“Look,” said Mithris, holding out his hands to forestall any further argument from Vapor. “Dinner’s on the table by now. Farming is hungry work. We’ll talk about this later.”
But, as he went out of the room with his mind on supper, Mithris already knew that in the morning he would bid Goody Cowan and her boys farewell.
Chapter 26
“You said four hours,” griped Mithris. “Tell me the truth this time. How much further is it?”
We have only been walking for three hours, said Vapor.
“No,” argued Mithris. “We haven’t been doing anything. I’ve been walking three hours, and I’m the one with the sore feet.”
Mithris shook his head. He had begun to pick up Vapor’s habit of referring to their mismatched group in the plural. Just this morning, he caught himself doing it with Goody Cowan. The stout farm-wife had given him a long, searching look when he told her, “We have to be on our way.”
“Is this how wizards all go crazy?” he asked suddenly. He looked up at the intertwined arch of pine boughs above the narrow country road he’d been walking along. There hadn’t been a break in the trees for hours. Mithris hadn’t seen anything to indicate civilization except the road itself, which was barely more than a widened out trail of packed earth.
Mithris felt like he was trudging an endless path to nowhere. That made him worry even more about going mad.
You are not going mad, Mithris. Vapor chuckled, but there was a fondness in the laughter. And we are nearly there.
Grumbling to himself, Mithris nodded shortly. “Fine,” he said. “First thing I’m doing, though, when this is over; I’m going to learn a good traveling spell. There must be one in Deinre’s spellbook. I can’t imagine he ever went traipsing about the untamed wilderness.”
Master Deinre traveled the world, Mithris, long before you were born. I think there is not a city man has built the streets of which Deinre did not walk. Nor a forest untouched by man which Deinre did not explore. Do not forget you knew him only a fraction of his life, nine years out of half a thousand. And besides, I thought you were“through with wizarding.”
Mithris opened his mouth to reply hotly, then closed it when he realized Vapor was right. He’d never thought about it before, but the crystal must’ve spent quite a bit of time with Deinre—certainly longer than Mithris had been around. He wondered if the crystal missed Deinre as well.
Lowering his head, he kept walking. The crystal said they were nearly there. There would be a town soon, there must be. Wizards always lived near towns or cities, often right in the center of them as Ileera had done. He would find civilization soon, and when he did Mithris promised himself a long sit-down and a hot mug of mulled cider.
“That will be wonderful,” he mused aloud to himself, already imagining the weariness fading from his legs as the cider’s warmth spread out from his belly. “Wonderful, indeed.”
“What would truly be wondrous,” spoke an unfamiliar voice behind Mithris, “would be for you to remove that coin purse from your belt there and drop it to the dirt without turning round. Can you do that for me, friend?”
Mithris whirled instantly round, and found himself facing a slender man in rough-stitched leather. The highwayman had lank, greasy hair the color of soot. A thin, curving scar ran down his temple, just beside the left eye and halfway down the length of his nose. Twin daggers, slim and rather delicate in appearance, glittered threateningly in his hands.
“Now, I did ask you not to turn round,” said the brigand, clucking his tongue in mock disappointment.
“What do you want?” asked Mithris, more puzzled than fearful. His head drew back, brows drawn down skeptically. He looked at the robber with incredulity. “You want my coins, man?”
“Yeah, that’s the size and shape of it.” The highwayman twirled the daggers in his hand twice and took a menacing step closer.
Mithris laughed out loud. In the same breath, he drew his wand and jumped back from the thief. With three quickly uttered words of magic, he cast a shimmering yellow ward between them. The hissing energy field flickered and faded from view as it finished resolving. Invisible, but still there.
The thief scowled in consternation. That pulled his scar tighter, creasing his face deeply around the eye. He spat in the dirt, twirling his daggers once more. Cautiously, he approached the ward he could not see. One arm stretched out until the tip of his silvery dagger touched the ward. Sparks burst from the empty air at the end of his blade, which could go no further.
Mithris sneered at the highwayman. “Can’t you see I’m a wizard?” he asked.
“Actually, no,” said the highwayman. “Not from behind.” He gestured. Looking down, Mithris realized he was still wearing the farm clothes he’d borrowed from Cryst Cowan. His robes, which Goody Cowan had laundered, were rolled up in the small pack he carried over his shoulder.
“Oh.” Shaking his head, Mithris looked back up at the highwayman. “Well that’s no excuse. What do you mean, lurking about and robbing travelers?”
The soot-haired man returned the sneer, and stabbed at the invisible ward again with his dagger. Mithris felt the magical barrier beginning to weaken ever-so-slightly.
“Listen,” he told the highwayman. “You can see now that I’m a wizard, and please understand that I’m a very powerful one indeed.”
Oh, really? Vapor sounded intrigued. Have I been asleep? How many years has it been?
“Shut up,” said Mithris under his breath.
“You don’t look so very powerful,” the highwayman said, though he did lower his blades. Scratching his stubbly chin with one, he studied Mithris. “Nah, you don’t look much at all. I’m not sure you’re even a wizard. Apprentice, maybe.”
“If you don’t leave me alone,” said Mithris, trying to think of the worst curse he could imagine. “I’ll turn you into a frog!”
The bandit laughed scornfully, and attacked the ward. His daggers flashed in the thin sunlight. Again and again they scored the barrier, striking sparks with each flurried blow. Mithris could feel those blows. He could feel his ward failing under the assault.
Feeling more confident, the bandit began beating on the barrier until it finally cracked into a million tiny sparks. With a wry smile, the bandit caught Mithris by his shirt and poked the dagger to his chest.
“You’re not even an apprentice, I’d reckon, just a boy who knows some cheap tricks,” said the bandit. “A boy should be punished for lying about being a wizard.”
Mithris gasped as the bandit’s blade pushed into his ribs. “Please don’t do this,” Mithris said, “Don’t make me hurt you.”
The bandit merely smiled and pushed his blade harder, piercing Mithris’ skin. As he pushed the blade, the bandit met Mithris’ gaze and sneered.
Instinctively, Mithris barked the short incantation for one of his dueling cantrips. These were the simple spells he could cast from memory; he had spent many weeks learning the most dangerous of them before he’d decided to rid his life of magic.
You’ll never be rid of magic, Vapor whispered to Mithris as his cantrip resolved. The ground at the bandit’s feet seemed to split and open up and Mithris jumped backward. Crimson light flickered darkly from the cracks. Tongues of flame leaped up, catching the highwayman’s leather garments. Smoke rose as the bandit yelped, beating at his arms and legs where tiny flames had sprung to life.
The fire spread quickly. Mithris’ eyes widened as he realized the full extent of the spell he’d just cast. The thief howled in torment, and then in a flash he was gone. Ashes fell heavily, and were absorbed by the cracks in the earth. Then the darkly glowing crevices sealed themselves, and the forest road was still.
That was, perhaps, overkill, opined Vapor.
“This is why I’m through with wizarding,” said Mithris, genuinely taken aback by the disapproval in the crystal’s projected voice. “Even when I try to defend myself, I kill instead. What would you have me do?”
Mithris, you have to accept
that you are a wizard. You cannot be“through with wizarding.” Magic is in you, but you can’t use it this way. You must practice the art so that you know how to wield the power you’ve been given. Why do you think wizards stay close to normal people, but always keep their distance?
Mithris shook his head. Most of the time, Vapor was condescending and sarcastic. But at times like these, the crystal took on a lecturing tone that reminded him far too much of Master Deinre. Deinre had always been disappointed in him.
If Deinre was disappointed, said Vapor, it was because of a promising apprentice squandering his potential.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Mithris demanded. But Vapor did not answer, and after a few minutes Mithris shouldered his pack and continued on along the path.
Chapter 27
There was no town. There was no village, not even a farmhouse. There was no civilization, no hot mulled cider. The forest trail wound out into a small clearing beside a placid lake at the foot of an impassable mountain. Mithris stared at the mountain and hated it.
A narrow bank circled the lake to the base of the stone, and Mithris could see an even narrower trail leading up to the gaping maw of a dark cave in the mountain-face. He just knew he was going to have to go in that cave.
Yes, agreed Vapor. Yes, I do believe you’re right. For once.
“You’re sure it’s in there, then?” Mithris sighed. “Why would one of the foundation crystals, the rarest and most precious of all magical artifacts, be in a scary looking cave ten leagues from nowhere?”
What, that doesn’t seem appropriate to you?
“You and Depths both came from wizard’s towers,” Mithris argued.
Depths and I“came” from the first foundation, of which we are part. We did not begin our existence possessed by wizards, Mithris. Where do you think Master Deinre found me?
“Where did he find you?” Mithris was genuinely intrigued. He thought back on the crystal’s words earlier. Deinre had traveled extensively. What adventures had he gone on? What sights had he seen?
A tale I may tell you at a later time, said Vapor.
“It was probably just miserable trudging through the woods,” Mithris said, more disappointed than he wanted to show. “Sore feet, and every so often a monster from another plane showing up to try and devour him. Some magical dueling, and then more traipsing. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s all there is to traveling.”
You are much like an artifact of the first foundation, yourself, said Vapor. We are infinite and endless, as is your capacity for complaint.
Mithris blinked, chewing on the words until he teased out their meaning. When he had done so, he frowned deeply. “You’re a jerk sometimes,” he said.
Not waiting for a reply, Mithris set out along the narrow bank. The edge crumbled beneath his foot on the third step, and for several minutes after that he concentrated just on his footing. Everything else faded from his awareness. Then he was on the rocky slope, the trail narrowing further. He concentrated on that until he reached the mouth of the cave.
You have admirable concentration when you care to use it, Vapor said.
Mithris did not answer. Steeling himself, he moved into the cave’s shadowy depths. The path angle downward sharply, taking him into the belly of the mountain. The stone walls were rough and uneven, but the cave floor was more or less flat and even, if steep.
He waved his wand, and a tiny glowing ball winked into existence over his head. It was the size of a walnut and burned with a faintly yellow, ghostly light. Mithris continued on down into the cave.
“Tell me something,” he asked Vapor as he picked his way carefully down the sloping throat of the cave. “If I did leave wizarding behind, what would you and Depths want me to do with you?”
Do with us?
“Yes. If I swore off magic completely and lived the simple, short life of a farmer…wouldn’t that get boring for a couple of eternal, multiplanar foundation crystals like you?”
Time in your dimension doesn’t mean much to us, Mithris.
There wasn’t anything to say to that, so Mithris kept going in silence.
Do you really think you could live the rest of your life without ever once using magic?
“Of course I could.”
Your first instinct with the bandit on the road was magic.
“My life was in danger.” Mithris drew up short, crossing his arms. “Now, look…”
Do you imagine a life without magic has no dangers? I know you think wizards spend all their time double-crossing and stabbing each other in the back, but Mithris…the average wizard lives two dozen times the lifetime of a normal man. So tell me, whose life is more endangered?
Mithris frowned. There was something wrong with that argument, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Muttering to himself, he continued deeper into the cave.
Have you considered pursuing Deinre’s work? His experiments with shaping magical energy? That seems fitting for an apprentice when his master is slain.
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” protested Mithris. He did not mention it, but Master Deinre’s work was the most likely motive behind Eaganar’s attack. Mithris knew little of his former Master’s research. It didn’t matter that Eaganar would kill for the knowledge; Mithris didn’t have it.
You possess his spellbook. I would start there.
“I can’t understand half of it. More than half. That means I’d have to find another wizard to help me. And I told you, I’m through with wizards. Any one of them’s as likely to gut me and steal Deinre’s grimoire as help me.”
Not all wizards are such, said Vapor. Deinre was not. There are others.
Mithris bit off a sharp retort as he came to a sharp bend in the tunnel. Moving cautiously, as silently as he could, Mithris crept around the bend. He froze at what he saw.
A few paces ahead, the tunnel widened out into a roughly circular chamber about forty paces across. On the far side, the cave narrowed again to a cramped tunnel. In the middle of the round chamber squatted an enormous, hairy beast. It looked up from the bloody remains of a stag. If not for the magnificent antlers, lying broken to one side of the carcass, Mithris could never have identified the savagely torn animal. As for its massive killer, with its thick limbs and blood-dripping muzzle of jagged razor teeth, Mithris drew a blank.
“What in all the foundations..?”
Erbear, Vapor provided the name. Dread chilled Mithris’ blood. He’d heard of erbears, though he’d never seen one. Never thought he would.
The erbear reared up on its hind legs. It had roughly the appearance of a bear, though it stood fully fifteen feet tall when it reared up like this. Its head more resembled that of a wolf. Its forearms terminated in massive hands—not paws, but hands. These were as covered in hair as the rest of the beast. It opened its mouth wide, the jaws spreading far enough to swallow Mithris whole. It roared, and the entire cave seemed to shake and reverberate with its furious challenge.
The cave, even here where it widened out, offered no cover. Within the erbear’s lair, the walls were smooth. There were no outcroppings, no loose boulders to hide behind. As the erbear dropped back to all fours and stalked toward him, Mithris shouted the words of a cantrip and closed his eyes tight.
Blinding lights exploded in the air over his head. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, Mithris was dazzled by the glare. The erbear, about to charge, howled in pain and surprise. It shuffled back, snarling and mewling and covering its massive head with its hairy hands.
Mithris didn’t hesitate. This was no bandit without magic. The erbear might be the most dangerous animal in the world. With one hand upraised and the other flung toward the erbear, Mithris cast a second spell. A large ball of unearthly fire flew from his fingertips and enveloped the erbear. It threw itself to the cave floor and rolled madly, roaring pain and anger as it tried to beat out the unsnuffable, magic flames.
In moments it was over. Melted fat and flesh mixed with charred hair and bone, the stench fill
ing the cave. Eyes watering from the foul aroma, Mithris jerked to the side and vomited. Wiping his mouth, he covered his nose with his sleeve and moved across the wide, circular chamber.
You see what I mean? Vapor asked. Face it, Mithris. You will never live a life without magic. What I can’t see, with all the natural dangers of this foundation, is why you would even wish to.
Chapter 28
The cave seemed to descend forever. The slope was gentle, but continuous. Mithris did not know how deep beneath the mountain he was. There was a humid heat which permeated the narrow tunnel. Painfully aware of the thousands on thousands of tons of rock over his head, Mithris imagined himself in the very bowels of the earth.
He reached a stretch of tunnel where the ceiling descended sharply and he was forced to crawl along on hands and knees. The rough stone overhead scraped occasionally along his back. It was tight, cramped, claustrophobic. The thick, soupy air was hard to breathe.
Growing beets sounded more and more appealing by the minute.
Would you truly enjoy that life? The crystal voice seemed genuinely curious. Never to try a new spell? Never to translate an ancient text and discover long-hidden wisdom? Never to learn anything new? Instead to spend your days with dirt beneath your nails and sweat on your brow for no greater reward than the food on your table?
“Better than crawling through uncomfortable cracks in a mountain,” countered Mithris. His voice was breathless. Even so, he continued. It became a diatribe, almost a mantra. “Better than sore feet and an empty table, or no table at all and no food besides. Better than omnitors and devinists and erbears and evil wizards who hire mercenaries.”
Better than a magically heated bath? Better than magically summoned servants to prepare your meals? Better than knowledge and power and even riches? Better than sleeping sound in the knowledge your wards will keep knives from your throat and wild animals from your camp?
“Perhaps I will cast wards,” Mithris allowed, gritting his teeth and dragging himself through the narrowest stretch yet. Rock scraped him above and below. He worried he might become stuck. How would he get out? “Perhaps something more complex from time to time,” he added. “Say, if I have to escape a tight situation.”
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