Hidden Magic

by Melinda Kucsera

  “You haven't been in any ports save Sea Gate, you land-lubber.” Sir Alan snickered. “Sire, should we draw closer and investigate?”

  “Would that be Your Majesty's command?” Tychor asked.

  The king waved James close to the rail and handed him the spyglass. “Have you any idea where we are?”

  The cartographer gazed in silence for a long moment then returned the glass. “A closer look might give us additional information.”

  “It could be Perooc,” came a gravelly voice.

  The king and his knights turned toward the speaker. The wizard Ofan had made his way up top.

  “It must be. I told you. I was searching for it. I thought I was so near. That's why I kept going although I was far from home, from land. I was certain the Fates had guided me to my goal.” He strained his frail body across the rails. “The mouth of the dragon,” he rasped.

  “What say you, Sire? Would Your Majesty wish to attempt a landing to explore further?”

  “From what we can see of the beachhead we doubt that we have sufficient draw. We might become grounded before we knew what's happening.”

  The helmsman's eyebrows rose. “Sire, that would be a risk.”

  “I could take my ship's boat. I could make inquiries of the inhabitants, ask where we are in relation to this Hewnstone you seek,” the wizard offered.

  Sir Albert whispered in Robin's ear. “Yes, and what if he finds he has arrived at Perooc? What are the chances of his returning to the ship? Wouldn't he continue on to find the treasure?”

  Robin nodded. “Better we stay here and apply our energies to setting a course for port.”

  “Should this in fact be Perooc, you say it's inhabited?” Sir Alan asked Ofan. “Its denizens might give us insight as to our location.”

  Draped over the rail, the man did not respond.

  “Ofan?”

  “Sire, I fear he's dead,” said Sir Albert.

  “Poor man,” said Dame Deidre. “He died not knowing he reached his destination.”

  Having himself once journeyed to a land he wasn't certain existed, Robin could feel the loss. Now they were not only off course, they had a dead body to contend with.

  “We could bury him at sea,” said James.

  Sir Alan looked out at the distant landmass. “Better yet, we could ferry him over in his ship's boat. Bury him on the land he sought. While we're there, we can inquire about our location.”

  The other knights murmured in agreement. Much as Robin suspected they thirsted to go exploring, he couldn’t put up a fervent argument. His other shipboard experience left him with a deep respect for sailors who nonchalantly set out on uncharted open water but he preferred solid ground under his feet. “Is that vessel seaworthy?”

  A crewman hastened to examine the boat tethered to the Fancy’s side. “It appears to be sound, Your Majesty.”

  “Could you hold the ship here for a short while?” Robin asked the helmsman.

  The knights jostled each other as they inched closer.

  Squinting, Tychor’s lips stretched in a thin line. He replied, “We could anchor for a time. And pray we don't get hit with a storm.”

  “It won't be a lengthy expedition. Only sufficient to give the man a proper burial and make inquiries.”

  Tychor nodded, bowed, and excused himself to direct the crew to secure the ship.

  “I'll fetch shovels, Sire. For the burial,” Sir Alan said.

  The other knights chimed in, each volunteering to collect supplies.

  “Wait. You all plan to go?” Robin asked.

  “I should go. It was my idea,” Sir Alan muttered which Robin would have said bordered on petulant if it hadn't also been true.

  “May I be of service? I can glean much information about the location from the type of soil and foliage alone,” said James.

  That was also true. Armed with similar details, James had once accurately plotted a course for the king to take. The cartographer would prize an opportunity to add to his knowledge of geography.

  “We know nothing about the inhabitants,” said Dame Deidre. “My sword arm might be needed.”

  Never one to shirk from conflict, it wasn't that the young knight was looking for a fight, the king knew, but instead an opportunity to prove her worth.

  “Who knows where the wall's gate is or how well guarded,” said Sir Maxwell. “Unless we bring a ladder, we might need a way over that wall.”

  The king tried not to chuckle. Few were able to scale a wall or climb a tree as could Sir Maxwell, not that Robin spotted any trees from this vantage point.

  “I will stay behind to be of whatever assistance I may here.” Sir Albert appeared to be as happy at the prospect as did Tychor about anchoring.

  “That won't be necessary. Pack provisions as for a march and also weapons of defense. You know not what you'll encounter.”

  “Surely Your Majesty will accompany us,” said Sir Alan.

  Sir Maxwell nodded. “Ofan said there could be a dragon.”

  “Should we encounter one, who better to lead us against him?” said Sir Alan.

  Robin couldn't argue that point. He had slain such a beast singlehandedly, although dragon slaying was a job better tackled by a corps of well-trained fighters.

  He gazed at the distant shore. He would like to be on dry land, if only for a few hours. “No dragon-fighting. We are not on a treasure hunt. We will bury the man, determine our location, and be underway once again bound for Hewnstone.”

  Bowing, Sir Albert and his cohorts set off to make ready, bandying about who should bring what. Chuckling, the king set off for his quarters to collect his sword. He found Meeyoo sitting on her haunches in the center of the room. Her unblinking eyes followed him as he strapped on his sword. He shouldered his old rucksack.

  “Stay here, Meeyoo. We will return soon,” he said, but she continued to fix him with the accusatory stare cats did so well. She followed him to the rail where the troops congregated, suited in mail and padded jacks, armed, and outfitted with packs stuffed with supplies.

  Robin regarded the small vessel and the waves lapping its sides with dismay. It will be a short trip, he reminded himself, and shortly he would be on land. “All aboard?” he said. One by one they clambered down the ladder into the ship's boat. Designed to hold fewer than six people, they filled the vessel to its gunwales with no room to spare. They secured the shroud-wrapped Ofan to the bow. Sir Maxwell and Sir Albert had appropriated oars from The Fancy to use as paddles. They dipped them in the water and Robin had no sooner called “Off all lines” when an object flew from the ship and landed in his lap with a heavy thump.

  “Meeyoo!” He sighed. “Would that you had stayed behind.”

  “Would you like me to return her to the ship, Sire?” Sir Maxwell asked.

  “Thank you, no. We won't be gone long. She won't be a burden.” He loosened the drawstring on the rucksack. Having traveled many miles with him in that humble carriage, the cat crawled inside. “Let's get underway. The sooner we go, the sooner we can return and resume our original course.”

  Though the oars were not locked to the boat, the two knights managed to propel the boat forward smoothly.

  “A treasure to satisfy every heart's desire, the wizard said,” Sir Alan said. “When we get it—”

  “We will,” said Sir Maxwell.

  “What would your wish be? Reveal or Risk. Sir Alan?” Sir Albert asked.

  “I would like … a magic wand. I would wave it and everyone would be enthralled and do as I command.”

  “I had no idea you were such a megalomaniac.”

  Neither did Robin. He thought of Sir Alan as brave and impassioned but with a generous spirit.

  “Not for myself, you ninnyhammer. To better serve the king. How about you, Sir Albert? Reveal or Risk. What's your heart's desire?”

  Sir Albert dragged his oar through the water. “I want … I want, when I walk onto a battlefield, for all to drop their weapons.”

  “They
do that now, you cut-throat. Your reputation precedes you. Everyone knows how deadly is Sir Albert when he's on the attack.”

  “No, I mean, because I would be a bringer of peace. At the mere sight of me, people would be flooded with feelings of fellowship and goodwill. All hostilities would stop.” A dreamy look in his eyes, he caressed the water with his oar.

  That surprised Robin. An unshakable fighter, Sir Albert was usually the first to charge into the fray. He once raced into battle before putting on his helm and had lost part of an earlobe to the slash of an enemy's sword. Robin would never have guessed the war hawk had the soul of a dove.

  “You, Dame Deidre, what would be your heart's desire?”

  “I want arms as strong as tree trunks. Eyes as sharp as an eagle's. An aim as fast and ruthless as a lightning strike. To be a hero, a champion.” She lifted her chin.

  “Plan to take over the world, do you?”

  “Not at all. To better serve my king.”

  “Sir Maxwell? Reveal or Risk.”

  Sir Maxwell straightened his shoulders. “I’ll take the risk.”

  Sir Alan tipped up his face and stroked his chin. He leveled his gaze at Sir Maxwell. “Swim to the shore.”

  “Swim?”

  Robin thought Sir Maxwell paled at the suggestion.

  “Too far for you?” Sir Alan snorted.

  “Not at all.” Sir Maxwell shrugged off his pack. As he launched himself overboard, Dame Deidre shouted, “Take off your padded jack first!”

  The knight plummeted like a stone.

  The troop craned their necks in Sir Maxwell's direction.

  Moments passed in tense silence. When the knight failed to surface, Dame Deidre groaned. “I don't think he can swim.” She shed her pack and dived in after him.

  “Can't swim?” Sir Alan frowned. “We all learned to swim as pages.”

  “Yes, but Sir Maxwell never served as a page. He wasn't a squire for long before he earned his knighthood,” Sir Albert said.

  His face pinched, Sir Alan said, “I never would have dared him to—”

  Dame Deidre and Sir Maxwell broke the surface, Sir Maxwell sputtering and coughing. The troop pulled them back aboard the boat.

  Sir Alan said, “I had no idea you couldn't swim.”

  Shaking the water from his hair and ears, Sir Maxwell waved the apology aside. “I shall learn,” he choked.

  Sir Alan nodded. “I guess your heart's desire was so embarrassing that you wouldn’t share it with us?”

  “No. I am not ashamed of the truth.”

  “Tell then.”

  Sir Maxwell took a breath. “I would like to learn of a potion or an incantation to make a woman yearn for me as I do her.”

  “Ho ho,” chortled Sir Alan. “You randy rogue, you. Don't we all?”

  The young knight's admission startled Robin. More startling was that Sir Maxwell seemed to be looking at Dame Deidre, wringing water from her blond braid. The king suspected that Sir Maxwell would have a better chance of getting Dame Deidre's attention if he challenged her to arm-wrestle.

  “Ah, romance.” Sir Albert chuckled.

  “You don't need a spell for that,” said Sir Alan. “A full purse would win a woman's affection. Much better for you to go for the treasure chest than some enchantment.”

  Dame Deidre snorted. “Not all women are mercenary, Sir Alan. Some want to be noticed and appreciated for their capabilities. To be respected.”

  Sir Alan tucked one arm behind his back and the other across his midriff and cut a bow from where he sat. “My apologies, Dame Deidre. Call me a brutish lout.”

  Dame Deidre snickered and bopped him on the bicep.

  “And you, James?” Sir Albert asked.

  “I like nothing better than probing uncharted territories. I would like eyes that can see behind closed doors. What is on the other side of the next rise? What is beyond the horizon?” He smiled. “Then I could go exploring any time I want and not have to be away from my wife.”

  Robin shuddered. A trove of gold and jewels was understandable but his knights, including the rational James, all sought to be endowed with superhuman powers. Magic. Nothing good came of that.

  He noticed that no one had the temerity to challenge the king to “Reveal or Risk.” His nobility was never in question. However, on the march and on the battlefield, camaraderie tended to promote a degree of informality.

  Had he been pressured, how would he answer? Robin didn't wish for supernatural abilities such as might expand his empire or ease the task of ruling. Had he extraordinary powers he could have changed the weather. He could have prevented the famine and his people would not have suffered. Magic always came at a high price, though. No doubt he would have had to sell his soul to the sorcerer or pledge the lives of his sons.

  His sons. Truth be told, that would be what he would wish for. To have his sons at his side as they had once been, preparing to fulfill their destiny, their duty, and ensure the kingdom’s continuity. Robin's firstborn son's fealty was not to King Bewilliam but a different lord whom Prince Conrad now served as Father Thaddeus. His sibling would eagerly take the throne but not as King Zachary, no. He would rule as Queen Dale.

  Changing any of that called for powerful magic. Could a wizard give Robin his sons back and if so at what cost? Now that would be a Reveal or Risk contest. Truth? The price didn't matter; Robin would pay it.

  They drew close to the beach and the king congratulated himself on his decision to take the ship's boat instead of bringing the Fancy to shore. The landmass boasted a long seabed. The ship would not have been able to near the coast without becoming mired.

  Reaching shallow water, they disembarked. Sir Maxwell grabbed the towline and pulled the vessel with its somber cargo to shore. The knights fanned out, scouting for threats, and reported the beach devoid of life, human or animal.

  Robin released Meeyoo from the sack. Her ears pricked up and whiskers twitching, she sniffed the sand but found sights and scents unfamiliar, and she cleaved to Robin's ankles.

  “Sandy soil. No mountains or hills within sight. Trees, yes, but they're short, shrub-like. I would say we are on the coastal plain of a continent or possibly an island,” James declared.

  “We're not near Sea Gate, are we?”

  “No, the vegetation there is different.”

  “Hewnstone is coastal.”

  “Yes, but Hewnstone is much marshier than this. Its soil has a greater content of clay and shale. The humidity is higher. Here the air is arid. It reminds me of a desert climate.” He pressed his lips together. “Your Majesty, while we are on a coast, I'm afraid we are far from Hewnstone.”

  Robin grunted.

  “We should bury the man farther up the beach,” said Sir Albert. “Otherwise a high tide is likely to disinter him.” He scanned the surroundings. “It would be helpful if there were a tree to secure the boat to. Let's carry the boat inland where it will be less likely to be swept away.”

  The stalwart knights transported vessel and cargo up the gently sloping beach to where grasses and shrubs bearded the sandy landscape.

  “This looks like a good spot,” said Dame Deidre. “From here he can look out on the water or see the wall to the city that was his destination.”

  No one laughed at her fanciful imagining. They found a spot on a slight rise and dug a hole of a depth that neither weather nor animals would disturb its contents. Meeyoo took a cue from the shoveling and pawed at the sand.

  “Meeyoo is helping,” Sir Maxwell said with a laugh.

  The cat scraped away a spot then squatted to relieve herself.

  “Or not,” said Sir Alan.

  They stood alongside the grave.

  “We didn't know him but I feel as though we should say something. To speed him on his way. Wherever he's going,” said Sir Albert.

  Silence ensued as they were lost in thought.

  “Though I should walk in the valley of the shadow of death, no evil would I fear, for You are with me?” Tenta
tively, Sir Alan volunteered the passage from the Bible.

  “Fair winds and following seas,” Robin intoned.

  The others regarded him with puzzled expressions.

  “A sailor's blessing,” he explained, something he picked up during his time on the Orion.

  “Fair winds and following seas,” they chorused then set to covering the grave with foliage.

  “We should conceal the boat too,” Sir Alan proposed.

  “Good idea.”

  “Your Majesty, I wish to remain behind,” said James. “I could guard the boat and examine the geography here. Perhaps I can determine where we are with regard to Hewnstone.”

  “That would be wise. Thank you, James,” Robin said.

  Their business on the beach concluded, they set off toward the distant wall.

  Chapter Three

  While they walked, Robin wondered if Ofan was in truth dead. What if he was an actual wizard, able to manipulate unseen forces? Not that Robin believed such beings existed but for the sake of argument, did wizards die as people do? Or did they dissolve and become part of some mystical miasma?

  Robin's son Conrad—Father Thaddeus—would say that upon death one went to Heaven or Hell. It depended partly on one's good or evil earthly deeds and partly on one's relationship with the divine Lord. Robin didn't give much thought to the afterlife. Death was likely to be painful and to be avoided but after that …?

  Away from the offshore breeze, the air became still. The hem of Robin's cloak brushed the sand. His calves complained that trekking across the loose terrain was harder than treading on the firm ground of the Chalklands but the memory of a barefoot stroll on Sea Gate's beach with its empress, Alexandra, brought a smile.

  Meeyoo was prancing, she was lifting her paws so high. “Is the sand too hot for you?” Robin murmured. He scooped her up and put her in the sack which provoked no protest.

  The top of the wall Robin had spied from the Fancy came into view. He spotted no crenels or towers from which defenders could aim weapons. “We can approach but use caution. If we are fired upon, we defend ourselves and we retreat. We are not here to engage in hostilities.”

  His knights at his side with their weapons close at hand, Robin advanced. At last, they drew sufficiently close to glimpse a settlement hugging the wall’s base. Not unlike the outlying communities formed outside a manor's walls by villeins who served the lord, this one consisted of small wooden houses, cultivated plots, pens and corrals, and a commons surrounding a well and a trough.