by GJ Kelly
“What have you done now?” Drake shouted over to Garin and stared at the destruction. “I told you that feather was trouble!”
“I didn’t do it,” Garin said with a voice that was flat with shock. “Taya did.”
“The crown!” A bellow of rage brought them all around to face the remains of the platform and Garin stared in shock at what the king was holding. It looked nothing like a crown. It was just a mess of melted metal that King Peiter had to drop because it was still hot.
“Taya! You’ll pay for this!” King Peiter shouted as he jumped from the platform and walked quickly towards the unconscious girl on the grass.
“Wizard Kazar, hadn’t we better leave?” Jervais said, rushing to his wizard. “I don’t think they’ll fall for it now.”
“Really?” the wizard said sarcastically as he picked up his staff and grabbed hold of the Jervais. He turned to Garin and then looked briefly down at Taya. “We will meet again, you can count on that.”
A misty green haze surrounded both the old wizard and the impostor and, with a final screech, Ignor swooped down to his master and then they were gone.
***
In the chaos that followed the disastrous coronation, the real King Peiter was immediately recognised as the rightful king. No-one could possibly mistake him for anything else and his angry, imperious commands were obeyed without question.
Taya was tended by a healer who declared that she had suffered no more than a bump on the head. It was quite a large bump and already a dark swelling was blackening her right eye and forehead. King Peiter seemed utterly unsympathetic, glowering first at her and then at the molten wreck that was once the Crown of Kings.
He gave orders that she, Drake, and Garin be taken to the visitor’s suite in the castle, there to await his pleasure. And so they were escorted by nervous guards, many of whom eyed Drake warily and looked a lot worse off than Taya. Garin remained silent, gingerly picking up Eyan’s staff, using his sleeve to grip the magical elf-tree wood. The black cloth he had tied around it was gone, probably removed by Wizard Kazar, who had no need of it. Which meant, of course, that Taya, the girl from Portsan, had not only handled the Master Wizard’s staff without it rejecting her, but she had wielded it. The proof of that, as everyone knew, was in the trail of destruction all around them, and in the smouldering misshapen metal lump that was once the pride of all the kingdoms.
Taya was silent too, holding a wet cloth to her aching head and the bruise over her eye. Drake simply grumbled happily as they trudged to the castle. They were shown into the suite, led to a table stacked with food and wine in abundance, and then they were left alone. The doors closed behind them with an ominous clunk and they waited for the king.
“Hah, by Cordak, what a fight! Did you see the look on that sergeant’s face when I threw him off the platform and into the crowd? Eh? Did you?” Drake beamed at Garin.
“No, I was a bit busy,” Garin replied quietly, ignoring the food on the table and choosing instead to sit on a red velvet chair which stood alone some distance from the table and the others.
“Oh yes,” Drake mumbled. “Saw you having a spot of bother with that nasty little bird.”
The way Drake said it, it was clear to Garin that the warrior thought even less of the Wizard of Portsan than at any time before. As if Garin should’ve been able to turn the vicious great magpie into a harmless frog or something. Or wave it away in a green mist. Or anything. Garin sighed. Drake had been fighting half the palace guard on the platform, and he himself had been struggling with a bird. In the warrior’s eyes, Garin must look completely and utterly useless.
“Good job the young missy got that twig working then,” Drake mumbled as he took a huge bite out of a turkey drumstick, “That’s all I can say.”
“I just hit him on the head with it,” Taya mumbled weakly, still clutching the cloth to her head.
“Aye! And the rest!” Drake enthused. “The throne, the platform, the Wizard Kazar himself, not to mention frazzling the king’s shiny hat, by Cordak! I never took you for a wizard, missy, and that’s a fact!”
At that, Taya gasped, and leapt to her feet, stamping furiously as she cried “I’m not a wizard! Don’t you dare, ever, call me that again!”
Drake look stunned, pausing with mouth agape in mid-chew. Then he gulped. “Begging yer pardon, miss, but I knows a wizard when I sees one, and so does everyone else in Kinlock.”
Taya inched forward, her face so dark with rage that the black eye almost faded completely. “I am not a wizard! Do you understand?”
“If you say so…” Drake mumbled contritely. “But you’d best think up a good excuse for the king and about five hundred of his people who saw what you did with that twig young Garin’s got propped against the wall yonder.”
Taya huffed, and stamped her foot again as she stomped off to a chair in the far corner of the room, mumbling angrily to herself. Garin shrugged off his battered backpack and pulled out a square of cloth that he’d used to wrap a loaf in so long ago. He wiped his face with it and sighed at the tiny spots of blood he saw staining the cloth when he’d finished. Ignor’s beak had been sharp and spiteful. In truth, if the evil bird had managed to strike him in the eye, he could have been seriously hurt. His two companions didn’t seem to notice though. There were spots of blood on his hands and arm too, where Ignor’s talons had punctured his skin. The tiny wounds hurt, but he didn’t dare show it. Compared with the ugly bruise and bump on Taya’s forehead, the tiny stab-wounds were nothing.
‘Young Garin’, Drake had called him. Before, it was ‘Wizard’, or “Master Wizard’. Now, it was just ‘Young Garin’. And clearly, Drake believed Taya was a more powerful wizard than the skinny boy who’d stood there, beaten by a bird and waving a feather at the enemy.
King Peiter clearly believed it too as he burst in through the doors, his cloak billowing behind him and flapping in the faces of the anxious nobles and guards following him.
“Taya of Portsan!” King Peiter hissed, and hurled the twisted mass of metal onto the polished marble floor. It clattered noisily, skittering to a halt at her feet. Instantly, Taya leapt up, and then remembering who the king was, dipped in a polite curtsey.
“Your Majesty,” she replied coolly.
“You have destroyed the Crown of Kings! What say you to this…this…outrage!”
“I didn’t, Your Majesty…”
“Oh no?” the king cried, striding forward and pointing at the mangled metal. “Then pray tell me who did?”
“Uhm…”
“Uhm indeed!” King Peiter hissed. “It was you who wielded that magical staff! It was your hands that summoned the magic which blasted crown and throne! Or do you call your king and hundreds of witnesses a liar?”
“No, Your Majesty…” Taya gaped, looking first at Drake, who shrugged helplessly, and then at Garin, who stared hopelessly at his reflection in the polished floor.
“Well then, Wizard of Portsan, since it is you who destroyed the Crown of Kings…”
“I’m not a wizard!” Taya cried angrily, instantly regretting her outburst as a gasp went up from the assembled courtiers.
“You dare to interrupt your king?” King Peiter demanded, his eyes wide.
“Your Majesty…?” A well-dressed and noble-looking old man muttered hastily, gliding forward to whisper into the king’s ear. Garin was standing close enough to hear.
“Perhaps, Your Majesty, given the destruction this wizard or sorceress has caused, it might be, shall we say, prudent, not to permit matters to, uhm, escalate?”
The king seemed to think about it, his face serious. “Indeed, chamberlain, you may be right.”
“Uhm, Your Majesty?” Drake grunted, looking awkward, trying to bow and look suitably warlike at the same time. “There’s the fact that the young missy, I mean wizard, did actually get you out of that nasty, smelly, damp, foul and horrible…”
“Yes yes I know,” the king said, irritably, waving a hand to silence Drake
, who stood grinning now, his old confidence suddenly returned.
“Not to mention unmasking the impostor, sire,” the chamberlain added.
The king whirled around on the noblemen. “I am aware of that too.” he glowered ominously. “I am also aware that for many weeks I was imprisoned in a vile dungeon, while you, my loyal and noble lords, served that impostor! It beggars belief that any of you could have been taken in by that ridiculous individual. He looked nothing like me! And how is it possible that you could stand idly by and allow him to commit such outrages against my people?”
“The Wizard Kazar, sire…”
“The Wizard Kazar. Who escaped, and could very well be at large in my kingdom, while you all stand here and do nothing.” King Peiter whirled around to face Taya. “I am heartily displeased with all wizards, and their ways. You, Taya of Portsan, destroyed the Crown of Kings! You will replace it, by my command, before the next full moon!”
Taya gasped, and was about to protest when the king continued. “You,” he said, staring at Drake, “Rydan Drake, will aid her in this task.”
“Aye, Your Majesty.” Drake beamed. “You can count on me and Felgardin, by Cordak!”
“You. Apprentice. What is your name again?”
“Garin, Your Majesty.” Garin sighed. After only two days, the king had forgotten his name.
“Ah yes. You will bring Master Wizard Eyan to me. Only his great power may undo the damage that has already been done. Tell him I demand that he ensures this kind of foul magic can never again be perpetrated. I will not permit my people to be abused by the likes of Jervais and Wizard Kazar again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Good. I expect you gone about your business by dawn tomorrow.”
With that, and with a final glowering look, the king turned on his heel.
“Your Majesty!” Taya called, her voice quavering.
King Peiter paused, and spun around, eyes blazing. “What is it now?” he demanded.
Taya’s head fell, her eyes brimming. “Your Majesty…I came to Kinlock to petition the king…there are so many poor people in Portsan, in need of a healer…”
“It is true, Your Majesty,” the chamberlain said quietly, “Such a petition was made before the…before the impostor. It was at that time, I believe, that the Wizard Kazar cast her into the dungeon.”
The king paused for a long moment, and then his expression softened a little. “I will send a healer to your village, though why a wizard with your powers should have need of one I cannot say.”
“I’m not…” Taya began, but suddenly she realised what had been said. Her head came up, and she blinked. “You will send a healer?”
“I will, this very day. Chamberlain, make out the order.”
“Aye, Your Majesty.”
“I have granted your petition, Taya of Portsan. Now obey your king, and fetch me a crown!”
The king didn’t wait for a reply. He turned, and strode out of the room, calling orders to guards and nobles which echoed into the distance down the corridor.
“Well,” Drake grunted, tearing another drumstick from the turkey on the table. “Looks like this is a parting of the ways then, young Garin.”
“What?” Garin mumbled, trying to take it all in.
“Young missy is ordered to fetch the king a new shiny hat, and I’m ordered to protect her in the fetching of it. You’re ordered to go find the owner of that twig and bring him back here. I guess it’s farewell and g’bye, when the sun comes up.”
Taya walked slowly forward, the bruise over her eye black as night. Garin eyed them both sadly, a great lump forming in the back of his throat. Neither one of them seemed in the slightest bit sorry that their journey together was over, and Drake even seemed a little more cheerful than normal.
“I thought you had a duty,” Garin said sadly, “To Master Eyan’s staff?”
“I’m Rydan Drake,” the big warrior said, shrugging his shoulders, “When a king commands a Drake, a Drake obeys.”
Garin nodded, and sighed. Then he looked up at Taya. “At least one of us got what we came to Kinlock for.”
Taya shuffled her feet, and stood closer to Drake, but said nothing, and looked suddenly sheepish.
Garin sighed again, and wrapped the blood-spotted cloth around his hand before picking up Eyan’s staff. For a brief moment, he thought about handing it to Taya, but then he remembered his own duty. With a final look at the two companions who had shared so much of his life of late, he turned and walked towards the door.
All the way out into the corridor, Garin hoped one, or both of them, would call him back. Neither of them did.
oOo
-9-
Sunrise next morning found Garin trudging miserably along the great northern road out of Kinlock. His old and travel-worn backpack was heavier than it had ever been, stuffed with food for the journey and the dirty robe he had worn for so long. He’d taken it off before leaving, and dressed in ordinary clothes bought from a serving-boy at the castle with the last brass coin he’d had after buying the food. There was no point wearing the robe now anyway, no-one in Kinlock would ever believe him to be a wizard.
He’d left before dawn, wanting to be away from the castle as soon as possible. Besides, he didn’t want to embarrass Taya or Drake by bumping into them before they left as well. In the darkness, by the castle gate, Garin had tried to hold the staff with his bare hand, but the familiar numbing pain of rejection had immediately frozen his fingers, and so now a length of cloth was tied tightly around the elf-tree wood.
It seemed strange to be walking alone, without the cheerful whistling or happy banter from the big warrior at his side, or the sight of Taya of Portsan striding haughtily along in front. But Garin was alone, and feeling it. He hadn’t felt this alone since Eyan had left him. Even as an urchin on the streets of Scaret, Garin had had a few friends, and people knew him by sight if not by name. Here on the empty road, only the birds twittering in the branches accompanied his passage, and they seemed not to care about him at all.
Except one, which Garin did not see. Perched high in the branches overhead, a large and sinister bird peered down at him with jet black eyes. It was black and white, and had purple streaks on its wings.
It was almost noon when Garin found the road narrowing to little more than a dirt track that ran through a peaceful woodland. Far ahead of him he could see Mount Renga towering up into the clouds, and the weak winter sunshine seemed to sparkle off the snow capping its peak. His legs and backside still ached after riding the horse for two days, and now, after almost five hours of walking, Garin decided to rest and eat a frugal lunch.
He was sitting munching bread and cheese when a harsh voice called out from behind him.
“Well now, what have we got here? A boy, lost and alone in the woods.”
Garin jumped to his feet, and spun around. A tall and skinny man leaned against a tree, grinning wickedly. Most of his teeth were missing, and his hair hung limp and dirty around his shoulders. It was the rusty sword dangling from the man’s hand that attracted Garin’s attention most, though.
“Yer a long ways from Kinlock, boy.” The man grinned. “It’s a ways off. Thataway.” And he pointed back down the track with the sword.
“I know. I’ve just come from there,” Garin replied cautiously, picking up the staff. If nothing else, it might come in handy as a weapon, though Garin had been surprised that the ancient wood hadn’t shattered when Taya had used it to beat Wizard Kazar over the head the day before.
“Ah, just been to the castle eh? See the new king crowned, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“The king was an impostor,” Garin said, trying to keep his nervousness from his voice. If only Drake were here now!
“Impostor, eh?”
“Yes. I am…I am the Master Wizard of Portsan, and was summoned to attend the coronation. The true king now rules in Kinlock Castle.”
“You don’t look much like a wizard, boy. Stick l
ooks pretty old, but you? You looks much more like a kitchen-boy, or some other such lad.” The man grinned again, and pushed away from the tree, swaggering towards Garin and waving the sword idly. “Not much like a wizard at all. I’d say, more like a lad with a rich bundle in his pack, just waiting for little old me to carry it for ye.”
“I can manage it on my own, thank you,” Garin replied, gripping the staff harder.
“I think that pack’d sit much easier on my shoulders, boy. I think I’ll try it for size. And I don’t think a serving-boy like you should be hanging around in these here woods neither. They say there’s all sorts of unpleasantness could befall a young lad like yerself in these parts!”
The man grinned, and raised the rusty blade. Garin took a pace backward, and lowered the staff so that it pointed at the ugly bandit, who cackled aloud.
“Ah, young matey me lad, now yer making a terrible mistake!”
Garin took a deep breath, and felt a sudden rush of fear billowing through his stomach as the bandit raised his blade to attack. Garin was alone on this lonely track. There was no mighty Rydan Drake by his side with Felgardin the sword to defend him. Just him.
“This isn’t right!” Garin shouted.
“No, it ain’t, is it?” the bandit cackled. “Too bad!”
It wasn’t right. All Garin had ever wanted to do was take his master’s staff to Mount Renga. It was such a simple task. Anybody could do it. But ever since he’d left the cracked but familiar walls of the old cottage in the tiny little fishing village on the coast, nothing but trouble had dogged him. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair. As the bandit strode forward, his eyes glinting greedily, Garin suddenly felt his blood run as cold as the staff in his hand where he clutched it so tightly through the thin cheesecloth wrap. Symbols flashed through his mind and he quietly said a single word with such cold anger that the bandit stopped dead in his tracks.
