Wizard's Blood [Part One]

by Bob Blink

  Jolan was aware he knew nothing about horses. As it turned out, Asari knew little more. They needed to rely on Lorem’s expertise.

  “Tell us what you think is best,” Jolan finally said. “You know your animals, and you must be aware neither of us is an experienced rider. That should be factored into the selection.”

  Lorem snorted, and led a large brown horse out of his stall and over to Jolan. He handed him the reins and then walked to the far end of the stalls and returned with a white and tan animal that he handed over to Asari.

  “These are solid animals, and used to being ridden. They’ll probably be a bit forgiving of yer lack of experience. They’ll probably do ya better than any of the others. Let’s get them saddled and see how ya get along.”

  Getting saddled up took a while, as Lorem insisted on showing them the proper techniques of saddling the horses, and then had each of them practice several times. The saddles required a series of adjustments to fit properly, but finally they were mounted and walking around the exercise yard. In truth, it was actually quite straight-forward, and despite the unfamiliar and constraining fit of the saddle, Jolan felt he would be fine. Asari seemed to take to it like a natural, and he was already encouraging his horse to run short loops around the enclosure.

  As they were finishing up, Loren walked over with a third animal, this one also light brown in color, but the horse was obviously a bit older and less fit. This was the pack horse they’d requested. She would be relatively lightly loaded, but would offload our primary animals and make for easier travel. Next they looked over an assortment of additional equipment including quite recognizable saddle-bags and then a selection of larger bags for the pack horse.

  By mid afternoon they were walking back to the inn carrying the saddle bags and the larger bags over their shoulders, their horses now stabled in renter’s stalls where they would be waiting until the two men were ready to leave in the morning. Lorem would make sure the horses were well fed and watered. Their coin purse was just over two golds lighter, but even after the horses, the new clothes, and the money Jolan had given to Asari, he still had nearly six golds left, although over a third was in easier to spend silver coins and cerms.

  Jolan left Asari in the room where he started packing up his clothes, and headed back across the street to see to his “holster”. When he returned, he found Asari asleep, his packing appearing interrupted and only about half finished. He experimented with the Colt and found that by putting one of his socks down inside the pouch in one corner, he could position the pistol securely, and yet in such a way that it was relatively easy to get at. With the magazines in the other pocket the pouch was a bit heavy, but manageable, and felt comfortable when slung over his shoulder. He could slide it around so it was mostly behind him, and he had checked the saddle a bit earlier and knew that he could easily slip the pouch off and hang it across the saddle while he rode, and easily grab it as he dismounted. It wasn’t perfect, but offered a far better solution than the way he had been carrying the pistol. Besides, he wasn’t at all sure how effectively he could use the gun if the need arose. Mostly he just wanted to have it close at hand given some of the characters he’d seen around the village.

  Since Asari was asleep Jolan decided to delay his packing. With the limited number of items he had, it wouldn’t take long anyway. Moving over to the table near the window, he sat down and pulled the U.S. coins that remained out of his pocket. These would be going into his Mage’s Box later, but he wanted to see if he could duplicate the trick he’d seen the merchant do the previous afternoon.

  He pushed the two pennies aside. They were a composite, but something in his memory told him the coin had a copper cladding. That might mean a sheath of copper around the base metals inside, and since copper was resistant to the power, he might see no effect for that reason. He decided on the dime. It was the smallest, and if something happened to the coin, it represented the smallest loss.

  He concentrated on the coin, and tried to think about moving the metal across the table. At first the whole coin tried to slide, but eventually he learned how to avoid that. Nothing else seemed to be happening however. He wondered if he needed to concentrate on the type of metal he wanted to move, but after trying to recall what a zinc atom looked like he shook his head and decided that couldn’t be it. He was sure the merchant wouldn’t have known a zinc molecule from any other. Besides, he hadn’t told him what metal was in the bullet case the previous day. The man had simply separated out the copper from whatever else was present. The merchant would have wanted to be sure that all non-copper matter had been removed given the incredible price he was paying for the priceless metal.

  Fifteen minutes later Jolan gave up. He’d accomplished nothing, and couldn’t even begin to see where to start. He could move the coin by acting on the other metals it held, but he couldn’t find anyway to cause those metals to separate away from the copper in the coin. He found it interesting he couldn’t sense the copper, or sense that something was present that he couldn’t affect.

  Asari awoke while he was putting the coins away and together they finished packing. Jolan used a technique he’d been shown by an ex sailor. Instead of folding his clothes, he rolled them, packing them together tightly in the bag. The rolling would result in clothes without creases when he pulled them out for use later. Soon enough, they were ready for their morning departure. Asari indicated he was hungry, and while it was dinnertime, Jolan suspected his interest was directed more towards something other than the inn’s stuffed fowl.

  They were finishing up dinner when Asari’s friend Dinal made his way into the dining room, and after looking around, spotted them and made his way over to the table. Without being asked, he pulled back a chair and sat down. Jolan signaled the young waitress, who hurried over with a smile, and left moments later to get a tankard of ale for the constable. Asari and the woman had their moment aside when the pair had first come in, and he had returned to the table with a satisfied look on his face. Jolan suspected correctly that his friend had firmed up plans for later in the evening.

  “Dragons, but they serve a fine brew here,” Dinal said with pleasure after taking a long draw of the cool ale. He looked at the two friends and asked, “You leaving on the morrow?”

  Dinal was not what Jolan had expected. Given the history Asari had outlined, he expected a rather crude sort, rough in his ways and clothing. Dinal was none of that. He was a big man, stout was the word that came to mind, and clearly quite strong. His large hands swallowed the tankard he held, but set it down gently. He was also clean shaven, not usual on this world, and had come by the shave the usual way, not through the use of the power. Jolan could see a couple of small nicks where a stubborn patch of beard had caused the man to leave traces of the shave. He was dressed in serviceable clothing, but of good quality. Under the leather vest was a clean white linen shirt, and the trousers were slightly worn, but clean and fit well.

  He was ready for any trouble as well, and was clearly confident of being able to handle it. Over his back Jolan could see the handle of a short sword, one of far better quality than the one he himself had recently purchased. On Dinal’s belt was a stout club made of hard wood, the rounded head holding it in place through a loop sewn into the belt. With the club in hand his reach was extended two and a half feet, and Jolan fully expected he could handle a number of ruffians without resorting to bloodshed.

  When he’d walked across the room, he’d done so smoothly and without any particular indication he’d lost a leg. Had Asari not told him Dinal had a wooden leg, he’d have never suspected. Suddenly Jolan realized that Dinal was showing he was just as good as he’d ever been. The leg wasn’t going to affect his performance, and none of the cut-purses or murderers found in these parts could frighten him. The man was proud of the opportunity he’d been given, and was showing it hadn’t been a wrong choice.

  “Sometime tomorrow,” Asari said interrupting Jolan’s thoughts. Asari knewn that if today were any indication
, he would probably not be eager for an early start.

  Dinal nodded. “I’ve been hearing things,” he said quietly. “Word’s been getting out about someone finding a bunch of cuprum and exchanging it for gold. That’s going to get the attention of a certain sort. Not just the fact someone has a bit of coin, but just maybe they know where a horde of the metal might be. You know. Stories like that’ll grow out of proportion.”

  “Are the stories pointing our way?” Jolan asked between sips of his own drink.

  “Not that I heard. But you’ve been spreading around a bit of coin the past day or so. Someone’s bound to put it together. At least enough to be suspicious. Thought it best you be aware. You’ll need to keep a sharp eye out until you are well clear of here. Remember that most that come through here are poor enough not to be bothered, or they travel in large groups or with paid guards to ensure their safety. You two traveling alone are a bit unusual.”

  “We’re some of the poor ones,” Asari suggested.

  Dinal snorted. “Maybe you were before, but now. . . . “

  Dinal looked at the two men while considering his next words.

  “Seems like folks aren’t too clear on where you’re headed. Stories have you pointing in all directions.”

  Asari and Jolan hadn’t started out with any intention of masking their plans, but somehow the idea had come to muddy the waters. They had taken to changing their story each time they talked to someone else. They told Crikel they were headed to Kimlelm, and Lorem thought they were headed to Seret. The innkeeper was told they were going on to Angon.

  “We’re going on to Angon,” Asari told him. ‘Jolan needs to meet with someone on the council there.”

  Dinal nodded. “Well,” he said as he finished off the ale. “I need to be making the rounds, but wanted to pass a warning. Wish there were some way I could help, but we don’t even have any of the Royal Guard around at the moment that you could travel with.” With a wave, he turned and made his way back out of the room.

  Later, back in their room, Jolan asked Asari about the lie. “I thought he was your friend. Is there a reason you don’t trust him?”

  “He is my friend, but he doesn’t need to know. Even a friend can betray you by accident sometimes. It is best this way. In fact, given his words, I think we will head out towards Angon tomorrow. The trails are supposed to be bounded by the steep mountains around Trailways, but one of my friends discovered a way to cut between the trails. Almost no one knows of it. We can break away from the Angon road about five miles out of town, cut across country for about ten miles, and pick up the trail to Seret. It might confuse anyone who is interested in where we go. It also means we would camp the first night well away from either of the trails. It would seem we disappeared.”

  “I’m with you. You know the area and the dangers, so we do what you think makes sense.” Jolan paused. “I assume we are planning a late start in the morning?”

  Asari, who’d been closing up his travel bag, turned and grinned. “I’ll be back before sun up this time.”

  With a touch of amusement on his face Jolan left the room and made his way down to the common room and sat by one of the tables. When one of the serving girls came over he asked if he could have a half dozen tankards of ale, the coolest they had available, sent up to his room. He was assured it would be done shortly, and after he paid along with a generous tip, he headed back upstairs.

  The six tankards fit very nicely inside the Mage’s box he just made, their frothy surfaces wiggling a bit. Jolan had played around a bit the other day and knew what he planned would work, so he wasn’t concerned that he had his iPhone and Kindle, the remaining coins from home and half of his gold, plus a few other items inside with the open topped drinks. Carefully, he closed the top of the Mage’s Box, and then picked up the whole assembly, a medium sized box a bit over eighteen inches long by fifteen wide, and almost a foot deep in this case, and dropped it into the spare travel bag. There wasn’t much room in the bag after that, and it would make an awkward bundle on the horse, but it would be worth it in the end.

  A bit later with nothing else to do and all preparations seemingly completed, Jolan lay on the bed and pondered the road ahead. So much he didn’t know, so many dangers ahead, and such a small chance of getting back home. His head on the pillow, he thought back to the odd set of circumstances that had brought him to this place.

  Chapter 13

  Nine Months Earlier

  With the completion of the spring quarter freeing him from teaching duties and his own immediate course work, Randy had decided it was time to do some spring cleaning in the house he now had exclusively to himself. Technically the house belonged to him and his sister Janie, but she lived in Denver with her husband and kids. The drive from Boulder was too far for a daily commute, so she’d had no complaints with his living here alone.

  His father’s death almost a year ago had come suddenly, and resulted in their inheriting the house, all the family property, and the modest savings his father had managed to put together. He had been too busy to go through his father’s study, and didn’t know what important papers might be hidden among the shelves of books and documents his father had worked with almost daily. It had been the old man’s exclusive territory, and Randy hadn’t really had any interest in the financial matters that fascinated his parent.

  Randy and his dad hadn’t been very close. They were different types of people, and certain events over the years had pushed them apart. He’d been closer to his grandfather, but the eldest Foraster and his dad hadn’t seen eye to eye on a number of subjects either, which had meant Randy didn’t see his grandparent often. Not nearly as often as Randy would have liked. He’d felt an unexplained kinship with the old man, who’d died suddenly when Randy was fifteen. Randy remembered the day he learned of the old man’s death and had known he would never learn what his grandfather had promised to tell him once he was legally an adult and no longer under the thumb of his father.

  Other than Janie and a few distant relatives, he didn’t have any other family. The Forasters, at least this branch of the family, were dying out. He was the last. Not that he knew much about the family history. Other than the fact that the oldest known Foraster in the line, old Oscar Foraster, had come to the Boulder area just about the time the city was first founded. He had settled the land where the house was now situated, and had locked up ownership of more than a thousand acres of land around it.

  Randy sighed. Sometimes he wished he could have stopped his father and the land was still theirs. A few years back, bewitched by a generous offer for the land, his father had sold the large meadow across the way to a housing developer, keeping only the land the house was on and the four acres around it. That had been part of the legacy from the original Foraster. He had made it part of his original will that the house and four acres be retained in the family possession, and surprisingly each of the following Forasters had maintained the demand whenever they passed on the ownership. It’s hard to imagine how the demand would be enforced, but after so long it had become unthinkable for any family member to consider selling the property. Randy knew he couldn’t bear to part with the only home he’d ever had. He loved it here. Across the street, however, the large expanse of up-scale tract houses now filled what had been a beautiful meadow and a favorite playing place for Randy when he was young.

  His father had done well with the money he received from the sale. Randy couldn’t fault him on that. Since the sale, his father had turned the family fortunes completely around. They had been falling further into debt, and for a time it had seemed as if the house might have to be sold. His father, a financial consultant, seemed to have an uncanny ability to predict the twists and turns of the market, and after selling the land had dedicated himself to making the family fortune grow. He managed to bring the family back on solid financial footing, and had he been given a few more years Randy expected that they would have been quite well off.

  Randy had a small savings of hi
s own, carefully built up from jobs he’d had and money he’d let his father invest when it became clear he had a knack for it. With thirty thousand in the bank, and twenty thousand hidden below the barn, Randy felt somewhat secure. The twenty thousand in gold had been a whim based on an odd premonition that told him it was time to have money put away that was safe from the odd financial meltdown of the past couple of years. It had already grown in value as gold rose rapidly in value.

  There was a reason for Randy’s premonition, but not knowing the family history, he was totally unaware of it. Old Oscar, who began the Foraster line, had indeed come from far away. His origins would have surprised his neighbors, and many of his descendants. He wisely never hinted at how he had arrived in Boulder, and some of the special abilities he possessed. Knowing he was most likely destined to live out his days here, he protected the one spot that had special importance to him, then settled down and married a local girl. As he prospered, he bought up more land around the spot where he’d built his home, even though it was well outside of town making it more of an effort each year to sell his farm products and bring his beef in for the auctions.

  Oscar had a number of children, all of whom grew up and remained in the area. His oldest son eventually inherited control of the lands, along with a vow of silence and a long tale about Oscar’s home and the importance of the particular piece of property where they lived. He was the first to swear to maintain ownership of the land. His second son eventually married, moved away, and started a family, but was killed along with all other family members when an unexplained fire burned down the house in the middle of the night one winter. This unfortunate occurrence was repeated several times over the next hundred years to other descendants, but no one was looking and the pattern was missed.