Apprentice Swordceror

by Chris Hollaway

  Kevon thought for a moment. “Well,” he decided, “That’s the only thing that’s changed. I can’t return the book now.” His voice grew colder, and he spoke quietly enough that his companions could barely hear. “Maybe, someday, on my terms.”

  The last bits of parchment crumbled to dead ash.

  “I have other things to do, instead.” Kevon reaffirmed, as much for himself as for the others.

  “Such as?” Carlo asked, moving around the corner of the wagon into the firelight.

  “I need to take the sword to someone.” Kevon answered. He flexed the fingers of his left hand and gritted his teeth against the pain.

  “Who?” Marelle put a folding stool down next to Kevon and sat, obviously an indication that she trusted him again.

  “I don’t know.” Kevon confessed with a sigh.

  The others gathered closer.

  Kevon began telling the story of how he came to possess the blade, carefully omitting any mention of magic.

  “He may have stumbled on her cub,” Carlo mused. “She had no quarrel with you.”

  “What were you doing around there anyway?” asked Marelle.

  “It’s the best place to gather herbs in the whole valley. My father took me there when I was younger to gather them to stock mother’s pantry.” Kevon replied, thinking back. “I’ve been going there since I was ten. That Warrior was the first person I’ve ever seen there besides my father in over seven years.” He scratched his head with his good hand. “And I don’t think he was there to pick herbs.”

  “Describe his clothing…” Rhulcan suggested, leaning forward to listen more closely. “Maybe we can figure out what part of the Realm he was from.”

  Kevon thought hard, trying to remember. “Blue tunic, brown trousers,” he finally offered, almost as a question.

  “Red trim, or white?” Carlo asked, suddenly more interested.

  “Red, I think.” Kevon answered.

  Rhulcan looked at Carlo. “East Thaddington?” he asked the mercenary.

  “Most likely.” Carlo nodded. “Those were the local colors the last time I was at that Guildhall.”

  “Now you know where to go after we take care of business in Eastport.” Rhulcan grinned at Kevon. “If you’d let us know sooner, you’d have avoided that most unpleasant injury.”

  “I’m sorry.” Kevon began. “I wasn’t sure who I could trust outside the valley.” After a moment he continued. “Now I’m still not sure who to trust, but I’m fairly certain of you three.”

  Kevon turned to look at Marelle. Tears were beginning to streak down her face. “Marelle, are you all-”

  “I’m sorry I shot you!” she sobbed. “You seemed so… And then you… The sword and…” Barely discernible half sentences were punctuated by hysterical gasps for air.

  Carlo and Rhulcan looked at each other. Carlo rolled his eyes. Rhulcan looked at Kevon, quirked an eyebrow, and shrugged. The Merchant and the mercenary both rose to their feet and walked off to talk about something.

  Marelle ended her apologetic rant on a high note that Kevon thought might have been a question. She wiped her face and sniffed, waiting. Kevon looked her in the eyes for a moment, and shrugged his right shoulder.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay!” Marelle threw her arms around Kevon in a hug that he thought he would have really enjoyed if he was not recovering from a crossbow bolt through the arm.

  “Ow.”

  “I’m sorry!” she cried, untangling herself a bit more carefully. “Are you mad at me?”

  Kevon’s brain hurt. The toughest, smartest, most interesting girl he had ever met had just fallen apart right before his eyes. She’d shot him with a crossbow an hour or two ago, and now she was worried that he was upset with her.

  “Um, no?” Kevon guessed.

  “Good.” Marelle said, composing herself and flashing Kevon a half-smile. “That’s very good.”

  “It’s late.” Rhulcan returned from his chat with Carlo. “We’d better get some sleep so we can get back on the road early. Will you be all right?”

  Kevon removed the makeshift bandage from his arm. There was already a transparent layer of new skin covering the wound. He probed it gently, and found it was not as fragile as it looked, but was still very tender.

  “I don’t know if I’m going to take the other potion or not,” Kevon said, grimacing. “I suppose I can wait until morning and see how it feels.”

  “All right. See you in the morning.” Rhulcan turned to walk to the tent. “Marelle?”

  Marelle, transfixed by the sight of the inner workings of Kevon’s arm in the dying firelight, startled slightly.

  “Coming, Father.” Marelle beamed another smile at Kevon as she got up and refolded her stool. “Good night.”

  Kevon lay down on his side and struggled for quite some time to get comfortable before sleep finally came.

  Chapter 10

  Sunrise saw Kevon’s wound nearly healed. New skin surrounded two small circular puckers that marked the entrance and exit of the bolt shaft. Kevon could use his arm in its usual range of motion, but with some difficulty and quite a bit of pain.

  Not that there was much need to move it this morning.

  Marelle brought him breakfast and teasingly offered to feed him. While he ate, she packed his belongings into his saddlebags and even saddled his mare before eating her own breakfast.

  “What do you want to do with this?” she asked Kevon, bringing him the sword as she finished with everything else.

  Kevon’s bedroll was already neatly fitted behind his saddle. “I was used to carrying it rolled in the blanket. Is there somewhere you can keep it in the wagon?”

  “Sure!” Marelle carried it over and tucked it safely away between some crates near the front of the wagon.

  Carlo loaded half a dozen broken tree limbs into the back of the wagon, much to Rhulcan’s dismay. As soon as the Merchant made sure they were secured so as to not damage his merchandise, the company set off down the road.

  At the midday pause, Carlo rigged a sling to relieve the pressure on Kevon’s arm while they rode.

  Talk on the road was minimal, but Kevon did notice that Marelle seemed to be watching him more, and smiling when he noticed her. He found himself checking to see if he was watching more, as well.

  He recalled the way his heart had sped up the first time he saw her. Granted, there had been other factors that had influenced it right about then; an innkeeper trying to rob him, for one. But there was no denying the attraction had been there. After that, Marelle had been a book. She was filled with new information, and Kevon loved learning new things. He had begun to think of her as a teacher, of sorts.

  Kevon frowned. Teachers, he was learning, were not always what they seemed to be. He surveyed the surrounding landscape to legitimize another glance at Marelle, who pretended not to notice.

  She had worn her hair down today, instead of up in braids as she had done the last few days. She had only gathered it in back with a shiny green ribbon that matched her dress and made her eyes seem brighter than usual.

  Kevon looked away. He had no business even thinking about her that way. Though he was no longer just a poor farm boy, he really had nothing to offer anyone. The small fortune he was going to collect in Eastport was from a wizard who had sent him to his death. The same money evidently belonged to a Wizard that would kill him for it. Kevon would be safe only for as long as those two Wizards did not communicate.

  Kevon tried to remember the exact words of the letter. He wished he had not thrown it into the fire. It had seemed that Holten and Gurlin were in league; with how many others, Kevon could not be sure. It also sounded like they had not been in contact for several years. But with Holten leaving town on Council business, that could change very easily.

  Kevon was not about to drag anyone else into his mess. Even if he was in a position to face down two Master Wizards, he would not want anyone he cared about to be anywhere near when it happened. The best thing to do wou
ld be to run and hide. If he was careful enough, he could change his name and appearance, live out the rest of his life in relative comfort and safety.

  Kevon turned his face away from the wagon to conceal the half-snarl that suddenly contorted his features. Why should I have to hide? The thought came over him suddenly as his face flushed with heat. Who does Holten think he is, sending me off to be killed on a whim?

  The longer Kevon thought about it, the angrier he became. He rode ahead to scout the road and be alone with his thoughts.

  By the time they reached a suitable stopping place, it was all Kevon could do to maintain the illusion of civility. All he could think about was revenge, and none of his ideas seemed even remotely possible.

  Carlo had not been able to bring down any game for dinner. Kevon sat silently, chewing his rations of smoked fish and dried apples with a glazed-over look in his eyes.

  Marelle tried to start up a conversation several times, but Kevon responded with one and two word answers and averted gazes. She retired to the tent before the sun went down.

  Carlo stopped carving the chunk of wood he’d been toying with for a minute to wander over and sit by Kevon. The mercenary sat for a few moments before resuming his whittling.

  Kevon ignored him, wallowing in his inner turmoil.

  “Feels like a knife in your gut,” Carlo rumbled a few minutes later, laying the chunk of wood aside in favor of a whetstone. He started sharpening his dagger.

  Carlo shifted to look Kevon in the eye as the younger man turned a questioning glance in his direction. “Doesn’t it?” he asked, pausing his sharpening.

  Kevon sighed as Carlo continued.

  “Betrayal, I mean.” Carlo spoke, seemingly more to the piece of wood he’d begun to carve once more than to Kevon. “Thinking of ways to get even, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know if I should run or fight.” Kevon admitted with yet another sigh, glad to be able to voice his frustrations at last. “I just don’t know what there is that I could do against two Master Wizards.”

  Carlo broke a small piece of wood off the larger piece he’d been working on and set the larger piece aside. “Nothing, right now,” he said. “You don’t know what to do, because at this moment, there is nothing you can do against them.”

  The mercenary worked the tip of his dagger at the small piece of wood he still held. “Killing wizards is a matter of distance,” he explained after another minute of carving. “At half a mile, a wizard is worth a few units of infantry. At fifty yards, he’s worth about ten men.” Carlo paused to look at Kevon. “At two paces, he’s something soft to stick a sword in.”

  Kevon’s skin crawled at the Warrior’s cold words, but for the first time today, he felt a spark of hope. If a determined Warrior could take down a Wizard, he might be able to hire one to do just that.

  Kevon sighed again. He had no idea where Holten was. And he doubted Gurlin would allow anyone bearing arms into his tower. He could hardly travel around with swordsmen and expect them to be ready to slay a Wizard at a moment’s notice. It just wasn’t practical.

  Carlo sheathed his dagger and gave Kevon a wry smile. “Don’t get discouraged. You’re a bright lad. You’ll find a way to get two paces from a Wizard.” The mercenary pressed the wooden object he’d been working on into Kevon’s hand. “Good night, boy,” he rumbled.

  Kevon glanced down at the item Carlo had given to him. It was shaped like a bell, a short wooden handle flaring out into a round base. He turned it over to examine the underside that Carlo had been paying special attention to. As he turned it over, a smile came to his lips and the hope he’d felt earlier returned once again.

  The bottom was a hollowed out image, the sun and three stars separated by a simple staff. It was a reproduction of the signet seal that Holten had put on the letter to Gurlin.

  Chapter 11

  The next few days were dull. Kevon did not know how the Merchants could stand it year after year. He had always imagined travel was an adventure, that life on the road would be exciting. Kevon’s days were filled with plotting and scheming. He tried for two days to remember the exact contents of the letter he’d burned, finally begging some writing supplies from the Merchants to write down what he remembered. He spent hours wondering what he could write to get himself close enough to Gurlin with a sword that he could take his revenge.

  Then Kevon decided he wanted more. He wanted to know what Holten and Gurlin were up to, and he wanted to ruin their plans. If he was careful, Kevon might learn enough to turn the tables on Holten before he killed Gurlin.

  Kevon considered several things that he thought might work, and practiced writing them in Holten’s hand. Once he felt confident enough that at least one of them might work, he packed his notes away with the improvised signet stamp until he could obtain the proper parchment, ink, and wax to complete the forgery.

  The next evening saw the group in to the town of Elburg. It was a comforting sight to Kevon. The small town had a feel that reminded him of home.

  Rhulcan’s business was with the town’s mayor. This elderly gentleman lived in what served as a substitute for the town’s inn. It was a large house with several guest rooms, a large kitchen, and an elongated common room with a small library at one end.

  Rhulcan had explained earlier that the mayor had been selected for a life term, and the Merchant confessed he did not know the man’s name. He had only ever heard the man referred to as ‘mayor’ and occasionally ‘good sir’ by some of the younger townsfolk and other visitors.

  As soon as Rhulcan and the mayor concluded their trade with the carved wooden figures that were the older man’s main hobby, preparations for dinner began.

  Everyone pitched in. Carlo set himself to cutting the half-dozen field dressed rabbits he had killed earlier into chunks suitable for stew. A large copper pot was set on the cook-stove to boil, and Kevon and Marelle went out to the garden to gather vegetables.

  The garden was the most spectacular Kevon had ever seen. Cobblestone paths curlicued throughout it, bordered by polished white stones that also divided the plots and rows from one vegetable to the next. Shade trees loomed over carved wooden benches, and the paths and plots whorled around them with a grace that even Kevon’s unschooled eye could appreciate.

  While he gathered vegetables, Kevon watched the mayor.

  The elderly man, though slowed by his years, was extremely good at what he did. With an age-polished wooden mallet and a handful of chisels and other tools, he finished the detail on the head of an animal that he was working on. Kevon was amazed at how even the grain of the wood seemed to complement the features and markings of the horse-like ‘zebra’.

  In the center of the garden was the piece that Kevon found most interesting. A large misshapen rock nearly the height of a man and not quite as broad stood in a marked out circle surrounded by the cobblestone path. Chiseled out in breathtaking detail was most of a face. It appeared to be that of an elderly woman, and it looked through the mayor’s house toward the center of town. Kevon was unsure if other parts of the rock had been chiseled or were the results of natural wear, it seemed as if he could catch a glimpse of an arm or a leg for a second before it seemed to vanish, perhaps a trick of the light. When Kevon asked about it, the mayor smiled and told him the statue was the ‘Lady of the Mountain’.

  Kevon and his companions spent the time the food was cooking taking turns bathing, a welcome change from the last few days. Kevon, the last one in a bath, spent a little extra time soaking the tension out of his newly healed arm.

  By the time Kevon emerged refreshed, redressed, and somewhat lightheaded from the long soak, the others were already eating. Some of the townsfolk had brought breads and different roasted meats and vegetable dishes. Rhulcan had offered up a cask of mulled cider; it was as grand an occasion as any Feastday Kevon had ever attended. The mayor and some of the smaller children had eaten first and were now gathered on the library end of the common room, youngsters circled around the grandfatherl
y figure who was reading in an animated fashion. Some of the village folk had gathered to eat with Rhulcan, Carlo, and Marelle, who called out to Kevon as soon as he ventured into view.

  Kevon walked over and accepted an offered chair between Carlo and Marelle. Someone passed him a steaming bowl of stew and a wooden spoon. A village girl about Kevon’s age flashed him a smile and handed him a mug of warm cider.

  Kevon was surprised to find that most of the older generation here were formerly farmers of Kron. The mayor himself had been in Kron for nearly twice as long as Kevon had been alive. The farmer folk had either tired of the life or decided they were wealthy enough to give it up and live elsewhere. This spot was the perfect place for that, quiet but still within easy travel of the main trade route between Kron and Eastport. The residents could acquire most of the things they needed from passing trade caravans.

  The gathering wore on long past sundown. The people here had only small gardens to tend; their major endeavors were sport or hobby. Guests and entertaining were always first priority here, it seemed.

  Marelle spent the latter part of the evening conversing with twin boys about her age. The pair claimed to be the town’s primary hunters. They regaled the group with stories of their latest and greatest triumphs in the field.

  Kevon watched as a small boy who seemed not to be interested in the story the mayor was reading pulled a another book off a low shelf, lugged it over, and asked if he would read it to him. Glad of an excuse to be away from the boasting brothers, Kevon excused himself and went over to a comfier chair nearer some candles.

  The book was a translated collection of Elven lore, mostly short stories suitable to read to children. Kevon read three stories before the boy fell asleep, nearly falling from his perch on the chair’s cushioned arm into Kevon’s lap. One of the boy’s older brothers came and took him, thanking Kevon and leaving for home.

  Kevon, fascinated by the book, and especially the story he had just begun reading, continued on. This story, like two of the previous tales, made mention of the Elven goddess M’lani. This one, however, instead of being a lighthearted parable, read more like a historical account. It told of how the Elves had lived for what seemed an eternity in a bright land filled with many beautiful creatures. Unicorns, faeries, and spirits that were the essence of light itself moved among the Elves and discord was unknown to them. They sang and danced and M’lani walked among them frequently, giving gifts and bathing in the adoration of her favorite subjects. There were times when M’lani was gone for long periods of time, but there was always great rejoicing upon her return.