“Hey there!” He shouted, waving at the girl. She had a heavy satchel with her, and she had bent down to pick it up and walk closer to the wizard’s tower. Newcomers are so stupid, Cully thought to himself, shaking his head. “Hey there! Don’t you go in there,” he warned. “Don’t you know, that’s the wizard’s tower!”
The girl dropped the satchel on the ground and smiled at him. Cully was instantly in love. Her smile outshone the morning sun. “Yes, I do know,” she said. She reached inside her cloak and pulled out a card made of a heavy paper. Handing it to Cully, she introduced herself. “I’m Olivia.”
Cully studied the card, it was like the ‘calling cards’ that rich people used when calling on each other’s houses. He thought that a silly custom; if people weren’t home when you were there, why bother leaving a card? Sometimes it seemed like the Quality sort of people made a contest of how many cards they could leave at other people’s houses, without actually ever having to speak to anyone. Still dazzled by the girl, Cully read the card carefully. “Olivia Dupres?” He said, pronouncing her last name as ‘Doopers’.
“Doo-PRAY”, she laughed. “It’s Dupres. Everyone seems to calls me Doopers.”
“Oh,” Cully was so embarrassed he would have sunk straight into the ground and disappeared if he had been able to. “Sorry about that, Miss Du-pray.”
“And you are?” She asked with an amused tilt of her head.
“Cully,” he snatched off his cap and ran a hand through his tangled hair, now wishing he had taken care of it that morning. With him scheduled to haul firewood and work in the Royal Army stables that afternoon, he had not seen any point to bathing before such hard work. “Cully Runnet. I take care of his lordship the wizard,” he added with pride, puffing out his chest and standing tall.
“Oh, I,” she was at a loss for words. “I am sorry. I was told Lord Salva did not have a servant.”
“He doesn’t,” Cully was quick to explain. “Not a proper one. Not since Koren ran off, and, well, I guess that’s a long story, if’n you haven’t already heard it.” Cully was still upset that Koren Bladewell had not said anything to Cull before leaving the castle. “Seeing as his lordship doesn’t have a servant, I’ve been filling in.” As Cully spoke, a lock of Olivia’s hair was caught by the breeze swirling around the base of the tall, narrow tower. The strand of hair, like finely-spun gold, danced around her face, utterly mesmerizing Cully. He shook his head, realizing that Olivia had said something to him. “I’m sorry, Miss, what did you say?”
Olivia suppressed a laugh. “I asked if Lord Salva was at home this morning.”
“Yes, he,” Cully panicked. The wizard had been there that morning, when Cully brought in breakfast and heated water for the wizard’s bath. Seeing as Paedris was a wizard, who knew where he could have gotten to while Cully had been tending to laundry duties? He desperately wished to impress Olivia; telling her the wizard was in his tower when he might be elsewhere would be embarrassing. “He was, this morning. I have his laundry, you see,” Cully lifted the basket he was carrying. “Lord Salva did say he might go out for a ride. I can see if he is receiving visitors? You have business with his lordship?”
“Yes,” Olivia answered with a smile, “I am to be his new servant.”
“His new-” Cully was stunned. The thought of a lovely girl like Olivia placing herself in danger while working for the sometimes-cantankerous wizard horrified him. “Miss, are you sure you want to do that? Wizards are different from you and me. There are dangerous things in there. Have you ever been around a wizard?”
“I have,” Olivia opened her right palm, and a tiny, flickering flame suddenly danced there. “I am familiar with wizards, you see.”
“Oh!” Cully was stricken with fear. He went down on one knee and stared at the cobblestones of the courtyard. “I meant no offense, Your Ladyship.”
Olivia laughed, it was a happy sound. “Cully, please, stand up,” she touched his shoulder. “I am only training to be a wizard. They sent me here to be Lord Salva’s servant, nothing more.” Although she had supposed all along that the Wizard’s Council wanted Paedris to have a young wizard as a servant this time, figuring that a wizard would be less likely to get into unintended trouble. Or to run away, as Lord Salva’s servants had a tendency to do. “Please, stand up. And you don’t have to call me ‘ladyship’, you’re making me feel old. Can you take me to the wizard?”
“Oh, yes,” Cully stuttered. Then he brightened. “I can carry your satchel for you.”
The satchel was heavy, and Cully already carried a basket of laundry, but Olivia knew not to refuse the offer. Cully needed to feel useful; she should let him carry the satchel. “Thank you. My shoulders are already sore from carrying it.”
Cully grabbed the handle, then hesitated. “There’s not any, wizard, dangerous secret things in here, is there?”
“No. I told you, I’m not a wizard yet.” Now she regretted showing off by having created a tiny fireball in her hand. A real wizard would not have done that; real wizards were not supposed to use their power to impress other people. Magical power is a gift that should never be abused.
“Um, sure,” Cully still avoided her eyes. He picked up the heavy satchel and grunted, leaning to one side. “Right this way, Your Ladyship,” he said in a strained voice. They weren’t even going up the stairs yet.
“Cully,” she caught his arm as she opened the door at the bottom of the tower. “Please don’t call me ‘Ladyship’. People are going to do that when I’m a wizard, if I become a wizard. I would like to be a normal person as long as I can.”
“You’re not a normal person,” Cully protested. While many of the ‘Quality’ people he served did not deserve his respect, wizards did. They had special powers, and they helped people. They protected Tarador from the enemy.
“Cully, starting today, I will be picking up dirty dishes and laundry. And carrying firewood, and scrubbing floors. A real wizard,” she winked, “doesn’t do that.”
“I suppose,” Cully grunted. “This,” he heaved the heavy satchel up the last stair to the landing, “will be your room.” With his arm shaking, he carried the satchel along, barely off the floor, and set it down next to the bed.
“This is where Lord Salva’s servants stay?” She asked, looking around the cramped room. If she ever needed a reminder that she was not yet a wizard, seeing this room every morning and evening would do that for her. “Is this where Koren stayed?”
“Yes,” Cully said simply, massaging his sore arm. “I cleared out his stuff, there wasn’t much of it. Lord Salva has what is left. I’ll show you where to put this laundry later, let’s go meet the wizard.”
“You are sure Lord Salva is here?”
“I’m sure,” Cully managed a smile. “You’ll see.” When they were in the courtyard, he had seen a flash of orange light from the window of the wizard’s workshop. Paedris was blowing something up again.
When they reached the level of the workshop, Cully paused to straighten his jacket and smooth his unruly hair. Then he stood up straight and knocked firmly on the doorframe. “Her Ladyship Olivia Doopers,” Cully announced proudly, before cringing at mangling her surname.
“Eh?” Paedris asked, noticing them for the first time. The air in the workshop was a thin cloud of curling orange smoke, and smelled of burnt fruit. The wizard’s face was streaked with dark soot. He turned from his workbench and saw Olivia. “Oh, you must be, what did you say your last name is?”
“Dupres,” Olivia pronounced it correctly.
“Ah, my new protégé.” Paedris replied, waving smoke away from his face. “Good, good, come in, then.” He coughed. “You are to be my new servant, for now?”
“Yes, Lord Salva,” Olivia looked from one end of the room to another. It was a mess, a cluttered mess. If she were asked to straighten it up, she would not know where to start.
“Excellent, then. Oh,” he pointed at the clutter on the floor. “You can start here.”
Bjo
rn Jihnsson paused at the top of a hill, breathing heavily, his legs shaking from the strain, his shoulders burning from holding the heavy log he had carried up the hill. And back down, and up, and down again, and then up. How many times he had hoisted the log across his shoulders and climbed the hill, he couldn't remember. It didn't matter. What mattered as the effort. What mattered was the pain. The pain that was his revenge against his own weakness, the pain of weakness being forced from his body and mind, with every step, and every breath, and every drop of sweat that fell onto the ground. With every bead of sweat that soaked his clothing, or ran down his face and off his chin to splatter on the ground, he sweated out not only the weakness of a body too long inactive. He sweated out self-pity, he sweated out fear. Fear that he would, as he had once before, failed in his duty. Fear, worse, that when the people who loved him most tried to comfort him, tried to explain that he had not failed in his duty, that none could have won against such terrible odds, he had been more afraid of accepting the truth, than of death.
Bjorn had been one of the best, one of the elite, chosen personally to guard the King of Tadador, and the king had died in battle. What had frightened Bjorn the most that terrible day was not the prospect of death, nor even the fact that he and his fellow guards has failed in their duty to king and country. What frightened him the most was the uncertainty. If all of his dedication, training and bravery had not been enough to save the king, what else that Bjorn believed would be revealed to have no more substance than wisps of fog?
Right then, he needed some certainty in his life. He needed to know there would be food on the table the next day, he needed money, and he needed work. Perhaps more than the money work would provide, he needed the labor and the enforced discipline, to drive the remaining weakness from his mind and his body.
Having made the decision, Bjorn tossed the heavy log aside. He no longer needed it. There was a stream with a deep pool at the bottom of the hill, he could wash there. And down the road was a village where he could seek work. But before that, something to eat. He was hungry.
"I need work." Bjorn announced simply, looking around the cluttered blacksmith shop, which was in desperate need of cleaning and organization. Half-finished pieces were scattered around randomly, none of the raw materials were arranged for quick or easy access. Tools that should have been well-oiled were rusty, handle grips that should have been smooth leather were tattered or missing entirely, exposing the bare wood or metal. None of the tools were hanging where they were supposed to be, according to the barely-visible outlines on the walls. He surveyed the mess with a critical eye, keeping the disgust off his face. "It looks like you need work done around here."
"Work?" The blacksmith scanned the stranger top to bottom, peering at the sun-reddened skin that still had the sallow tone of a person who was ill until recently. The man had the look of one who had been in great physical shape, formidable even, in the past, until some misfortune had claimed him. Although, with a second look, the man's bare arms had toned muscles. "You have experience? What kind of work are you looking for?"
"I've done some simple field smithing in my time," Bjorn said. "I can certainly organize this mess." He knew exactly where he was going to start. The shop must have produced good work at some point, or the owner would not have been able to afford so many tools. Some misfortune had befallen the shop, perhaps the man had lost a critical assistant. Or the man here was himself that assistant, who had taken over the shop and so far failed to run it successfully by himself. That seemed more likely, seeing that the shop had a volume of work waiting, which indicated customers were used to good work in the past. There was a table in the corner, with finished pieces that were tagged and ready for customers to pick up, Bjorn could see that the work was top quality, meticulous. There was potential here. He walked over to the table and picked up a part for a wagon axle. It was well made, the metal lighter than he would have expected for a piece so strong. "You do good work, what you've been able to complete," he said as he set the piece down. "All I ask for is a roof over my head, and three meals a day. Let me work here for a fortnight, and if you're not pleased, I'll be on my way."
The blacksmith scratched his belly as he considered. Clearly, the newcomer had seen better times. Though Bjorn clasped his hands before him, the little finger on his left hand trembled slightly. The blacksmith scowled. "I'll not have a drunkard working around my forge."
"I don't drink." Bjorn fairly snarled in anger. "I don't touch it. If you see me drinking, you throw me right out into the street, and I'll thank you for it."
The blacksmith was taken aback by Bjorn's vehemence, his apparent hatred of alcohol. "You're old for an apprentice." He protested, not yet convinced.
"And not as stupid, or as clumsy around a forge as an apprentice. Nor as given to daydreaming when I should be working, nor chasing after every girl who walks by your shop. I'm not an apprentice. I told you, I've done some simple smithing in my time; field repairs when needed. =I have enough experience at it to know I'll never have the patience or the skill to make a living at it." He pointed to the finished pieces on the table. "You do have the skill. I want to work, I want a roof over my head and food in my belly, I don't want to take up your time teaching me to work metal. I have coins, but my funds are running low, and as you've guessed, I've been ill." That was true enough. "I need a place to live while I recover, and I need hard work to build my strength. If you want a steady, reliable man who is strong enough to be useful, and smart enough to stay out of your way, I'm your man."
Ariana arrived at the wizard’s tower for their weekly meeting, and event that had become a well-practiced ritual. She walked across the courtyard with her personal guard Duston, two younger guards, and two maids. The maids carried a tea set with them; when they reached the door of the tower, Ariana and Duston took the tea set between them and slowly climbed the winding, circular steps of the tall, narrow tower up to the room that was the royal court wizard’s study. Ariana walked slowly for the sake of Duston; the man’s aged knees could not climb stairs as well as they used to. That was also part of the ritual; Ariana paused at each landing of the stairs, pretending that she needed to catch her breath, so that Duston could rest. She also told the man that he should not be carrying the heavy tea set, even though it was the princess who had the burden of the teapot and plates; all Duston carried was a tray with two cups and a small bowl of sweets.
When they reached the wizard’s study, Paedris rose from his chair by the fireplace, or stepped away from the table by the window. Even though the crown princess and wizard had been meeting for months at the same time every Thursday morning, half of the time the wizard acted surprised to see them. The wizard always took the tray from Duston first. Then the old guard bowed, asked if the princess needed anything, and assured her that he would be right outside the door. Ariana and Paedris knew that Duston would go one floor below, to nap on the large couch in the wizard’s library.
The next part of the ritual was the pouring of tea, and Ariana inquiring how the wizard would like it, with the princess knowing full well that the wizard liked a spoonful of honey. The only variation was that Paedris sometimes liked a slice of lemon in his tea, if that fruit was available. Sometimes, Ariana thought that what Paedris truly enjoyed was simply seeing a juicy yellow lemon with the tea set. Since the war had grown hot, exotic fruits from lands to the south had become rare. There had been weeks recently when Ariana’s maids had reported that there was not a lemon, nor an orange for sale in the markets of Linden, not for any price. Renewed attacks on merchant ships by pirates, pirates either sponsored or emboldened by Acedor, had cut commerce across the southern sea by half.
After tea was properly served, and they each nibbled at a small sweetcake, it was time for the next part of the ritual. The part Ariana liked least, although she had started it. “Lord Salva,” she said quietly, staring at the fire, “has there been any news of Koren?”
The question was not necessary and they both knew it. If Pae
dris had any important information about his former servant, he would have told the princess immediately. The wizard’s answer was always the same. No, now news. He and his fellow wizards continued to search for the young man. As did the Royal Army. And none of them had any idea where Koren had gone, nor word of his fate.
This time, however, Paedris took a sip of tea; tea without lemon because there were no lemons on the tray or anywhere in Linden. He cleared his throat, and surprised the young woman who would inherit the throne of Tarador. “News? If you are asking whether Koren has been found, then, no. Nor do I know where he has gone. I do, however,” he said with a raised eyebrow, “know where he is not.”
Ariana froze, afraid of spilling tea in her lap. She set the cup down carefully and folded her hands in her lap. “Where, where he is not?”
“Yes. I am fairly certain, now, that he is not in Tarador. Fairly certain. As certain as I am that it snows in Linden each winter,” he said with a wink intended to amuse the princess. Her anxious expression did not change, and Paedris regretted the attempt at humor. “Yes, well, you see, we, that is, wizards, you understand, have just this past week completed a survey of Tarador. It has been a slow and painstaking process, and it had yielded a result I both expected and feared. Koren is not within our borders. He has fled.” Seeing her eyes begin to well with tears, Paedris hastened to offer her a handkerchief and continued. “He is not in Acedor, of that we are also certain. We are most certain of that. The enemy does not have him.”
“Where could he be?” She asked softly, dabbing at her eyes.
“Inquiries I have made to the dwarves, leave me confident that he has not gone north into their lands. And he certainly would not have ventured into lands controlled by foul orcs, either. There are caravans travelling to the east, even all the way to Indus. Inquiries have been made there also, but as you are aware, there are too many merchants from too many lands to keep track of them all. And not all caravans seek to be noticed,” he added with a quick glance at his future queen. If Koren had sought to travel with a caravan, he would most likely seek to join smugglers. A young man who wished not to be seen, he would join a group accustomed to moving around unseen. Although local sheriffs might know hidden paths in the wilderness used by smugglers, no sheriff had the resources to track them all. With the war driving up prices of everything, merchants traveling overland had increased in numbers, and smugglers abounded. “In my opinion, I do not believe he traveled to the east. I do not think he went by land at all.”
Transcendent (Ascendant Book 2) Page 3
