “I got us out of the ropes, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did. We’re thankful for that,
” she said. She nudged Rakkun once more, to make sure he was unconscious, before lowering the pan. “You want to take care of him?”

  Lorit tossed the amulet to Ardser. “Put that around his neck.”

  Ardser plucked it out of the air and draped it around Rakkun’s neck in one motion. “That should hold him when he wakes up,” he said, looking at Jilang. “That is, if he wakes up. You hit him pretty hard.”

  The girl just smiled pleasantly and walked back to the stove with the skillet still in her hand without saying a word.

  Lorit sat down in the nearest chair, heaving a heavy sigh. He was as exhausted as if he’d just run a league.

  Ryvor came in and sat next to him, looking over the two malefactors. “What should we do with them?” he asked.

  “I don’t care,” Lorit commented. He turned to the two men, raising his staff, and projected all the fear and loathing he’d felt from the amulets at them. He pointed at Ryvor and said, “Your new master!”

  “I don’t suppose it’s safe for Ardser here any longer,” Ryvor said.

  Lorit pushed his chair back from the table, resting his head on the rough wooden planks. “I suppose I’ll have to take him with me,” he said wearily. “Can I have some tea while we wait?” he asked.

  “The teapot is ice cold, and the fire is out. It will take a bit,” Jilang replied.

  Chapter 7

  Bebrook was a bustling, mid-size town, tucked on the west bank of the Strotailye River. The piers jutted into the river at regular intervals. Each pier hosted for several barges, loaded with trade goods for the city. They were guided to an open spot and quickly tied up. Ryvor went to find the patrollers and hand the two men over. Lorit hoped they were wanted for more than accosting Ryvor’s family or else they’d be back on the street before the family completed their business.

  Lorit packed up his things and made sure Ardser had a proper pack and provisions. He helped Ryvor and the girls unload the cargo bound for Bebrook and reload cargo headed back downriver to Mistbury Tye.