“I got distracted with John. He’s gonna be all right, but Hagra needed help.”
“Well, alright then, what you want to do now?”
“Let’s go treat that grain of yours,” he said as he reached into his robes pocket and pulled out a big satchel of herbs. “You need to get planting if you hope to get a harvest in by fall. Time’s a wasting!’
“Let’s do it,” Brag announced, shoving his stool back and draining the rest of his mead. He wiped the sticky sweetness from his mouth with his sleeve, grabbed a big handful of fire-roasted peanuts, stuffed them into his pocket and headed toward the back door.
Dra’kor saw the nuts and grabbed a few for himself before he took a couple of long strides and fell in with the others as they left for the store room that held the seed grain and seed potatoes. He cracked the shell and popped the salty nut into his mouth. He grinned. It was the first time he had eaten the nuts. “What are these called?”
“Huh? Oh, we call them peanuts. We grow them sometimes in the smaller gardens. They don’t grow as well here as they do down south, but we can’t seem to get them brought in.”
“They’re really good,”
“Most like ‘em just fine. A few folks can’t eat ‘em though. Make them wheeze and puff up like an adder.”
“Adder?”
Brag shook his head and rolled his eyes, “It’s a snake. Poisonous.”
“Around here? I’ve never seen a snake just out in the open.”
“Don’t get out much do you?
“No, not much.”
“Well, keep your eyes alert. They’re everywhere this time of year.”
Harsh Words
Dra’kor sat holding the ball of water in a perfect round sphere four feet off the ground. He moved it left, right, and up and down. He practiced moving it slowly and quickly.
He felt that he was starting to make real progress. The magic seemed to come quicker, and he felt he had more control. Sheila sat and watched as he worked the spells. She didn’t have to correct him as often now, only giving small suggestions when he struggled with a new task.
Dra’kor was pleased. What really helped was the fact that he sometimes felt that he could actually see the magic, a kind of shimmering around the water. He recognized the shimmer as the same waves he saw when he controlled the Zylliac, but he felt the shimmers, instead of just observing them. This, he felt, was the key to mastery of this kind of magic.
Apparently, there were many different kinds of magic users. This was a revelation, because he had always been taught that a wizard was a wizard. Hagra had explained that back in the time of Ror, there were many wizards who had special talents and they were classified by the Keep as seers, war wizards, casters, dreamers, healers, makers and travelers.
Hagra had said that the travelers were able to go anywhere without the use of gates as long as they had either been there before, or had been shown where to go by a dreamer. Seers and dreamers were similar, but the seer could see paths into the possible futures, whereas dreamers could only know about the now. Dreamers could step into the minds of people and observe, remembering every detail when they wake up.
The other thing Hagra said that made an impression was that if you tried to be outside of your nature, the magic was difficult. The key to mastery was determining what kind of wizard you were, and sticking to that as best you could. Of course, all wizards needed to master some forms of all the other spells. The one that Dra’kor desperately wanted was the spell to keep from aging.
So while he was able to finely control the ball of water in many ways that Sheila could not, she could control vast amounts of power he never would be able to manage. Her control was very tenuous, rough at best, but she could move huge rocks, topple trees, leap tens of feet up to a small cliff. She said that she was a war wizard of sorts. Since she wasn’t a full-blooded sorceress, she would never be able to do the vast deadly spells that war wizards found to be completely natural, but she also had the keen hunting, tracking and grace of her elven father.
Hagra and Sheila both agreed that he was a caster. Whoa … a caster. What was so special about that?
Hagra’s words rang in his head, ‘You’re able to finesse a spell, create unimaginable things, control weaves down to a single small thread.’
He grumbled to himself, “You’re a caster, you’re a caster. A spellcaster you are …”
Sheila had said that casters were cunning and creative in their magic work.
Next, she reminded him that he would never wield the power to fight in the manner that she does. He would have to be smarter, more clever, and quicker to defeat his opponents.
“You’re soooo lucky —” he muttered sarcastically to himself.
Great! All he could do was move a small bubble around and that was supposed to be awe-inspiring. How comforting. At least using the Zylliac, he could wield the same power as any other wizard he knew.
Sheila laughed at him.
“What?”
“If you only understood your gift better, you wouldn’t keep asking —”
Dra’kor dropped the water ball to the floor, “I understand my gift well enough.”
Sheila waved her arm at him, “Keep practicing.”
Dra’kor tried to form a big ball of water, but only managed one the size of a large egg, “Remind me again why I should be thrilled at being a caster.”
Sheila raised her voice, “Pay attention to your lesson.”
Dra’kor sighed and turned his attention to the small ball floating before his eyes.
She said he only felt that way because he didn’t know his own gift. He didn’t comprehend how mastery of his form of magic would elevate him to a level he couldn’t now imagine. Well, thank you very much; he could imagine quite a bit of power. Casters may have been highly prized and sought after in the time of Ror, but now?
“I can’t believe you said I’m a bull in a barn.”
Sheila shrugged.
“When do you think I will be ready to learn how to maintain my age?” Dra’kor probed for the fourth time.
“Soon,” Sheila ground her teeth. “Soon!”
“How soon?” a totally frustrated Dra’kor asked, dropping his water bubble again.
Sheila set her hands on her hips and scowled, “Well, you cannot run before you can walk,”
Dra’kor stared at her with pitiful eyes, “I have to learn. Soon! I cannot stay here for weeks …”
Sheila tried to console him, “I understand how you feel, really—I do.”
“No, I don’t think you do,” Dra’kor sulked. “— I have four more realms I’m supposed to visit.”
Sheila put a hand on his face, “They will wait.”
“What if they can’t? People could be dying. They could be in worse shape than they are here, and I’m not there to help.”
“You cannot be in all four at the same time anyway. All I’m saying is what good would it do if you get cut off from the magic? What then?”
“Well, I just can’t sit here —”
“Dra’kor, listen to my words. I know how you feel, but trying to teach you before you are ready will not be easy, and may actually hinder your progress,” Sheila warned with a scowl.
“Am I close?” Dra’kor pleaded. “What else do I need to learn?”
“You need to increase the strength of your spells, so that you’ll have left over energy to do something besides keep yourself from aging. You need to be able to do two to three spells at the same time. And you still need to learn to control the other elements.” Sheila explained as she wrapped her arm around his shoulder.
“This is killing me,” Dra’kor mumbled.
“I know,” Sheila sighed, “but you need to be patient. The magic will come in its own time.”
“Damn! I’m getting another headache.”
Sheila nodded, “You should take a break —”
“Let’s go down to the gardens,” Dra’kor suggested. “I need to get out of here.”
She
ila turned to grab her sword and cloak.
Dra’kor walked over to Men’ak, who was busy working across the room with Hagra. “We’re stepping out for a bit. I need a break.”
Men’ak turned toward Dra’kor and gave him a nod.
“We won’t be gone for too long,” Sheila said, to her mother.
Sheila grabbed Dra’kor by the shoulder, “You better take your hat. Sun’s more powerful than it looks.”
Dra’kor set the wide-brimmed hat on his head and thumped it down.
The two stepped out of the cottage and walked down the main street heading for the gardens. When they arrived, there were several people working the ground. They had spades and hoes and were busy removing weeds and breaking up the ground.
To Dra’kor’s surprise, the lettuce and greens were almost four inches high. Dra’kor removed his hat and squinted.
“Looks like the garden is growing just fine,” said Dra’kor out loud.
Sheila smiled and nodded her agreement. “The townsfolk are very happy. You’re their hero.”
“Sure, they love me now,” said Dra’kor sarcastically, as he elbowed Sheila who broke into a laugh.
The townsfolk working the garden looked up and smiled, waving at Dra’kor. He waved back.
“The peas are coming up!” One of the ladies said happily, as she put another stake in the row for the peas to climb.
Another woman was farther down the row, tying jute cord to the stakes. She stood up and stretched her back, “I think the squash is coming up too, a few of them plants even have their second sets of leaves.”
“That’s great,” Dra’kor shouted back as he replaced his hat on his head.
“We’ll be eating greens by week’s end,” she yelled through a cupped-hand at Dra’kor, before turning her attention to her cord.
Sheila grabbed Dra’kor by the waist. “I heard that they started planting the fields outside the gate a couple days ago. Want to go take a look?”
Dra’kor grabbed her arm and nodded and the two walked toward the main gate. Brag was standing near the gate talking to one of the town’s guards; he nodded as they passed.
“Make sure ye don’t be wandering too far,” Brag shouted. “We’ve not seen any beasts today, but I figure that don’t mean they ain’t around.”
“We’ll be careful,” Dra’kor shouted back as they exited the partially open wooden gate. Dra’kor looked out across the field and saw that they had already finished two furlongs.
There was a single team of oxen hitched to a bow yoke plowing the next section of the field. The traces clanged and jingled as the oxen strained against the yoke, dragging the plough behind. The man behind the plough held tightly, pushing down hard to get the plough deep. He wrestled with it as it pitched in the uneven earth, cutting through grass and weed, turning the soil over. The coulter was neatly slicing through the dirt and the share was skating a few inches below the surface turning the soil nicely, leaning it against the previous row.
Dra’kor was impressed at how straight the man had his ridge and furrows. He had already plowed twelve rows of the chain and looked to be set to finish the furlong after crossing and returning the other direction. He deftly swept his goad at the lead oxen to change directions at the headland. Dra’kor nodded his approval. When the man was finished, he’d have a perfect furlong a full chain’s width completed.
There were three townsfolk helping him, but they were on the plot next door that was already finished. They were breaking up the clods of dirt and preparing to plant the seed they had already set in small piles in front of the finished rows on small burlap bags.
Dra’kor guessed that at the rate they were working, they’d have the near fields finished by the end of the week. After they finished with the onion, corn, squash and potatoes, they would start on the oat and wheat. Those fields were larger and farther away from the town. The fields inside of the town were already planted with celery, tomatoes, beans and lettuce.
Dra’kor smiled at a lady sitting on the dirt next to one of the freshly plowed fields. She had a big apron draped over her crossed legs. She was working on a bag of seed potatoes. She reached into the bag, pulled out a potato, examined it, and sliced it into wedges, making sure that each wedge had several eyes or shoots from which the new growth would emerge.
Dra’kor was ready to head back inside, his head was feeling better and he was anxious to get back to work. He waved at D’Arron as he passed the inn. As of late, he hadn’t spent much time with her and felt a little guilty. He vowed to return home early that night and spend some time talking to her.
They passed the tavern and Dra’kor waved at Grump who was standing in the doorway, shining one of his pewter mugs. He wasn’t as pleased as the rest of the town was about the crops growing again. His tavern wasn’t nearly as busy during the day now that everyone had things to do.
“Dra’kor,” said Grump curtly.
Dra’kor tipped his hat.
By the time they returned to the cottage, Men’ak had left and Hagra had set out the midday meal. They sat down around the small wooden table and enjoyed some dried sausage and bread. Hagra talked as they ate, continuing her tale of magic.
“As I was saying, magic has many forms,” she explained as she shook her half-eaten roll at Dra’kor.
“I think that you are a spellcaster,” Hagra said, with absolute certainty. “Sheila here is a war wizard of sorts.”
Dra’kor was confused, “Of sorts?”
“Bah! It’s the elf in her, she don’t have the full power she’s deserving.”
Dra’kor sighed. “So tell me again, what exactly is a spellcaster?”
“Well, as I said before, a caster has abilities to sees and weaves very finely-crafted spells, spells that others don’t see or control,” Hagra said, as she waved her arms dramatically.
“I’m not sure I understand,” A confused Dra’kor replied.
“Well! Let me try to explain. Imagine ye wished to make yerself a dandelion seed float where ye wanted, or ye wanted to secretly place a thought into a single enemy’s head when he’s being surrounded by his companions. You could do these things easily! We cannot, not no way!
“Ye see, I could make an entire group of them enemies hears the same thing, but I don’t have enough control to make just a single person out of a group of people hears something. Sheila here would place the thought into the entire group, plus all the surrounding villages,” Hagra explained grinning at Sheila who was rolling her eyes.
Dra’kor nodded. He thought he understood. He could see where the ability to finely control the magic would come in useful.
“Let’s demonstrate,” Hagra said. “Everyone make as small a water ball as you can and hold it in front of your face.
Dra’kor made his and looked at Hagra’s and Sheila’s. Hagra’s was the size of a large peanut, Sheila’s the size of a big walnut, and his was the size of a small raindrop, barely visible hanging there in the air.
“That’s what I mean,” Hagra said, letting her water fall to the floor. “You can manage the magic with such control, that you can do things that we cannot imagine.”
Dra’kor nodded as he came to understand.
“You would also make a great Healer,” Sheila added. “Most of the finest healers in the past were spellcasters.”
“I agree,” said Hagra, nodding. “One of them Ten was a spellcaster. Druxell his name was. He was a very clever and powerful spellcaster. Next to Duvall, he was the most feared of all of them Ten. Not because he would likely smite you down, but because he could make you do things and make others do things, and ye be thinking it was yer idea! It’s said he could heal people with just a glance.”
Dra’kor was a little surprised. He had heard the name before and had known that Druxell was feared, but he had not known that the Ten were all different types of wizards.
“Do you know what kind of wizard Duvall was?” Dra’kor queried.
“Ah, Duvall. Now there was a piece of work. She
is a bit of a puzzlement. She seemed to be a spellcaster, but by all stories, she was more of a war wizard. Some even say that she was a demigod, able to summon and control demons, and talks to the gods herself.”
Dra’kor had not known anything about Duvall, all he had ever been taught was that she was the mightiest of all wizards, feared by all, loathed, unscrupulous and that she had rightly earned her reputation through deplorable deeds.
Dra’kor was curious to get a different perspective than that of the Keep. “Were the Ten really as bad as we have been led to believe?”
Hagra picked out some sausage from between her teeth, “Yes and no. Always two sides to every story ye know!”
“One has to remember that they was wizards, same as everyone else. Along the way, they made gettin’ more of the power the most important thing and they were willing to pay them costs required to become the most powerful. Mind you, they were the single reason the Keep exists, that the wizards were gathered together and that the realms won the war at Ror.
“Some say that the original Ten was a bit of a misnomer, there were actually closer to twenty wizards in them early days. The stories among the races say that they parted ways over arguments about what magic should and should not be used and studied and that the Ten cast the others out of the Keep. That is what eventually led to the Great War.
“The Ten that were cast away made deals with the Under Lords of the lower planes and over time, became the dark magi. What little conscience they had ebbed away and all that was remaining were hollow shells that contained an evil beyond comprehension. The war was about control of the races.”
Hagra leaned back, happy with her story.
“So why do wizards have such a bad reputation outside of the Keep?” Dra’kor asked, feeling like he was still missing a big part of the picture.
“That is a bit of a mystery to all of us on the outside,” Hagra said, as she rubbed her chin.
“After Ror, the Ten became paranoid. They questioned every act of magic, often punishing people for learning and using the gift. We assumed it was out of fear of another uprising or fears that another group would leave the Keep and become dark magi. They became more and more reclusive and they became more powerful, often spending entire months in seclusion in their rooms creating new spells, artifacts and such.
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 01 - Eyes of the Keep Page 50
