Wizard's Blood [Part One]

by Bob Blink

  “Of course you’re from a strange and faraway place,” Morin said as he gave the horses a little necessary encouragement up the hill.

  “I just told you I’m not.” Jolan countered. They’d been working various pieces of this argument off and on for the last couple of days.

  “Well, you saved the life of my girl, who means more to me than anything in this life, so I’ll not be calling you a liar. But. . .”

  “But what?’

  “You’re not telling me the truth.”

  Jolan let out an exasperated sigh.

  “What makes you think so?”

  “Well, for one thing you don’t know much about things.”

  “For example.”

  “We were talking about Angon a while ago. Seems like you’re pretty vague on what it’s like there.”

  “I thought I answered your questions fairly well.” Jolan had been discussing his expectations based on what he had gleaned from his discussion with Asari as they hiked their way into Trailways.

  “Sounded a bit to me like you’re reciting your lessons. You give the impression of a man describing something he read from a book, not something he knows from his own seeing and doing. Besides, there’s another thing.”

  “I’m listening,” Jolan replied, amused and frustrated a bit at the same time. Morin just wouldn’t let things go.

  “Well, you don’t talk right.”

  “I don’t talk right. What the hell does that mean.”

  “For one thing you don’t have any accent I recognize. I’ve been around a fair bit, and I can tell a man from Seret from one from Angon from one from Kimlelm. Gods man, I can pick out the difference of a man from northern Seret from someone from the south. You don’t speak like anyone I’ve ever heard.”

  “Maybe I’m more educated than you’re used to.”

  That earned him a couple of raised eyebrows from Morin, who sniffed and continued undeterred.

  “Seems like there are a whole bunch of words you don’t really know. You use a lot of words oddly. On the other hand, once you hear a word spoken correctly you grab onto it right away. Never seem to get it wrong after that. Must have a keen ear.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. You swear funny. Never heard you swear like everyone else. It’s like you make up your own words. But you use them so convincingly they seem natural. What was the word you used a minute ago? Ah,. . . . . ‘hell’ wasn’t it? What in the name of the four southern gods is that?”

  “Why just those four?” Jolan asked amused and a bit curious.

  “See now, there ya go. If you were from here you wouldn’t ask a question like that. Everyone just knows them’s the angry ones. But you’re distracting me. There’s another favorite of yours. Wait a minute. . . . ‘horse shit’. Ya, that’s it. You seem to really like that one. Now why would anyone choose a word like that for swearing? Stuff’s really common. I see a bunch every day sitting up here on the wagon driving this team. Pretty useful stuff under the right circumstances. But a swear word. Hardly.”

  Jolan couldn’t help but chuckle. “So because you can’t place my accent and I’m poor at describing things you think I’m from somewhere else?”

  “I’ve been trying for two days solid now and I can’t seem to get you to tell me much about yourself. Even if I ask you straight out. Come on now, where are you really from Jolan? You really got me curious.”

  “Where do you think I’m from,” Jolan countered.

  Morin sighed. “See there you go again. You don’t lie, but you have this way of avoiding answering. I know it’s not Angon. Why would you need to have Asari help you find your way around there if that were your home. So despite your trying to imply that might be the place, I know it’s not. I swear you must have come from the Lost Territories. It’s the only place someone could know as little as you.”

  The Lost Territories? Jolan was tempted to ask about them, but decided he might probe Asari first.

  “Maybe I’m from Seret,” Jolan suggested.

  “Now that’s just not possible. Seret’s my home, and I can tell you’ve never been there. I’ve tried to get you to talk about the food and the style of clothes most common, and a bit about the geography. Phooey. You messed up and let on you didn’t even know that Carta was the capital city. No, you’re not from Seret.”

  “Okay, you caught me out. I’m actually from west Kimlelm.”

  “You aren’t. No way you’re from there. Don’t be playing with me. You know less about Kimlelm than the other places we have been talking about. And you aren’t from Ale’ald neither. Only the wizards can travel from there, and despite the bit of ability you have with the power, it’s obvious you aren’t a war wizard.”

  “Why are you so sure I’m not a wizard?’

  “I’ll admit you’ve got me wondering a bit there. The way my girl says you used the power, and she don’t lie mind you, you can’t be one of the tame mages we have in most of the Settled Lands. But a war wizard is a powerful user, and certain things would be second nature to him. You been complaining and sweating in the afternoon heat with the rest of us. Any real wizard able tap the power would be pretty immune to a little heat and cold. I don’t know how they do it, but I’ve seen one stand in a blowing blizzard in his small clothes and act as if it were a nice spring day.”

  “So that’s it?”

  “No, that isn’t it. You’re a grown man out here in the wilderness, and you don’t even have callouses on your hands. What do you do that your hands don’t show a sign of any real work?”

  “Maybe I’m a nobleman. I don’t have to work.”

  “You aren’t,” Morin said emphatically. “I deal with that sort a lot. Most of them need a whole herd of servants around to take care of them. What would a nobleman’s son be doing out here all alone? Even if he wanted to come alone, his daddy would see that there was someone to watch out over him. There isn’t anyone else making sure you’re alright. Besides, if you were a nobleman, you’d know all of the things we just talked about. You don’t even know how to use a sword.”

  “I’ve got a sword,” Jolan said defensively.

  Morin’s whiskers twitched and he laughed; a deep rumbling belly laugh.

  “That’s a piece of junk. Besides, I’ve watched you. You never even think about it. You’re carrying it around like a bit of luggage, but you don’t even think about what it’s for. If you were a nobleman, you’d have a real weapon. Maybe if you wanted to be discreet you’d do away with all the fancy trimming, but it would still be a fine piece of weaponry. Also, you don’t have the hands for it. Anyone wants to be good with a sword has to practice. All the time, or you lose the edge. Doing that builds up some callouses on a man’s hands, which we established a while ago you don’t have.”

  Jolan was silent as they continued on thinking there was no reason not to tell the man where he was from. He might not believe him, but he was never going to let up. Jolan and Asari hadn’t even tried to build him an identity. They hadn’t thought he needed one. The plan had been to simply get where they were going and tell people what was happening. Was there a need for secrecy here?

  “We haven’t even talked about horses,” Morin said, electing to continue his case. “I’ve never met a nobleman who wasn’t serious about his horseflesh. And anyone who travels out into these parts knows his horse could well mean his life. You don’t know spit about horses. My nephews have told how poorly you take care of your animal.”

  The last bothered Jolan. He hadn’t considered how his lack of knowledge could be affecting their mounts. Asari knew more than he, but the boy hadn’t a great deal of experience with the animals either. Perhaps he could ask Kinar, who seemed to be the expert, to give him a few pointers. They would be splitting up with the group at some point and he’d an obligation to the beasts.

  “One other thing that’s been bothering me,” Morin said, interrupting his thoughts. “Where’d you get them shoes? I’ve never seen anything like them, and it’s my busi
ness to know these things. I could make a pot of coin if I could lay my hands on a wagonload of them.”

  Jolan had switched to the Nike trail boots the other day when the new boots had begun wearing a blister. He’d noticed Morin looking them over, but hadn’t thought too much about it. He made a snap decision, wondering why he’d been reluctant to do so before. Maybe he was afraid of the reaction the truth would receive.

  “Okay, the truth is I’m from Earth.”

  “About time. Now we’re getting somewhere. Where’s Earth?”

  “Earth is another world. I can’t tell you exactly where it is, but I was transported into your world by accident.”

  “Horse shit!” Morin said. He hawked up a large wad of phlegm and launched it over the side. Then he chuckled. “Horse shit! Gods, that sounds ridiculous. Had to give it a try.”

  He was making light of the situation, but he gave Jolan a studied glance.

  Jolan expected Morin to react strongly to his answer, but several minutes passed without a word from the man.

  “I heard a story some years ago. A story teller came through one of the villages where I had stopped over for a few days. He told a lot of stories, but one about a time long ago when the dragons disappeared. His story said they made a place called the Nexus, and transferred themselves away from Gaea and off to another world to be free of the wizards. Do you have dragons where you claim to come from?”

  “Only in the stories we tell our children,” Jolan answered.

  He was just about to say something else when Asari and Yashy’s brother Polas rode up along side. They both had large grins on their faces and proudly indicated the pair of Narbucks lying across their saddles. “Fresh meat tonight,” Polas yelled to his father, and with a whoop the two were off. They knew where the campground would be and headed ahead to skin and drain the meat.

  “That’s a fine young lad,” Morin said of Asari as the two rode off. “I wouldn’t mind having him join us permanently. He’s a provider, that one is. As I recall you said his family was all gone.”

  Jolan nodded.

  “Thinks the world of you, he does. You two are an unlikely pair. It’s obvious where he’s from. How’s he fit into this whole story?”

  “He found me when I arrived abruptly in the Land of Giants,” Jolan explained. “If it weren’t for Asari, I’d have died out there.”

  “The Land of Giants,” Morin said softly. “People tell stories about that place. Can’t say as I’ve heard of anyone who claimed to have been there. Did you see any of the giants?”

  “Lots of them,” Jolan answered and something changed in Morin’s eyes. “Monstrous trees reaching far into the sky. Asari claims his dad said the place was named for the trees but people misinterpreted the name.”

  Morin worked his shoulders and then said. “So you’ve really been there, or talked to someone who has.”

  It was Jolan’s turn to be surprised. His face reflected his surprise.

  “Me and two friends,” Morin explained. “We had just graduated from school and had the summer ahead of us. None of us had any family and we had all gotten drunk on purple-berry wine. One of us made a dare. Even after we sobered up, no-one wanted to be the first to back out. So we went. Got lost in the trees. One morning I went off for a piss and when I came back the other two had been ripped to shreds.”

  “Maybe it was one of the giants.”

  “It weren’t no such thing. Some kind of big cat if I read the signs right. Two of them I think. Don’t know why they didn’t come after me. I ran like the four gods was after me. Somehow I chose the right direction, and eventually found my way out. I never told anyone about the trip, not even my brother when he asked where I’d gone for the summer. He was older and had already been out hauling goods. No one would have believed me anyway.”

  Morin’s eyes were focused inward. He was looking back and remembering. Suddenly his eyes refocused and he looked sharply at Jolan. “Did you see anything that might have been one of those cats?”

  “We killed a Muloka,” he said finally.

  “Just when I was starting to believe you,” Morin said disgustedly.

  “Would you know a Muloka skull if you saw it?”

  Morin nodded slowly. I got curious about the beasts said to roam that place. I went to the public repository in Cobalo once. They have drawings of the real and magical beasts. I’ll never forget the Muloka nor the Skarl. I think it was a Skarl that killed my friends. Why?”

  “Asari’s got the skull of the Muloka we killed in one of our bags. He wanted to take it to the Mages in Cobalo.”

  “You’re serious. You want to show it to me as proof?”

  “That’s right. We can have a look when we get to camp.”

  “You and that lad. What was he doing there in the first place?”

  “Following a wizard from Ale’ald. The same one that brought me here unknowingly. The man killed his father and Asari is determined to have his revenge.”

  “That’s a heavy load for a boy his age to carry. Do you think he might be convinced to let it go? There’s no way he’s gonna be able to bring down an Ale’ald wizard.”

  “I’ll help him,” Jolan replied. “I gave him my word. Somehow we will find a way. I owe him that and a lot more. I just hope he can be patient because the only way I think we’ll have a chance is going to take some time.”

  “You’re going to get your chance to show me this isn’t all a load of crap. I see our camp up ahead.”

  * * * *

  The two Narbucks were turning on a spit and Morin’s wife was off making the rest of the meal with Yashy. The rest of the small group sat around the large logs placed around the fire for chairs waiting expectantly while Asari pulled the large storage bag from the back of the buckboard. Once he returned to the fire pit he reached inside and pulled out the cloth wrapped bundle.

  “Jolan, are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “I think we can trust Morin and his family. Besides, no one would believe them anyway.”

  Asari shrugged and started unwrapping the skull. Once completed he handed it to Jolan who in turn passed it to Morin. He took it uncertainly, and then slowly examined it, his eyes widening as he verified it matched his memory for the thing. His finger found the small hole made by the bullet.

  “This little hole is how you killed it?” he asked doubtfully.

  “A cuprum covered projectile,” Jolan replied, knowing the merchant wouldn’t know what a bullet was.

  “Cuprum. You come up with the most surprising twists and turns.”

  “Cuprum is common where I come from. I was surprised by the effect. I thought we were dead.”

  “You have a weapon that launches these cuprum projectiles?”

  Jolan nodded.

  “In that little pouch you’re so careful with I suspect.”

  Jolan was surprised at how observant the man had been. Slowly he nodded.

  “Can I see the thing that can bring down a magical beast?”

  Reluctantly Jolan reached down, undid the flap and pulled the Colt out of the leather pouch that he carried with him everywhere these days.

  “That little thing?” He looked at the small pistol with surprise. “You agree this is how it happened?” he asked Asari.

  “It’s the truth,” Asari insisted. “The pistol barks like thunder and the small cuprum pellet is launched with great speed. The Muloka was within a few feet of us when Jolan fired.”

  “Gods protect us,” Morin cursed. “A man needs a drink to settle such weighty topics. Where’s a good tavern when a man needs one?”

  Jolan smiled. He couldn’t think of a better time. He put the pistol back in the pouch as he stood up and walked over to the buckboard where he located his travel bag. He lifted the bulky package out and brought it over by the fire where he dumped it casually on the ground.

  “If you’re implying you’ve got a drink in there it must be a very small keg and it’ll be warm and frothy besides. There’d barely be a taste
for each of us and it’d be bitter at that. How long ago did you put it in there?”

  “Actually, I’ve got six tankards of ale, nicely cooled,” he replied. “I put them in here about a week ago when we were staying at the inn in Trailways. It was early the same night Yashy was attacked.” With Morin and the two nephews, himself, Asari and Yashy’s brother, he had exactly the right number.

  “Tankards!” Morin exclaimed. “Man, what are you. . . ?”

  Jolan held up his hand and reached down to pull out the Mage’s Box. He set the box in front of him, then reached down and pulled off the lid. Inside sat the items he had packed all neatly waiting. The six tankards of ale were sitting upright, their contents undisturbed. Jolan reached down, pulled one out and took a sip just to see. The ale was cool, rich, and just as good as he remembered. He set it down carefully, and pulled out one he handed over to Morin, who couldn’t wait to test the beverage himself.

  “Gods man, that’s good. Cool and rich just like in the main room.” He looked over at the box where Jolan had retrieved the ale, then looked up. “That’s not possible.”

  “I know,” Jolan answered. “I’m rather proud of it.”

  While Morin continued to enjoy his drink, Jolan passed out the remaining tankards to eagerly awaiting hands A couple of toasts later the six men sat contentedly sipping their drinks, trying to maximize the enjoyment because there were clearly no refills to be had.

  “Jolan?” Asari asked suddenly. “Can I use the music box?”

  He smiled and was about to hand his friend the iPhone. Then he had a thought. He repeated the picture demonstration he’d used with Asari some weeks before, explaining what they were seeing. Finished, he handed the device to his friend.

  Chapter 20