A Touch of Magic

by Gregory Mahan

  Randall recognized the town from his discussions with Brody about the caravanning lifestyle. To hear him tell of it, Varna on the Lake was a large and bustling community. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get to Ninove from the city. There was bound to be a road, and likely even caravans between the two. If he could exploit his prior training and experience, perhaps he could pick up work as a caravan guard and make it to the capital in relative ease.

  After only a moment’s consideration, Randall shouted his agreement across the lake, and the men invited him to come aboard. Though it wasn’t a far swim, his horse balked at entering the water. Luckily, the barge’s deck was low in the water, and so it wasn’t much of a struggle to get the horse on board, otherwise it would have had to be left behind.

  “What do you need me to do?” Randall asked once on board.

  “Well, as you can see, we’re stuck,” the barge master said. “There shouldn’t be a sandbar in this part of the river by my charts, and our poles aren’t hitting anything solid beneath the water. We need someone to swim down and see what we’re hung up on.”

  “That sounds a bit dangerous,” Randall said pensively.

  “Well, it is, a bit. But not so dangerous for you as it would be for one of my men,” the man countered. “You’re young and agile. Not like one of these big oxen,” he said, slapping one of his shipmates on the shoulder. “It oughta be easy for you.”

  “All right,” Randall said. “I’ll do it. I’ll have you free in no time!”

  Fifteen minutes later, Randall was regretting his cocky remark. He had made numerous dives in the cold and murky water, and still hadn’t found what had snagged the barge. It wasn’t a sandbar, that was for sure. He had swum around the entire boat, and the river bottom was far below the hull on all sides. Finally, he had to swim far underneath the barge to discover what was holding the vessel in place: a large, dead tree. Randall didn’t know if it had grown here during a period of low water, or if it had fallen in the river elsewhere and had ended up wedged here by chance. But regardless of the circumstances, the barge was snagged in its upper branches. If there had been a strong current, the barge might have simply slid over the obstruction without notice, but unfortunately for the river men, they happened to get snagged in a pocket of relatively still water.

  Randall’s lungs were screaming, and he gulped in great lungfuls of air when his head finally broke the surface of the water.

  “You were down there a long time this time!” the barge master called down to him. “Find anything?”

  “Yeah,” Randall called back, breathlessly. “You’re stuck on a big ol’ tree. I’m not sure how you’re going to get off. Poles won’t reach it.”

  “Think you can hook a rope on it?” the man asked back.

  Randall nodded. “Let me catch my breath, and I’ll try,” he said.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” the man replied, lowering a rope down into the water with a small grappling hook attached to the end.

  It actually took Randall two tries to get the rope secured in a good spot. The first time he thought he had it secured, it pulled free when the men on the boat hauled on the rope. But the second time they pulled, the barge shifted!

  “Climb on up and help heave, boy!” the barge master called, and Randall scrambled to follow orders.

  After he and the sailors hauled on the rope for a few minutes, the boat gave a tiny lurch. And then another. Suddenly, they were free of the tree, and began drifting lazily downstream. One man scrambled to the rudder to keep the craft under control, and with that, they were underway! They had drifted down the river and into the lake by late afternoon. After the sails were raised they would reach the city sometime the following morning.

  Randall learned that once the barge’s iron ore reached Varna on the Lake, it would be loaded on wagons and travel by caravan to Port Medlin. From there, it would be loaded onto boats to be transported to Salianca. He couldn’t have asked for better luck.

  Once they reached the city, Randall would try to get himself hired on with the caravan, and once reaching Port Medlin, he would find some way to board a ship. He’d stow away if he had to! The challenging part in his mind had always been reaching a port city, and now, it seemed that a clear path to that goal was opening up before him.

  Once they arrived at the city, Randall asked the barge master if he would introduce him to the caravan master, and to his relief, the large man agreed. The caravan master’s name was Keenan and the two seemed to be old friends. They spoke for several minutes, with the barge master bragging on Randall’s willingness to work for little more than free passage.

  “I can always use another skilled hand,” Keenan told Randall. “Especially if you’re cheap. But you look a little on the scrawny side. And you’re definitely too young. I don’t really think you’re exactly what I need here. I need to keep this ore safe from here to Port Medlin. They don’t pay me to be a babysitter.”

  “But I really need this job!” Randall begged. “I don’t have any money, and I need to get to Port Medlin!”

  “Sorry, kid,” Keenan said as he turned away. “I ain’t lookin’ to take on any apprentices.”

  “I ain’t no apprentice!” Randall said, catching at Keenan’s shirt sleeve. “I’m a good caravan guard! Give me a chance!”

  Randall realized that his wheedling made him sound more like a kid than a tough caravan guard, but he couldn’t help himself. He was desperate to travel with the caravan, and he didn’t know what else to do. Without this job, he would have to attempt to travel overland to Port Medlin all by himself, and he didn’t even know the way.

  Keenan yanked his sleeve out of Randall’s grasp. “Shay, this whelp has exhausted his welcome. Get him out of my sight.”

  A large longshoreman nearby stopped what he was doing and approached Randall, shaking his head. “C’mon pup,” he said, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Desperation spurred Randall into reckless action.

  The big man pushed Randall’s shoulder, spinning him around, but the young Mage continued rotating on the ball of his foot, coming full circle. Suddenly, the longshoreman had no resistance to push against. As he stumbled forward, Randall stepped behind him and lashed out with a wicked stomp to the man’s calf, bringing him to his knees. Randall smoothly drew his dagger and pressed it against the man’s throat in one fluid motion. He looked up to see the caravan master staring at him, wide-eyed.

  “I’m good at this,” Randall said, with considerably more poise than he had shown moments before.

  “So it would seem,” Keenan said slowly. “But Shay’s not a fighter. If you’ll let my man up, maybe we can give you an interview after all.”

  The longshoreman shot Randall a look of resentment when he let the burly man up. He regretted embarrassing the man, but what else could he have done? He needed some way to prove to Keenan that he could handle himself before he was thrown off of the lot.

  “That was a pretty slick move, lad,” Keenan remarked. “Where’d you learn your way around a blade?”

  “My uncle used to be a soldier, at least before I was born,” Randall lied, thinking quickly. “All I ever saw him do was sit around and drink all day and tell stories about the ‘glory days’.”

  Randall winced at how bad the cliché was, but Keenan seemed to buy the story. “Hah, I know exactly the type!” he guffawed. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. He got himself wounded pretty bad and they drummed him out.”

  Randall nodded. “Leg wound. He couldn’t march very far or stand for very long afterwards. He missed it, I suppose. He was always showing me stuff, like how to hold a sword, or what to do when it was two on one. I guess he hoped I’d grow up and join the King’s service myself.”

  “Trying to live on through you,” Keened agreed. “So, why didn’t you?”

  “Money,” Randall replied. “When I met up with Brody in Paranol, he told me what kind of money a caravan guard makes compared to a soldier, and it sounded too good to be true. They needed an e
xtra hand, and so I went with them.”

  “Brody, eh? I haven’t met the man myself, but I’ve heard about him. He and his crew really deal in elven artifacts?” Keenan asked.

  “Yeah,” Randall said with a sneer that wasn’t hard to fake. Thinking of the trio left a bad taste in his mouth. “That’s why I left. In my house, we were taught to respect the King’s law. I didn’t want any part of that devil touched business!” He spat on the ground for good measure.

  “Well, I can’t say as I’d pay as much as Brody and his gang, but at least you’ll be doing an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay,” Keenan promised. “But before I sign you up, I need to make sure you know more than just a trick or two. Consider this the hands-on part of the interview. Shay, run and fetch some of the boys so we can see what this kid’s made of.”

  The longshoreman shot Randall another dirty look as he put down the box he was loading and jogged down the main thoroughfare and around a corner. Randall was sure that he’d get no favors from the resentful dock worker. More than likely, he’d pick the toughest men Keenan had.

  When they arrived, it looked like he had guessed correctly. The men looked exactly like what Randall expected of a caravan guard: hard, muscular, and carrying themselves with the smooth, graceful movements of fighting men. Keenan wasted no time, barking orders for everyone to suit up for weapon’s practice. Randall soon found himself paired off with a man nearly twice his age.

  Randall put Master Erliand’s training to good use, dancing in and out of danger, landing blows without ever quite taking any licks himself. He knew that the enchantment on his dagger was helping him considerably, but still, he was proud of his performance. He thought Master Erliand might have been proud of him, too.

  The guard handled the loss with much more dignity than the longshoreman had, congratulating Randall and slapping him on the shoulder when the match was finished.

  After a short rest, Randall found himself facing a new opponent. This man was considerably faster than the previous man had been, and it took all of his skill just to keep the man from scoring the winning blow. As the fight wore on, he noticed that he was unconsciously drawing magic from Llandra in the heat of battle.

  He clamped down on the connection in a panic. Varna was a huge city! There were bound to be Rooks everywhere! He hadn’t gathered much power, so hopefully it had gone unnoticed. Randall didn’t want to risk holding onto the magic, though. Every moment he held onto it he risked discovery. Taking advantage of a brief lull in the fight, he pushed his small reserve of magic into the dagger at his belt. It wasn’t much, but it felt like cheating.

  Instantly, the tide of battle turned in Randall’s favor. He began exploiting weaknesses in his opponent’s defense that he had not seen before, and he seemed to anticipate the man’s attacks almost before they were made. Soon he was landing blow after blow, blocking any answering strike or dancing nimbly back out of reach.

  This man did not handle loss nearly as well as Randall’s first opponent, throwing his practice sword down and stalking off after he had been dealt a particularly viscous swipe across his brow. After Randall single-handedly bested two of the other guards simultaneously, Keenan had seen enough. He had a job!

  “Hell’s bells boy! You could have done half as well and still gotten the job. You beat some of my best men!” Keenan crowed. “You ain’t much to look at, but you sure can handle a blade!”

  Randall knew that the only reason he had won so easily was because he had used magic. Still, he couldn’t help but break out in a wide grin. He wasn’t even breathing hard, thanks in part to his youth, but also in large part due to the talisman he had tucked underneath his tunic.

  It isn’t really cheating to use magic, is it? After all, I used my natural talents same as anyone else, he reasoned. I have reason to be proud! Those were grown men, and experienced fighters, too! Bobby couldn’t have done that!

  It would take some time to load the iron ore from the barge onto wagons, which was longshoremen work. The burly, grizzled dock workers didn’t want Randall’s help, and in truth, they resented how easily the boy had made a fool out of one of their own, so he was left to his own devices.

  The caravan wagons would be loaded by late afternoon, and the group would be leaving first thing in the morning. Keenan arranged for Randall to bunk with the other caravan guards in a shared room at the inn, but until evening time, he had the run of the city.

  If he thought Paranol was big, it was only because he had no idea what a big city looked like. Varna on the Lake was humongous! As Randall rode through the city, anyone looking at him must have thought he was crazy. The entire time, he kept up a steady stream of commentary, expressing his amazement to the unseen donnan still perched on his shoulder. To the onlooker, it would appear that the wide-eyed youth was talking to himself.

  And the prices for goods were just as oversized as the city! It wasn’t so long ago that he had laid his eyes on a talen for the first time in his life, and thought it a fortune. Here, the gold coins seemed to be changing hands everywhere he looked. It was a world that Randall just couldn’t fathom. Who would ever need that much money? And why would someone pay such an outrageous sum for something so completely mundane, like a meat pie or a wedge of cheese? And yet here, fortunes were freely given over in exchange for practically nothing! He just shook his head and continued on, sure that he would never understand big city life.

  As the afternoon wore on, Randall eventually found himself near the outskirts of Varna on the Lake. He knew he had been looking for the edge of town in the back of his mind since he left the docks. He kept telling himself that he wanted to see how big the city was, but now that he was here, he knew that wasn’t true. If he wanted to stay with the caravan tonight and leave in the morning, he needed to head back toward the docks now. He would be on the high seas in two or three months at most. And after that, he would be safe. There would be no more running, and no more hiding what he was. Once he reached Salianca, he would be able to meet others like him, and lead a rich life dedicated to unlocking the secrets of Llandra.

  But instead of heading back, he kept looking away from the city and to the road beyond. It was as if there were two paths open to him. One of them was a simple path, and if he took it, he could leave this accursed place and all of its memories behind him forever. The other was not so simple, and Randall was not sure where it would lead at all. To his death, more than likely.

  It would be easy now for him to run away and leave everything behind him. His job acting as a caravan guard would bring him directly to a port city, and would earn him enough money to pay for passage. It was what he should do, he knew. But now that he was free to choose, he realized that no matter how simple the journey would be, it wasn’t what he wanted.

  Randall had unfinished business on Tallia, and if he took the easy path, he would be forever haunted by what could have been. The easy path was the coward’s path. The easy path meant never confronting the people who murdered his family. With the easy path, there would never be any closure, and there would never be any justice done.

  Until this very moment, Randall had never really had a choice. The last few months were a constant struggle for survival’s sake, and events had forced him in one direction or another. But now, looking at the road, he realized that he did have a choice. He could leave tomorrow, or he could take the road before him. For the first time in his life, Randall felt like he was the master of his own fate. What happened from this moment forward was completely up to him.

  After all of the danger he had faced since that fateful day outside of Frank’s Inn, Randall found that he no longer truly cared about being safe. What he truly desired led down a different path: the path of vengeance. He would never be able to truly have peace until he was able to look Aidan in the eye and demand a reckoning for the things he had done.

  Randall made up his mind. He would bring Aidan to justice, or he would die in the attempt. So, even as he tried to convince himself of all of
the reasons that he should turn around and go back, he nudged his horse toward the road and out of the city.

  Chapter 16

  It took six weeks for Randall to travel to Ninove. He could have made the journey sooner, but he was really in no great hurry to meet his fate. He spent as much time off of the road as possible, but occasionally he would wind his way back toward it, to make sure he was still heading the right way. Once, he spotted a tinker traveling in the opposite direction. The man was open and friendly, probably due in large part to Randall’s boyish looks, and after a short but pleasant conversation, the man confirmed that the road he was on would indeed take him to the capital city.

  “There’ll be a big fork in the road after a few days travel,” the tinker offered helpfully. “Just keep to the right, unless you are hankering to head up into the mountains.”

  Randall thanked the man and continued on his journey. He second-guessed himself constantly during the trip, berating himself for not taking the guard position with the caravan back in Varna on the Lake and traveling to Port Medlin. But even in the face of his self-reproach, he found himself turning toward the capital city every morning after breaking camp. In the meantime, he continued to practice his magic as much as possible, refining his understanding of the few spells and runes that he knew.

  Over the course of several days, he tried to work out the spell that Master Erliand had used to shield him from Aidan’s flames. Master Erliand had used it several times, but Randall had been in no position to pay any attention to it. He racked his memory, trying to puzzle out the sounds, and he thought he had gotten most of it. He was convinced that he was only missing the first consonant sound, and that once he found it, the rest would fall in place easily. So, every evening, he would draw power from Llandra, and try different combinations, hoping one of them would be the one that would unlock the secrets of the spell. He repeated variations of the word so many times that it soon lost all semblance of meaning. One evening, as he was repeating nonsense syllables over and over again, his mind drifted.