"Hullo, brother,” greeted Maldoch.
"Don't hello me, you tall drink of swamp water!” barked the tool man. “You nearly blinded me using that lighthouse staff of yours when I was in the middle of a delicate experiment with my powders. I could have blown myself up thanks to your thoughtless interruption."
"But you haven't, so quit complaining,” chided the wizard, pushing past his sibling.
The tool man did not stop his whining. “What are you doing back anyhow? I wasn't expecting you until Marach next year."
Removing his cloak, Maldoch shook off the droplets of rainwater before carelessly flinging the garment to the floor. “There's been a change in plans."
"Obviously.” The tool man lowered his eyeglasses to look down his stubby nose at the bedraggled figure standing dejectedly on the doorstep in the pouring rain. “I don't like visitors, Mal. Who's this drowned rat?"
"Don't you recognize the destiny of Terrath?"
The enormity of that disclosure struck the tool man like a hammer blow to the head. “And you brought him here!"
"It was a better proposition than taking him west,” Maldoch said caustically. “Do come in out of the rain, boy, before you shrivel up like a prune."
Garrich cautiously edged past the glowering tool man and stood dripping on the flagstones of the castle floor. He loitered in an unfurnished foyer lit by a smokeless globe of warming yellowish light hanging by chain from a low ceiling of dark stained timber. Even though it was midmorning the leaden clouds of the stormy sky darkened the day considerably, the gloomy castle needing the illumination.
"I forget. Has it a name?” the tool man demanded, picking up Maldoch's discarded cloak with a despairing sigh before hanging it on a brass coat hook mounted on the block wall to one side of the solid stone door.
"I'm Garrich, if it's any of your business."
"Rude little bugger, ain't he?"
Maldoch made the necessary introductions. “Garrich, my boy, this bad tempered, sorry excuse for a wizard is my brother Parndolc."
Garrich threw back his hood for a better squiz at this unlikely enchanter and frowned. “The two of you don't look like brothers."
"And you're a bit on the scrawny side for becoming a living legend,” retorted the oddball wizard.
"We're not blood related,” revealed Maldoch.
"Thankfully,” butted in Parndolc.
"Our kinship is more in the nature of a brotherhood,” elucidated the gangly, bearded spellcaster. “Members of the same fraternity pulling together for the common good."
"Don't romanticize what we do,” his brother chided. “We're fighting a long running, downright dirty war against evil. It's necessary, not noble."
"Always the pragmatist, Parny."
"Someone's got to be round here. Boy, get that cloak off and stop dripping on my floor.” Garrich hurriedly disrobed. Parndolc snatched the offending garment and hung it next to Maldoch's soggy mantle. He went to unstrap the broadsword from the youth's back and Garrich pulled away. “I feel the same way about my tools,” sympathized Parndolc, patting his overstocked belt. There was a hammer and chisels, a measuring stick, ball of knotted twine, plus an assortment of oddly shaped specialist tools with varying heads whose functions could only be guessed at. “Maldoch, where are you planning to put this ragamuffin tonight?"
"He can bunk with me until you make room for him."
Parndolc's unlovely face went black. “Just how long is he staying?"
"Yeah, how long will I be here?” chimed in Garrich, feeling like a fifth wheel on a cart.
"That depends,” Maldoch obliquely replied.
"I don't want company,” grumped Parndolc.
"We don't always get what we want."
"Around here I do,” Parndolc huffed before swaggering out of the foyer, his belted tools rattling.
"What a grouch!” Garrich exclaimed scornfully when he guessed Parndolc was out of earshot.
"You're in luck, boy,” Maldoch told him. “We've caught him on a good day."
"I'd hate to see him on a bad day,” muttered the Goblin.
Maldoch stroked his waterlogged beard and smiled wanly. “You'll get the chance. But now it's time for a bath."
"I'm already wet!” protested Garrich.
"Then you'll get wetter. Bring your stuff and come with me."
Garrich tramped after the gruff wizard down a short passageway into the central chamber of the ground floor dome. A freestanding wooden staircase curled upwards from the middle of the floor, connecting to an upper level balcony running the circumference of the room by means of four spindly walkways that in turn provided links to each of the spiral stairways accessing the towers seen from the outside.
"Dump your bag there,” Maldoch instructed Garrich, gesturing to one of two dust-smothered armchairs off to the side.
Having done that, Garrich went with his guide through one of a quartet of doors on the outer rim of the ground floor to find himself in a private bathhouse. Two large iron bound wooden tubs indented a stone floor sloped for drainage. Each had a large diameter pipe of beaten copper jutting out over it from the bricked ceiling and a length of chain hanging from a slit in the side of the individual metal piping.
Crossing over to the nearest tub, Maldoch reached up and yanked its chain. A valve in the middle of the pipe dropped open and steaming water gushed forth to fill the tub. The wizard repeated the procedure on the adjoining bathtub and stripped off. Untold years of walking countless leagues kept Maldoch fit, his old body trim and taut. When the bath was half full he gave a second yank on the chain and the flow dribbled to a halt. Maldoch gingerly placed a foot in the tub to test the water, winced when he found it a trifle hot, placed the other foot in and eased his weary bones into the soothing bath. He sat there with a look of pure contentment on his bearded face, much like a cat curled up by the hearth on a cold wintry night.
Shivering in his wet clothes, Garrich was trying to work out where and how the heated water was coming from for his bath when Maldoch lazily opened one eye to say, “You'll catch your death standing there. Get in your tub before the water overflows and starts getting cold."
Used to bathing in streams, Garrich found the notion of artificially running water weird. Jerking on the chain to shut off the water pipe over his tub, he quickly undressed and plopped himself in the bath, its contents spilling over the rim in a swishing cascade. The water was uncomfortably hot, causing Garrich to squirm.
"There's a tap to let in coldwater near the bottom,” advised Maldoch. “Work it with your feet."
Garrich found the valve with his toes, making the water tepid and more bearable.
They soaked themselves without talking until the water cooled and their skin grew wrinkly, though in Maldoch's case his merely got wrinklier. The grime from weeks of travel floated to the surface, so that when they emerged from the bathhouse clad in habits similar to that worn by Parndolc, wizard and boy felt rejuvenated, if not a little sleepy.
"Where do these other doors lead?” asked Garrich, making small talk to keep awake.
Maldoch gestured to the farthest of the companion portals to the bathhouse door. “That one takes you to the basement. Its neighbor goes to the workshop. Behind the third one lies the kitchen and that's where we're off to next."
Famished, Garrich did not quibble.
The kitchen, with dining room attached, was small but adequate. Once again Garrich came across seating for two in the shape of a pair of chairs set around a small kitchen table and puzzled over that fact. Why did two old sorcerers need a castle with four towers?
"What's for lunch?” Maldoch enquired as his brother came shuffling in.
"Whatever you feel like cooking,” was Parndolc's indifferent reply.
Inspecting the larder and finding it wanting, the spellcaster recited a spell and the table was instantly laden with three bowls of piping hot soup, loaves of freshly baked white bread, and a pot of herbal tea. “Dig in boys,” he invited the other two after
seating himself.
"Still as lazy as ever,” criticized Parndolc. That did not stop him pulling up a chair and tucking into the conjured up meal.
Garrich was gobsmacked. “Do you mean to say that you could've magicked us up food anytime while we were out in the boondocks?"
"Sure, if I wanted to betray our whereabouts. Here at Earthen Rise where it's shielded any spellcasting can't be detected, so it doesn't matter."
That failed to comfort Garrich. Weeks spent scrounging for food when the wagging of a tongue could have whipped up an instant feast seemed an incredible waste. He sulked. There was nowhere for him to sit. A mutter from Maldoch—turned into a regular provider—remedied that, presenting the irked youth with a stool that popped out of thin air so he could lunch with the wizards.
"Why didn't Shudonn come with you?” Parndolc quizzed his brother while slurping his soup. “Not that I expected him to leave Falloway. Living rent-free all those years is a deal hard to walk away from."
"Tylar is dead,” said the spellcaster.
His grief raw and on the surface, Garrich clenched his hand into a fist. He tore a chunk off a bread loaf, dunked it into his bowl, and stuffed the soggy morsel into his mouth to take his mind off the hurtful topic. The soup tasted unfamiliar. “What flavor is this?” he put to Maldoch, hoping to change the subject.
"What? Oh, asparagus."
"Was it old age?"
Maldoch glanced curiously at Parndolc. “Was what?"
"Shudonn's death. Did time catch up with him?"
"No, bandits did."
"Was Omelchor responsible?” Parndolc immediately wanted to know.
"Hard to say. They could've been hired assassins or merely freebooters. We'll never know ‘cos I never got the opportunity to question any of the brutes. The boy here killed them all before I arrived on the scene."
"Father took down a couple of them himself before they burnt Falloway to the ground,” Garrich said in his own defense.
Parndolc gave the Goblin the queerest of looks. “What happened next?” he demanded from Maldoch, his dour expression turning into amusement.
"I found the boy and took him to Alberion with me."
"That was risky, you old fool."
Maldoch shrugged off the condemnation. “I needed to introduce myself to the new Prince of Men."
"Jannus has gone as well?” Parndolc put down his spoon and rubbed his shaven head. “The world keeps turning on me."
"Change, whether for good or ill, means growth, brother of mine. And that is infinitely better than stagnation."
"On that score we agree,” said Parndolc, shoveling another spoonful of soup into his gob. “So Lindan's ensconced on the throne now. What sort of ruler will he make?"
"He's a diplomat, like his father."
"Humph! Anarica wants for a doer, not a talker."
Maldoch disagreed with Parndolc's assessment. “The princedom needs a thinker in charge and Lindan seems to have a good head on his shoulders."
"Let's hope he doesn't get it lopped off by rampaging Goblins.” Parndolc stared unapologetically at Garrich when making that statement. “What's next on your agenda, Stretch?"
Finishing his soup, Maldoch decided, “A nap is in order, I think. Don't forget to do the dishes, Parny. Coming Garrich?"
Tearing off another chunk of delicious bread to take with him, Garrich got up from the table and scooted after the spellcaster, avoiding Parndolc's glower. Maldoch led him back out into the central staircase and up to the archway on the landing leading to what the boy guessed was the north tower. The room at the top of those spiraling steps was welcomingly spacious, although cluttered with books and scrolls. A single cot was positioned under the only window in the room, shuttered against the rain, while beneath one of those strange, smokeless wall mounted glowing globes stood an antique looking writing desk and partnering chair. Sheafs of parchment littered the unmade bed, cobwebs draping the space between the legs of the furniture pieces and a circular unswept floor layered with months of dust.
"Must really get a maid in,” joked the wizard. Yawning, he vigorously shook the bed coverings, scattering the loose papers on to the dusty floor. He stripped off the topmost blanket and gave it to Garrich. “You can nap in the chair by the desk for now. I'll sort you out proper sleeping arrangements later.” Maldoch was much too selfish to give up his own bed for anyone.
The boy looked at the hard, uncomfortableness of the wooden chair. “Can't you magic me up a mattress?"
Maldoch, already under the sheets and turning over to present his back to Garrich, mumbled drowsily, “I have trouble with spells for linen.” He fell asleep instantly, breathing the heaviness of deep, unadulterated slumber.
Garrich envied the wizard's ability to doze anywhere at anytime. He drew back the chair with a scrape of wood against stone and slumped on to the unpadded seat. He groaned inwardly. It was even more uncomfortable than it looked. Heaving a sigh of resignation, he draped the blanket over him and tried his best to snooze.
—
He woke with a jolt, the rain pattering against the shutters creating an awful din. Throwing off his blanket Garrich slowly rose, his neck stiff and butt numb from napping in that torture rack. The cot on the opposite side of the curved wall was empty. He toyed with the idea of stealing Maldoch's unoccupied bed and thought better of it. Terrath's premier wizard was a grouch at the best of times. Depriving him of his bed would only make him grumpier, if that was at all possible.
Wandering over to the window, it astonished Garrich when he opened a shutter and peeked out into darkness. Supposing he had only nodded off for a few minutes, his catnap actually lasted several hours, the dingy afternoon overtaken by an even dingier night of shrieking wind and driving rain that smacked of the Banshees. Hungry again, he slipped down the two flights of stairs that delivered him to the ground floor of the castle and quietly made his way to the kitchen. On the way he pondered over Earthen Rise. The castle felt surprisingly warm and dry, not a dank and draughty structure as a conglomeration of interlocking stone blocks ought to be. Passing a number of headhigh vents in the granite walls, he went on tippy-toe and stuck his face in front of one the slits to be greeted by a steady flow of heated air circulating through the castle. Intrigued by the marvel, he almost missed the muffled voices of the conversing wizards filtering from the kitchen up ahead.
"When in hostile territory send out scouts to gather intelligence,” Garrich whispered in reminder to himself, recalling one of Tylar's textbook military lessons. He gingerly opened the kitchen door a mere crack in order to eavesdrop on the talkers, Goblin hearing almost as acute as that of the legendary Elves.
A hearty guffaw—that was Parndolc.
"I don't find it very amusing!” snapped Maldoch.
Parndolc laughed even harder, tears coming to his eyes.
"Oh, do stop that infernal joviality,” Maldoch said in a peeved tone. “It's the boy's fault that we're on the lamb."
"Do you think there's a bounty on your head by now?” Parndolc innocently enquired. “Maybe I should turn you in and collect the reward.” His laughter redoubled in loudness.
Maldoch sulked. “I knew it was a mistake telling you the whole story."
"Lighten up. You honestly don't think Lindan Holbyant has the balls to arrest the second mightiest wizard on the continent."
"Parndolc, how does you and your mountain-sized ego fit inside these walls?"
"You worry too much about having your reputation tarnished. So what if someone's slung a bit of mud at the lily-white Maldoch the Magnificent? It's about time you came down to earth."
"To grub about using dirty and smelly tools like you do."
"Nothing wrong with that. My engineering put a roof over our heads and walls about your precious books."
Maldoch ground his teeth. Knowing their differing brands of wizardry complemented each other did not make their partnership a match made in heaven. “My concern is for Garrich,’ he said, returning to the gist of
the conversation.
"From what you've said the boy pretty much takes care of himself."
"Not against Omelchor. He's only fifteen, Parny. We've a lot riding on him and there's a whole list of things that need to be in place before he can play his part. He must be kept safe until then."
"By leaving him here."
"Precisely. Earthen Rise is out of the way and hidden from magical sight. It's perfect as a hideout for Garrich."
The snooping youth suppressed a protest, grown tired of his life constantly being decided for him.
"It won't work,” Parndolc declared.
"Make it,” insisted Maldoch.
"I'm a loner. What do I know about playing nursemaid to a boy?"
"You'll learn. I need you to take care of Garrich while I'm away."
"I suppose I have no choice. What are your travel plans?"
Maldoch sighed loudly and said, “To finish off my rounds. Before the fiasco at Alberion I was heading for Troll country, then I thought I'd swing south to see Merainor. We're going to need the help of the Elves for what's coming."
"What of the Gnomes?"
"The Underlanders are an unknown quantity. We'll have to play that one by ear."
"Don't we need a talisman and champion from each of the Purebloods?"
"That we do. I'm hoping the Gnomes will slot into place along the way."
Unfailingly pessimistic to Maldoch's optimism, Parndolc shook his head. “I don't like leaving things to chance. They have a habit of turning sour."
"I have faith in the Maker,” Maldoch said confidently. “How's the deciphering of the Dissension Scroll going?"
"Frustratingly slowly."
"You've been at it for fifty years."
"That's just a spit in the ocean of time, Mal. The problem with the Text is that it came to us from that loony monk two thousand years too late. Most of the verses are written in an historic context. For instance, line one of verse one reads, ‘Ancient children settle blazing sea'. That obviously refers to the Trolls inhabiting the Great Desertland—an episode from the past. It's not relevant today."
Wizard's Goal Page 18
