Eynon pressed on. “Is it the same wizard’s summer residence? I can’t see why anyone would want to live here in the winter, it’s so cold.”
“Perhaps you should wait to form conclusions until you have more information,” said Damon over his shoulder. He now sounded more amused than displeased. “I’m sure the Master will allow me to tell you something.”
“The Master?” asked Eynon.
“The Master Mage,” said Damon. “That is why you’re here, isn’t it? To learn wizardry?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I expect I am here to learn to be a wizard.” Eynon hadn’t realized just how much he wanted to to learn wizardry until that second.
“The Master knows what it takes to train strong wizards,” said Damon, pausing to allow Eynon time to catch up. “There’s not a better place to learn wizardry in all the world than here.”
They continued on together. Damon took small steps and led them to a narrow path where the snow wasn’t very deep, as if most of it had melted away.
“That sounds wonderful, sir,” said Eynon, glad to be out of the knee-deep snow. “I want to learn.”
“Good,” said Damon. “Like you, I am also a student of wizardry.”
“But you’re so…” began Eynon.
“Old?” asked Damon. Then he laughed, sending clouds of crystals into the air around his head. “Not everyone comes to wizardry when they’re young. I started late. I’ve been studying for many years and still have much to learn. Part of my training is teaching new apprentices.”
Eynon wondered how long Damon had been studying. He didn’t want to be an apprentice for twenty years. And he needed to find Merry.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Eynon, trying to think about something less troubling than spending more years than he’d already been alive learning wizardry. “Where are we?”
“You’re in Melyncárreg,” said Damon. “That’s the name for the land hereabouts, not the Master’s castle. We call that the Academy, and the trees around it are the groves of Academe.”
“But the groves are across the Ocean in Athica, where wizardry started,” blurted Eynon. “I read about them in Robin Oddfellow’s Peregrinations.”
“You’re already a student, I see,” said Damon, nodding. “That’s very good. The Master named his school in honor of the one founded by the Most Ancient Masters.”
“Oh,” said Eynon.
He swiveled his head as they walked.
“Everywhere I look I see smoke rising,” said Eynon. “Are there lots of settlements in the area?”
Damon smiled.
“No,” he said. “Those aren’t hearth fires, they’re cuddio tân, the hidden fires from deep in the earth, escaping to the surface wherever they can. There’s a great fiery cauldron below the ground we stand on.”
“Is that why the snow isn’t as thick along this path?” asked Eynon.
“Excellent,” said Damon. “You’ve got the beginning of wisdom already and know the importance of studying books and your surroundings. I think the Master will find you an acceptable candidate.”
Damon’s words were disconcerting. Eynon didn’t know what was involved in being chosen as a wizard’s apprentice. Merry had already been selected as one by Doethan, but things could be a lot different here in Melyncárreg. Then he realized Damon hadn’t answered his question.
“Are the cuddio tân the reason why the snow isn’t as thick along this path?”
Their guide laughed again, loud enough for his voice to echo back to them.
“The Master likes his apprentices to be stubborn,” he said. “It’s a prerequisite for learning wizardry.”
“Sir,” said Eynon, trying once again to get an answer. “Are the cuddio tân the reason why the snow isn’t as thick along this path and why it smells like rotten eggs here?”
“Yes, and yes,” said Damon with a grin.
“I thought so,” said Eynon. “There’s a vent in the ground near Wherrel, a village near a quarry back where I’m from, and it smells like that sometimes.”
“Is there now?” asked Damon, rubbing his chin. “It smells of sulphur all the time here, except when the wind is strong. You’ll get used to it.”
Eynon thought it would take him a long time to ignore the smell, but he didn’t comment. Damon looked like he’d been in Melyncárreg for decades.
“Are there many students here?” he asked. He was taking in the size of the Academy—it seemed large enough to house an army.
“No,” said Damon. “They’ve all gone east to Brendinas to answer the king’s summons, except for Nûd, of course.”
“Nûd?” asked Eynon.
“The Master’s assistant,” said Damon. “He sees to the Master’s wishes and keeps things running smoothly.”
“I’m sure it will be a pleasure to meet him,” said Eynon.
“Once you have, you may be less sure,” said Damon.
Eynon shook his head from side to side. Everything was strange in Melyncárreg. As they continued to walk toward the castle the sound of wind through leaves grew louder. Eynon finally identified it.
Idiot, thought Eynon. It’s not rustling leaves—it’s running water.
“Is there a river nearby?” he asked.
“There is,” said Damon. “You’ll spot it soon enough.”
The rushing water sound intensified until it was even louder than the Rhuthro speeding through the Gap. Before them, the ground became more open and sloped up toward the castle. Eynon focused his attention on where he placed his feet and increased his pace.
“Not so fast,” said Damon.
He held Eynon back with his walking stick—then he used the stick to point ahead. Eynon gasped when he saw why. A deep valley, a chasm, really, was directly ahead. Its walls were bright yellow in the sunlight, daubed with shades of red and pink and blue and orange.
Guided by the sound of rushing water, Eynon turned to the left. A broad waterfall, taller than the baron’s keep in Caercadel, splashed down with a roar into a fast-flowing white river. Collections of polychromatic water droplets danced like steam above it.
Eynon’s eyes went wide as they tried to take in everything at once, moving from the waterfall to the river to the spectacular colors of the cliffs across from him.
“It’s magnificent,” he said, finally finding his voice.
Damon was chuckling.
“It is at that, isn’t it, lad,” said the older man with a hint of a grin. “I always like to bring newcomers this way. Be thankful it’s still winter. In the summer, you’d have flies buzzing around in your open mouth.”
“Thank you,” said Eynon.
“You’re welcome,” said Damon. “I had the same reaction the first time I stood on this spot.” He started to walk northeast, toward the castle. “Come along now—there are more impressive things to see ahead. Melyncárreg is full of wonders and I don’t want you to freeze to death.”
“Yes, sir,” said Eynon.
He reluctantly left the lovely scene and followed Damon along a snow-free path that led along the high cliffs on this side of the river. Soon, they were directly opposite the castle. Its gray stone walls were a marked contrast to the yellow cliffs of the river valley marked with splashes of bright colors. Ahead of them was a rope bridge wide enough for a wagon to cross. It was firmly anchored to both cliffs and had a gentle curve in the center as it dipped into the valley.
To the right, Eynon could hear more rushing water. Clouds sparkled on the river’s surface, with the sunlight creating dozens of small, shifting rainbows around them.
“Is there another waterfall in that direction?” Eynon asked.
“There is,” said Damon. “It’s even taller.”
“Can we see it?” he asked.
“All
in good time,” said Damon. “Now we need to get you warm.”
Chee stuck his head out of Eynon’s jacket and chirped at Damon.
“Both of you,” said Damon in a teasing voice.
The shock of everything that had happened was beginning to wear off and Eynon was feeling the cold. A warm fire and a hot drink—or a meal—would be welcome. From the angle of the sun, it seemed earlier here than when he and Merry had entered the Blue Spiral Tower on the Rhuthro. He was hungry again, even though he could tell it was still just an hour or so past sunrise here.
“Are we near the Rhuthro valley?” asked Eynon as they crossed the rope bridge. Walking across it felt a little like riding in a coracle.
“There’s near and there’s near,” said Damon. “We’re closer to the Rhuthro valley than we are to the stars, but farther than Tyford to Brendinas.”
“You could just say, ‘I don’t want to tell you,’” said Eynon.
“There’s nothing enigmatic about that,” said Damon. “Pay attention and we’ll have you talking like a wizard in short order.”
“Perhaps,” said Eynon.
“See?” said Damon. “You’ve already started.”
Two hundred yards ahead and up a gentle slope, a three-story portcullis guarded the main entrance to the castle. It was shut and packed snow reached up to the lower crossbars. It didn’t look like the gate had been used recently.
The older man put his arm around Eynon’s shoulder and walked him around to a stout wooden door in the castle’s wall sixty paces to the left, well back from the portcullis. Damon banged a series of sharp knocks on the door with his walking stick.
“Open up, Nûd, you slug-a-bed,” he shouted. “We have a new one for the Master to train.”
Damon rapped again and soon the heavy thick door began to open.
“It’s too cold to move fast this morning,” said a voice like rusty iron hinges from the other side of the door. “I was drinking mulled wine by the side of the fire and I had to put my boots on.”
“The Master doesn’t pay you to sit and drink,” said Damon. “He pays you to work.”
“He pays me, but there isn’t a tavern or market within two thousand miles to spend my wages in,” grumbled the voice, which must belong to Nûd, Eynon supposed.
The door continued to open with the speed of pouring honey in midwinter.
From the sound of Nûd’s voice, Eynon expected him to be a short, wizened old man with a face like a gnarled tree root.
Instead, Nûd was young, not more than five years older than Eynon. He was a giant, a head taller than Eynon with shoulders broad enough to nearly fill the doorway. Nûd was wearing a white canvas apron over a saffron-colored linen shirt and blue-plaid braies. His dark hair and most of the front of his body were dusted with flour.
“Come in, come in,” said Nûd once he’d spotted Eynon. “Don’t let the heat escape. I’ve made ale-cakes and they should be coming out of the oven in a few minutes. You have time to wash up before breakfast.”
Eynon was taken aback by Nûd’s size and manner. His friendly words contrasted with his raspy voice, but Eynon finally remembered his manners.
“I’m Eynon of Haywall, from the Coombe,” he said with a small bow. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“As Damon must have told you, I’m Nûd,” said the giant.
“Don’t thank him for his hospitality until you’ve tasted his ale-cakes,” said Damon.
“I’m sure the fire will be warm, no matter how Nûd cooks,” said Eynon.
“An astute observation,” said Nûd. “And a diplomatic one. Pay no attention to Damon. He’s been here for years and still has a lot to learn.”
“The Master will deal with you later,” said Damon, smiling. “Come along,” he said to Eynon. “I’ll show you where to wash.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Eynon as he followed the older man inside the castle. Damon took off his oversized shoes for walking on snow and leaned them against a wall. Then he took off his fur coat, revealing a stained and worn dark blue tunic underneath. He hung his coat on a nearby peg and led Eynon down a flight of stone stairs into what was obviously a well-outfitted kitchen.
“He’s polite,” said Nûd, mostly to himself as he rubbed flour off his chin, then shoved the oak door closed. “I wonder how long that will last?”
Eynon was wondering why it was time for breakfast in Melyncárreg, when it was almost time for lunch back in the Rhuthro valley. He didn’t really know where he was or how he could get back to Merry. Then he realized it might make more sense to figure out how to help Merry come here, since that had seemed to be the intent of Doethan’s instructions.
He inhaled. A somewhat-off smell of baking ale-cakes struck his nostrils despite the omnipresent odor of rotten eggs in the air. He was warming up in the hot kitchen, thanks to the fire cheerfully burning in the room’s large hearth. Breakfast would do as well as lunch to fill his stomach.
Chee made his way to his usual perch on Eynon’s shoulder. The little raconette seemed entranced by the smell of ale-cakes and the prospect of hot food. Chee emitted soft chi-chi-chi-chee noises while he sat on the edge of a soapstone sink and washed his hands alongside Eynon and Damon.
Warm and clean, Eynon sat on one side of a long trestle table across from Damon. His pack was on the stone floor between his feet and his staff was leaning against a nearby wall. Nûd sat on an extra-sturdy bench at the end. He’d delivered a pan of hot ale-cakes that joined a small crock of butter and a tub of some kind of blue fruit preserves in front of Eynon and Damon. Links of odd-looking sausage sizzled on a metal platter and polished hardwood plates were in front of each man. Pewter mugs held what smelled like cider. A small saucer was placed next to Eynon’s plate for Chee.
“Let’s eat,” said Nûd.
He offered a two-tined fork to Eynon. Then he held a similar fork in one hand and his eating knife in the other.
Eynon removed his own eating knife and picked up the offered fork to emulate Nûd.
“I’m sure it will all be delicious,” said Eynon.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” said Damon.
Chapter 14
“Surely, I said, knowledge is the food of the soul.”
— Plato
Eynon loved to make ale-cakes. They were simple to prepare, with only four ingredients: flour, some sort of fat—like lard, tallow, bacon grease, or butter—salt, and ale-barm to make them rise.
Good ale-cakes were round, the diameter of a beer mug, and as thick as two fingers, with golden brown tops. These were ragged rectangles the size of Eynon’s palm and over five fingers thick. Their burnt tops made them look more like bricks of charcoal than ale-cakes.
Eynon scraped most of the char off an ale-cake, then split it and buttered the remains of the upper half. He put some of the blue preserves on the lower half and speared a sausage with his knife. With feigned enthusiasm, he tasted the buttered portion. It was terrible—like rotten-egg-flavored sawdust. Damon had been right. Eynon shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. He tried his best to chew and swallow without revealing his distaste, but wasn’t successful.
“I told you,” said Damon.
The older man stuffed a large piece of ale-cake in his mouth and swallowed without chewing.
“It’s easier to eat if you don’t leave it in your mouth very long,” he said.
Eynon grimaced and Nûd shook his head sadly.
“I try to make everything at least palatable,” said the huge young man, “but never seem to manage.”
Chee hopped down from Eynon’s shoulder, sat in front of the small plate, and waited while Eynon broke off bits of ale-cake and an inch-long slice of sausage. Nûd produced a child-sized clay cup and filled it with cider for the raconette. As it turned out, Nûd needn’t have bothered. The ani
mal sniffed at the food and the cider and turned up his nose. Chee jumped from the table, exploring the kitchen in search of something more edible.
“There’s a bowl of apples in the pantry,” said Nûd, pointing toward an open door. “You can have one.”
The raconette eagerly ran to the place Nûd had indicated.
It was time for Eynon to try another taste. With a resolute expression, Eynon bit off a piece of ale-cake coated in blue preserves. He nearly spit it out, it was so bad. The blue preserves had an astringent taste combining sour cherries, hot peppers, and alum. He closed his eyes and swallowed, following Damon’s example. It helped, a little. Eynon took a gulp of cider to wash it down. Unfortunately, the liquid was just this side of vinegar. It didn’t help counteract the taste of the ale-cake or the preserves. His face showed his reaction.
Nûd and Damon nodded sympathetically.
“Sorry,” said Nûd. “The sulphur in the air and water affects how everything tastes.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do to make it better?” asked Eynon. “Couldn’t you use magic or something?”
“A trained wizard could bring in dishes from the finest inns in Brendinas,” said Nûd, “but the Master seems to think eating my food teaches apprentices self-control.”
“The Master can think again as far as I’m concerned,” said Eynon.
Damon snorted and went back to eating mechanically. Nûd shrugged his massive shoulders and turned up his open palms in a what can I do about it expression.
“I’m going to cook my own meals, if you don’t mind,” Eynon continued.
“Please do,” said Nûd. “You can cook for all of us.”
The Congruent Apprentice (The Congruent Mage Series Book 1) Page 17
