Magic Astray (The Llandra Saga)

by Gregory Mahan

  “Oh,” Randall said, silently mouthing the word as she had spoken it. “I understand, I think. You build everything you need the spell to do into the intonation of the word itself, right?”

  “That’s how spoken magic works,” Kirsti said. “It’s why it’s so difficult to learn. Any apprentice could learn a few dozen spells in a couple of years’ time, but learning the language of magic is what makes it useful. Now do it again,” she said, blowing out the candle between them.

  “Arkala,” Randall spoke, unconsciously mimicking the intonation she had used when casting spell. As the flame shot forth, Randall noticed that he didn’t have to wrestle with the magic to do his bidding at all. The flame simply appeared, exactly as he described it, taking exactly as much magic as necessary to work.

  “That’s terrific,” he exclaimed, a broad smile across his face, and puffing up his chest proudly.

  “Don’t do it the way I did it,” she said impatiently. “Do it the way you did it before.”

  “Oh,” Randall said, deflating. Without waiting for Kristi to blow out the candle flame again, he spoke the spell. “Fire,” he said in the demonic language. He spoke no overtones, and added no implied meanings. All he said was “fire.” As the power spooled out of him, he grabbed ahold of it with his mind and clamped down on the magic weaving into the spell, willing it to be smaller. As before, a tiny jet of flame shot forth.

  “What are you?” Kirsti asked, looking at him with awe. Randall had no answer for her.

  * * *

  Randall and Kirsti spent the entire day in the courtyard, performing magic. He even showed her how he could call forth the lightning, though he only performed that spell once due to the strain it put on his voice. Part of him was elated that she showed so much interest and so much awe at what he could do, but another part of him was surprisingly bitter.

  I feel like a performing monkey, he thought to himself after demonstrating the shield spell for what seemed like the hundredth time. No matter how many times he showed it to her, she never seemed to be able to grasp the basics of the spell.

  The infantrymen and even the guard at the gate cleared the yard as the Mages worked. Even with the Mage Council now in charge of Tallia, they seemed extremely uncomfortable around the open working of magic. Nia, on the other hand, chose to watch the two Mages as they went through their paces, though she looked annoyed and bored. Berry seemed to be the only other participant enjoying the show, sitting at Nia’s side, chittering excitedly and cheering them on.

  Kirsti was eager to show off some of her own prowess as well. It almost seemed like she were competing with Randall to prove that she was the better Mage. She clearly had years more training than he did, but Randall got the impression that she was intimidated by him just the same. He felt it would be wise not to let her know that he could probably mimic all the spells she had shown him. He had learned the hard way that jealousy could turn even a close friend into an enemy, and she was not a close friend.

  Randall paid exceptionally close attention as Kirsti showed off. It was obvious that her training had focused on fighting and warfare, as all the spells she demonstrated were designed to kill or maim groups of people at one casting.

  He especially liked the spell that called forth roots and tangle-vines from the earth. Kirsti cast the spell in such a way that the vegetation would grapple and crush any enemies to death, but Randall was sure that he would be able to manage a less lethal version of the spell.

  She even knew the lightning spell, but when she cast it, she changed the wording so that the electricity arced between several wooden posts set up as training dummies, setting them all aflame. That variation would have come in handy when he was facing Aiden and his retinue.

  By the time they were finished, they were both exhausted and sweating. Randall was certain that he had gleaned the knowledge of several new spells from the exercise, and Kirsti vowed to keep practicing the shield spell until she could replicate it.

  At the evening meal, they continued to talk theory until long after the other officers retired for the evening. Nia sat quietly at the table, looking annoyed, but by the time Randall had downed his third flagon of ale, he had forgotten that he was going to ask what was bothering her.

  “Well, it is getting late,” Kirsti announced after a couple of more rounds. “I’m afraid that I’m not feeling very steady on my feet. Would you mind escorting me to my room, Randall?

  “Uh, sure,” Randall answered. “But I don’t think I’m too steady on my feet either.”

  “Well, then we’ll hold each other up as we go,” she said with a giggle. “Can you make your way back to your bunk, Nia?” she asked the seated elf.

  “Certainly,” she replied curtly through thin lips.

  “Hey, are you all right?” Randall asked. Something about the way she crossed her arms gave him the impression that she was angry, though he couldn’t figure out what might have set her off.

  “I am fine,” she said shortly, gathering Berry up in her arms and making her way to the door. “Go and have fun. I will see you in the morning.”

  Have fun? Randall thought. I have no idea what she’s talking about. Twenty minutes later, alone in the Field Mage’s quarters, the elf’s meaning became crystal clear.

  The next morning, Randall woke in his bunk amid a sea of conflicting feelings. He wasn’t in love with Kirsti, and he felt ashamed at how he took advantage of her with her defenses lowered by alcohol. But another part of his mind felt a growing fondness for the Field Mage, and he really enjoyed the time they had spent together in her room. He really didn’t want to marry her, even though it would be the right thing to do. He didn’t even know if she could keep her position if she got married anyway.

  He made his way to the officers’ mess, though he knew it was too early for the morning meal. He hoped the walk would clear his mind, but he arrived just as confused and torn as he had been when he first awoke. When he saw Kirsti sitting at the table reading a sheaf of papers with a steaming mug of coffee in her hand, he froze in his tracks. She looked up and smiled right when he was trying to decide if he could turn and run without her noticing.

  “Good morning,” she said warmly.

  “Uh, hi,” he replied clumsily, entering the room. He hovered at the edge of the table, trying to figure out if he should go around it and kiss her or not.

  “Sit down, Randall,” she said gently. She smiled again as he sighed in relief and took a seat opposite to her. “I wanted to apologize. I didn’t know it was your first time, and I feel a little guilty for taking advantage of you.”

  Randall barked a laugh that was a little too loud and a little too forced. “I thought I was taking advantage of you! Wait. How did you know it was my first time?”

  This time it was Kirsti’s turn to laugh. Randall found himself remembering the easy way she smiled and laughed as the two of them frolicked the night before, and he fought down the wave of lust that threatened to overcome him. It felt strange seeing her so cool and collected when he had all these conflicting emotions surging up within him.

  “Even if you hadn’t told me, which you did, I think I would have figured it out,” she said.

  “Oh. Was I not any good?” he asked nervously.

  She laughed again. “Honestly, you weren’t the best lover I’ve ever had, it’s true.” His heart sank at the words. “But I was extremely pleased by your enthusiasm,” she finished with a wink, causing him to blush from his ears to his toes.

  “Since it was your first time, I want to be clear,” she said, growing serious. “You aren’t my first lover. You won’t be my last. I expected you would be gone in a few days, nothing more than a fond memory.”

  Part of him felt extremely relieved to hear those words, but they stung just the same. There was a part of him that felt used, and a part of him that felt unworthy—like he was good enough to lie with, but not good enough to be something more.

  She reached across the table to take his hand. “I like you, Ra
ndall. Truly I do. And I will always treasure the gift you gave to me last night. I hope after you’ve left here to continue your journey, you can look back on that night and feel the same.”

  He looked up at her and put on a smile. “All right,” he said. He knew she was right, and he shouldn’t be taking it so seriously, but it felt like a rejection just the same.

  “Good,” she said, smiling and patting his hand. “Unfortunately, I have to finish going over the garrison readiness reports. If you want coffee, I can have a mug brought to your quarters.” It was clearly a dismissal.

  “No thanks,” he said, pushing his chair back and standing. “I don’t really drink the stuff myself.”

  “Probably for the best,” she said with a smile before turning her attention back to her papers. “Once you start drinking it, you’ll never have a decent morning without it again.”

  Randall stood a moment longer, struggling to find something to say. He wanted to tell her how much he had enjoyed the previous evening, and how he was glad to have found someone he could talk about magic with that felt like a friend and equal. He wanted to tell her how much he would miss her when he left, or how beautiful she looked in the candlelight, when she was more of a woman than a soldier. But the words died on his tongue. Anything he said would sound awkward and juvenile, so instead, he nodded, turned on his heels, and left.

  Chapter 14

  Randall spent the bulk of the morning alone in his room. He wanted to seek out Nia and Berry and apologize for the way he had ignored them all during the previous evening. Nia had seemed annoyed at his behavior all throughout the evening meal, and he didn’t blame her. He had been acting selfishly, and he knew that he had disappointed her, but he wasn’t ready to face the look of reproach that he knew would be in her eyes.

  “Coward,” he said to himself.

  He tried to take his mind off it by going over the few spells he had managed to glean from yesterday’s exercises with Kirsti. But every time he tried, all he could think about was the way her breeches fit around her hips and rear end. Blowing out an exasperated sigh, he dug through his belongings, and pulled out the broken talisman.

  He had carried the talisman under his tunic for so long, but he had never really looked very closely at it. When he had first laid eyes on it, the symbols had seemed so familiar somehow, and looking at it now brought back those same feelings of recognition. His eyes slid over the hundreds of tiny carvings, tasting each one briefly in his mind before moving on to the next. Each new symbol felt like it should mean something, but the meaning was just out of reach, like a word on the tip of his tongue.

  He scanned dozens of runes, growing more frustrated with his lack of progress with each new symbol. Spoken magic came so easily to him, why did runic magic have to be so hard? And then his eyes settled on a rune, and its meaning burst into his mind like a ray of sunlight on a cloudy day. It appeared to be the elven rune for “body”. Of course, the meaning was far more subtle than that, but it was close enough for Randall’s purposes.

  Hardly believing his luck, he began scanning the remaining symbols more quickly. Seconds later, he found another rune that jumped out at him. It was a bindrune that seemed to indicate some kind of strengthening quality. Buzzing with excitement, he jumped out of bed and ran into the hallway.

  “I need a quill, or some charcoal, anything to write with,” he said breathlessly to the first soldier he ran across. “I need it right away.”

  He barely heard the man’s “yes sir!” before sprinting back to his room to continue his examination of the talisman. By the time he heard the approaching soldier outside of his door, he was certain he had identified all the important runes on the two halves of the artifact, including the all-important healing rune. Randall caught a snatch of conversation as he approached the door.

  “...I don’t know what he wants with them. He just said it was important.” The soldier he sent running sounded indignant.

  “The love-struck whelp probably wants to write a sonnet to the commander,” came the sniggering reply.

  Randall felt a flash of anger, but he was too distracted by his discovery to let it give him more than a momentary pause. He jerked open the door and snatched a quill and inkwell from the guard’s hands. He slammed the door in their faces before they had a chance to say a word.

  Rummaging in his travel sack, he pulled out the old journal that Erliand had given for keeping a record of his studies. He hadn’t used it all since Erliand died, but he had kept it out of a sense of respect for the old Mage. He flipped to the last page, and using his dagger, carefully cut the blank sheet of parchment from the book.

  Returning to the talisman, Randall carefully transcribed the dozen runes he had identified during his previous examination. Looking carefully at the line of runes, he noticed that some of the runes had contradictory meanings and would probably cancel each other out. Other runes were different ways of expressing the same concept. He began marking through runes on his parchment that he felt were unnecessary or muddled the meaning of the magical phrase. By the time he was finished, he was left with three primary runes.

  “That’s it?” he asked himself. It seemed too simple. Master Erliand had said that he had spent years working out the formula for the talisman. But most of the work must have been in finding working null-power bindrunes to camouflage the true symbols, and of those that he found, many were simply not necessary as far as he could tell.

  “Well, the proof’s in the pudding,” he said, unconsciously mimicking Erliand’s own words during the early part of Randall’s training.

  He spent a few moments composing a triangular shaped design that would allow all three runes to be connected to each other, and spent several long minutes carefully scribing them into place. Afterward, he took a deep breath in anticipation and opened himself to Llandra. As the magic flowed into him, he pushed it downward and into his creation.

  Nothing happened. Not that he was surprised; he never had been very good at runes. He blew out the air he had been holding, and ran his fingers through his hair. He was certain that the three-rune configuration was correct. There must be something wrong with his transcription.

  Moving to a blank spot on the parchment, he tried again. And again, when that one failed. And again after that. This was the part of runic magic that aggravated him the most. He could draw what appeared to be perfect symbols to his eye, and they wouldn’t take a charge. Or sometimes they would. He never could figure out exactly why the magic worked for him sometimes, and completely failed at others. He ran his fingers through his hair again, and prepared himself for a long morning.

  Two hours later, and the parchment was covered in dozens of representations of his three-rune design. As blank areas on the page grew scarce, Randall had taken to drawing the runes smaller and smaller to make them fit in the available space.

  “I’ll give it one more try,” he said to himself. “And when this one doesn’t work, I’ll take a break and grab some breakfast.”

  Putting his face close to the page, he quickly sketched out the three runes. His heart really wasn’t in the effort; what he really wanted more than anything at this point was some eggs cooked nice and runny and laid across a couple of fat slices of toast.

  “Here goes nothing,” he sighed and tried to charge the symbols.

  Almost immediately, Randall felt a tug in his solar-plexus while at the same time the parchment flared up in flash of fire that lasted only a fraction of a second before exploding outward in a cloud of soot with a soft ‘pop’.

  Coughing and waving his hand in front of his face, Randall couldn’t help but grin from ear-to-ear. “Well, I guess I know why the old codger used hematite,” he giggled to the empty room. Parchment was just too weak of a medium for such a powerful talisman.

  He felt great, and it wasn’t just the giddiness of having been right. He pulled up his shirt and looked down at his stiches. The cut had healed almost completely, and the wound on his leg had taken on the appearance of
an old battle scar. Whooping with excitement, he bounded up from the floor and rushed out of the room and down the hall toward the officer’s mess.

  He was just in time for breakfast, and Kirsti was still in the room, eating with the other officers. He glanced around the room, but there was no sign of Nia or Berry. Kirsti looked up at him as he rushed into the room.

  “You have ink on your face,” she said coolly, as if nothing at all had happened between them.

  “Where’s Nia?” he asked, ignoring the gibe.

  “She is outside the walls, training with her pet cat,” Kirsti answered nonchalantly, as if she cared little for the comings and goings of his companions. “I get the impression that she doesn’t like to be cooped up indoors.”

  Randall hesitated. A plan had formed in his mind, but he wasn’t sure of the most diplomatic way to ask for what he wanted. Ultimately, he decided to just come out and ask for it bluntly.

  “Kirsti, you’ve been a very gracious host, and you do not owe me anything,” he started and the corners of her lips curled up in a wry smile as if she knew what was coming next.

  “But, I need a favor,” he continued, keeping his expression cool and aloof. “I need some small bits of steel. Square, about an inch on a side, and maybe a quarter-inch thick. Do you think your blacksmith can make me a bunch of those? I might need fifty or a hundred. This afternoon if possible.”

  Kirsti’s smirk turned into a frown and her eyebrows crinkled in confusion. This time, it was Randall’s turn to smile. As if I’d stoop to begging for another night with her, he thought bitterly.