A Touch of Magic

by Gregory Mahan

Randall looked down, toeing the floor while he tried to find some loophole in the oath Earl had given him. His father’s patience came to an end before Randall could think of some way out of his dilemma. “Randall…” the elder Miller started.

  Randall quickly looked up at Earl. “Yes sir,” he said quietly.

  “Well then, boy. Let’s be off so that we can make it to the inn before they stop serving dinner!” Earl ordered. He opened the door and ushered Randall out.

  Earl had a relatively simple cart tied up on the far side of the house, and two surprisingly good horses to pull it. Randall climbed aboard in silence, and waited for the older man to hitch up the horses and start on their way. Earl, for his part, seemed content to let Randall stew quietly as he guided the horses along the dark road.

  After a quarter hour passed in silence, Randall couldn’t contain himself any longer. “We could have at least spent the night at home and had Momma’s cooking instead of riding alone in the dark.” He muttered sullenly.

  “Aha!” Earl crowed. “I knew you’d break first, lad. You’re gonna have to learn more self control than that, you know. Now, as to staying at your place, that seems to me like it’d have been a very bad idea. What, and give you all night to think of some plan to run away or tell your folks that I have truck with evil spirits? I’m a bit smarter than that.” He grinned wickedly while tapping his temple.

  Randall thought about that a moment, and realized Earl was right. After giving his oath of apprenticeship, in front of his father no less, there was no way he could break and run home now without bringing a great deal of shame to his entire family. He couldn’t tell his father that Earl was really a magicker—he’d sound too much like a child telling stories to get out of trouble. So, instead, it would look as if Randall was too lazy to work, and that his word was worthless. And then there was the matter of the money. Randall couldn’t see his father giving up that money easily. It was a fortune! He was likely already spending it in his head. Randall reflected on the enormous sum he’d seen on the table and decided that he probably would have made the same decision, under the same circumstances. Still, it hurt to watch himself being sold off like so much chattel, even if it was for gold.

  “Am I really worth two talens, sir?” Randall asked.

  Earl chuckled. “Well, that all depends on your perspective. In your little village, a talen’s worth an awful lot. You could probably buy anything in the town with one or two…and probably buy anyone in town, too. On the other hand, on Salianca, there are places where two talens will hardly pay for a pint of ale and a hot meal. I consider you an investment, boy, and a cheap one at that.”

  Randall thought the bit about two talens being cheap in Salianca a little hard to swallow, but couldn’t help himself from asking. “Salianca? You’ve been to the big continent, sir?”

  “‘Course I have, lad. Was born here on Tallia, matter of fact, but the big continent’s where I made my fortune,” Earl replied. “Decided to come back home to Tallia to retire. Easier to get some peace and quiet ‘round these parts. There’s too much pompous royalty on Salianca. Every year some over-stuffed popinjay decides to go to war with his neighbor over some bit of trumped up buffoonery. Ain’t no wars in Tallia, so it’s nice and quiet. Only one king, you see, and there ain’t nothin’ in this backwater country worth fighting over anyway. “

  Randall bristled at the insult. “Tallia’s safe because King Priess can fight off any invading navy!” he insisted.

  “Well, lad, I don’t know about all that,” Earl said. “He could certainly make it expensive to land an army here for sure, and he’d sink a lot of ships and kill a lot of men before losing his throne. Over what? Tallia’s one iron mine? Your crops?” Earl laughed out loud. “What fool is going to wage a campaign half the world away for a few tons of iron when his neighbor might have diamonds, gold, or silver in their hills right next door, ripe for the plucking? It wouldn’t be profitable to lose even a single ship under those circumstances.”

  Randall frowned. He didn’t like thinking of his country as two-bit, but recognized the truth in Earl’s words. After all, Randall had been learning to accept the fact that he was second-rate for all of his life. Was it really any great surprise that he lived in a second-rate country too? What did Tallia have worth fighting over? He honestly couldn’t think of anything. “I see,” he said quietly.

  “I don’t think you do entirely, lad,” Earl said. “But that’s okay. Before we go much further, I should probably lay down the ground rules for you and give you your first lesson in the ways of the world. First things first: I’m not a ‘sir’, or a ‘mister’ or even just ‘Earl’. My proper title is ‘Mage’, and as you are my apprentice, you will call me ‘Master Mage’ or simply ‘Master’. Understood?”

  “Yes si…Master,” Randall replied a little shakily. Earl…that is, Master, had just come right out and said he was devil touched like it was nothing.

  “Good. Since we’re on the subject, you can forget everything you know about Mages boy. We don’t truck with devils and the like. Sure, some do, but the rest of us consider those types to be bad sorts. Magic is made by working inborn Talent with tools…just like a fine sword is made by shaping raw metal with tools. Can’t make a good sword with shoddy tools, and can’t make one with shoddy steel either!” Earl smiled at his own analogy. “And whether you believe me or not, you’ve got the Talent for magic. Usually shows up in children your age. Your mother has a touch of it too, you know, but probably no more than just the Sight.”

  “That’s not true!” Randall cried. “I don’t know what Pa told you, but Grandma was just sick in the head before she died. Momma wasn’t devil touched, it was just something Grandma said. She wasn’t!”

  “I hear you say ‘devil touched’ again, boy, and I’ll beat you till you can’t say the words again.” Earl snapped angrily, making Randall jump. “Now was that your grandmother on your father’s side, boy?” Earl asked. When Randall nodded he continued, muttering to himself, “Makes sense. Only way she’d know your mother’s got the Sight was if she had a touch of it, too. So, a little power on both sides of the family. There was a Mage bound to come out of that line sooner or later. Guess you won the lottery.” He looked over at Randall. “Think about it, boy. I bet your mother caught you and your brothers getting into trouble more times than she had a right to.”

  Randall thought about all the times his mother knew one of them was doing something behind her back, making faces or trying to sneak a bit of bread before dinner. She always said she had eyes in the back of her head, Randall thought, but everyone’s mother said that. Didn’t they? Then again, he was sometimes shocked with how bold Bobby was when his parents weren’t around. Randall just figured he must have lax discipline at home, because sure enough Randall would’ve gotten a thrashing if he’d done some of the things Bobby had gotten away with.

  Earl interrupted his train of thought. “Now, as I was saying, forget everything you know about Mages. Out here in the country of a little backwater nation like Tallia, people are afraid of them, and generally shun them. You know that much yourself. But in some parts of the world, Mages are respected and hold positions of power and influence. Then again, even in big kingdoms, people are still afraid of us,” Earl chuckled. “I know this’ll shock your tender sensibilities lad, but did you know King Priess has three Mages in his court in the palace?”

  Randall gasped. “‘Tis sedition to say such a thing! Magery is outlawed!”

  “Ain’t sedition if it’s true, boy,” Earl countered. “Well, not in a just land, anyway. Like I said, in many places Mages are respected. Priess is a smart man, and he knows that a few Mages on his side can help him keep schemers at bay, and help protect the coastlines. You might be surprised at what our kind can do to an unprotected fleet! Like I said before, Ol’ King Priess can make it mighty expensive to take this little chunk of soil. Much more expensive than it’s worth. His grandfather, King Damon, knew the value of Mages, too, boy. He also knew that
his Mages would be more powerful if they were the only ones in Tallia. And that’s why magic’s outlawed: so the king is the only one who can have it. Doesn’t mean there a few handfuls of us on Tallia anyway. It’s a mighty big island, and the hand of King Priess doesn’t reach everywhere.”

  It was just too much for Randall to take in at one bite. He lapsed into silence while he tried to imagine the world being like Earl really said it was. He couldn’t picture it. Who could? Mages and normal people working shoulder-to-shoulder. What right-minded person could work or live next to someone like that? He couldn’t wrap his mind around it, so he gave up and turned his mind back to his current predicament. Well, he’s got me in the bag and sewn up good, Randall thought. I can’t get away now, that’s for sure. Maybe I can stick it out until I’m bigger, and then one night I’ll leave. I’ll take some of his gold, and that’ll buy me a sword and fighting lessons and a place to stay for a while. And then I really will become a caravan guard!

  Randall smiled to himself as the plan formed in his mind. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn’t notice Earl had started smiling too. They rode the rest of the way in silence, and Earl left Randall to his thoughts. As they approached Frank’s Inn, on the outskirts of town, Earl slowed their horses.

  “Okay, lad. We’re here. Remember, I’m a caravan master, and you’re an apprentice guard. Watch your tongue; your neck’s out just as far as mine is here. Besides, you gave your oath.”

  Randall nodded. He’d already given up trying to escape any time soon anyway. The odds were all against him. Even if he ran away and got to a militiaman, he’d most likely be laughed at if he told them what Earl really was. Earl did look more like a caravan master than he did a devil touched magicker. He acted more like one too. And if he claimed to be kidnapped, Randall’s own father would bear witness that he’d taken the oath of apprenticeship. He’d only end up looking like a silly little boy, homesick before he was an hour away from home.

  Earl pulled the cart up to the inn’s stable, and tossed a ringet to the boy lounging there. Randall had never seen the child before and guessed that Frank had probably hired him on to help with the extra traffic during job fair.

  “See that those mares are unhitched, fed, and brushed. Do a good job and there’ll be another coin for you tomorrow.” Earl called to the youth.

  “Yessir!” the youth said with sudden enthusiasm, and hurried to take the reins.

  Earl and Randall climbed down and went into the inn. The few times Randall had actually been inside the inn was to make deliveries during the day time, and it was almost always empty then. But now, the common room had thirty or forty people in it, all drinking and talking loudly. A few of them were the very same soldiers that had manned the militia’s tent earlier. They were even drinking while still in uniform!

  In one corner of the place was the luthier that Randall had seen earlier that day. He was playing a blindingly fast tune, ignoring everyone around him, but with his hat out for tips. The place was so noisy you could hardly hear him, but there appeared to be a few ringets in his hat, and even a couple of slices.

  Ringets and quartos made up most of the cash money Randall was familiar with. A quarto was made so that it could be broken into four pieces, or ‘slice’. Each piece, which looked like a pie wedge, was worth two ringets. The musician here was making a decent day’s wage for his playing. Normally, he might have earned only a ringet or two, which would be just enough for his meal and a drink. But during the job fair, there was always extra money flowing around town.

  Earl found an unoccupied table, and steered Randall toward it. They weren’t seated long before Melinda came over, looking harried. Randall tensed, waiting for the teasing he was sure to receive after his terrible performance on the practice mound today. He would have slid down and hidden under the table if he thought he could have gotten away with it. But surprisingly, Melinda completely ignored him. “What can I get for you, sir?” she asked Earl.

  “Give me a stout ale, wench. And a short beer for the lad. And bring us both somethin’ to eat,” Earl ordered.

  Melinda nodded. “As you wish, sir,” she said, and turned back toward the bar. Earl gave her a swat on the rump as she left, but she didn’t even flinch. Randall’s eyes were wide with shock.

  “What?” Earl asked, his innocent look breaking into a wide, mischievous grin. “That’s how those macho sword-types act, or hadn’t you noticed?”

  Randall had noticed. Melinda got catcalls and comments from quite a few men as she walked to the bar. Some of them even reached out to pat her rear or pinch her on various parts of her body. She ignored them all. No wonder she hated soldiers so much! Randall spent several long moments looking around the room after Melinda disappeared into the kitchen. It was the first time he had ever seen men out and carousing away from their families. It was an eye-opening experience. He had never seen such raucous chaos, and he had a hard time imagining Pa joining in such festivities the few times a year he traveled to Paranol on business.

  “Well, lad, here she comes with our drinks. Probably best if you play the part, and give her a squeeze yourself.”

  Randall didn’t think his eyes could go any wider, but he was sure they did. His heart started hammering in his chest, and he could feel his ears burning. As Melinda sat their drinks on the table, Earl gave him a wink, and mouthed “Go on!” making a face to egg him on. Randall was frozen. He thought his chest was going to burst, his heart was beating so loudly. Earl made a great show of fishing in his pouch for coin, causing Melinda to turn toward him. Earl glanced up at Randall once, and it was clear to Randall from the lopsided grin on Earl’s face that he would fish for coins all night until Randall did as he was told. Blushing furiously, he reached his hand up under her skirt and timidly gave her butt a pinch. Not as soft as I’d imagined, he noted abstractly.

  “Randall Miller!” her voice came out as a high pitched squeal as she came up on her toes out of reflex. The tables around them went deathly quiet and she spun to face him, her face a mask of fury. “How dare you,” she shrieked, her hand rising for a slap.

  Randall cowered down, trying to protect his face with his arms, but the blow never came.

  “Melinda!” a voice roared from the bar, staying her hand. It was her father. “You’ve got customers here that need serving. Quit dallying and get to it.”

  “Yes Daddy,” she answered, gruffly before grabbing her serving tray and storming away.

  Earl was nearly falling out of his chair with laughter. “Ho ho! You’ve got a little spunk after all, boy,” he choked out between spasms of laughter. “I’ll bet that’s the first time anyone’s ever pinched her under her skirt, boy!”

  Oh no! Randall thought, hiding his face in his hands and blushing to his ears. One of the militiamen passing by slapped Randall on the back and said “Good show! You shoulda seen her eyes, they got wide as saucers!” The smell of beer on his breath was staggering. His eyes took a long moment to focus as he peered down at Randall. “Heeey! Hey, ain’t you the kid that took that wallop to the noggin this mornin’?” Randall thought he was going to die of embarrassment.

  “Hey, what he lacks in brains, he makes up for in balls!” Earl said, in high spirits. “You can train any monkey to hold a sword, but you gotta be born with balls.”

  “Gods’ own truth, brother,” the militiaman said, slapping Randall on the back again before stumbling across the room and back to his table.

  “Drink your beer boy, and get that blush off your face,” Earl chuckled.

  “I can drink the beer?” Randall asked, incredulously.

  “’Course you can, boy,” Earl snorted. “You’re not a child any more. You’re apprenticed. First step to manhood and all that. Besides, this’ll probably be the last beer you’re gonna want for a long time,” he said.

  Randall took a sip of his beer and pulled a face. It wasn’t good at all. He couldn’t understand how the men at the inn could down it with such gusto. Then he leaned forward a
nd lowered his voice a little. “I don’t get it, Master. Why didn’t Melinda’s Pa come give me a thrashing?”

  Earl grinned. “Consider it a lesson in the ways of the world, son. This inn ain’t the only place to have a beer in this town during the job fair. If that barkeep was really interested in saving his daughter’s virtue, he’d put her up in the kitchen, snug and safe and out of sight. And you can bet that three-fourths of the patrons in the place would be getting drunk somewhere else. No, he knows he’s got a good lookin’ daughter, and he puts her to good use. Probably woulda went out of business a long time ago, otherwise. This town ain’t really big enough for an inn at all. A pinch here and there’s a small price to pay to keep a roof over your family’s head.” Earl looked introspective. “Now, when the girl ends up pregnant and has to marry some soldier and leave the inn, he’ll be in dire straits. He probably hasn’t thought that far ahead, though.”

  Randall took another drink, and made another face. Earl lost his thoughtful look and chuckled again.

  “It’s an acquired taste,” he said. “You have to drink a lot of it before you like it. It grows on you,” Earl explained in response to Randall’s puzzled look. Randall didn’t think he could ever drink enough of the nasty stuff to ever grow to like it.

  Throughout the evening Earl encouraged him to drink up, to ‘act the part’. By the time he’d downed his third beer, he’d stopped caring about the nasty looks Melinda shot him every time she checked on their table. After his fourth, he had forgotten about how terrible it tasted. He completely lost count of how many beers he’d drunk shortly after that. Earl himself was quaffing large pints of stout with gusto. Soon, Randall’s head was swimming, and after standing up to make another trip to relieve his bladder he found himself clutching the back of his chair, his stomach doing flip-flops. He looked up at Earl in desperation before most of his dinner came up and covered the table they’d been sitting at.

  “Uh oh,” Earl said and quickly steered Randall outside. The cold night air hit Randall in the face like a slap, and the rest of his dinner immediately came up, spewing all over the ground. Been throwin’ up all day, he thought drunkenly. He retched a few more times and then had one of those rare milliseconds of clarity that you can only truly appreciate when you’re falling down drunk. He swiveled his head sideways and fixed a bleary eye on Earl.