Apprentice Swordceror

by Chris Hollaway

  I’ll have to make more of those, Kevon thought absently as he slumped back onto the bed, still not fully awake. Sighing, he sat back up and shook his head furiously to try and clear the cobwebs from his foggy mind. Several splashes of cold water from the washbasin helped, but Kevon still yawned as he emerged from his room dressed and ready for the day.

  As Kevon exited the central tower, he saw the kitchen staff milling in across the drawbridge. When one of them waved at him, Kevon was shocked to see Waine, in unfamiliar garb, and weaponless, among them.

  “How are you this morning, Willem?” Kevon asked, walking parallel to the stream of workers heading toward the dining hall.

  “Just fine, Kalron,” Waine answered, sidling to the outside. “They needed some extra help in the kitchen today, so I volunteered. Maybe we can talk later.” Waine was swept into the building with the rest of the crew, leaving Kevon standing by the doors watching the rest of the locals filter in after.

  When the last of the workers had made it into the mess hall and the door closed, Kevon was left alone in the courtyard. The sky was beginning to brighten, but no light yet shone even on the upper battlements. He stood a few minutes, thinking about breakfast that would not be ready for some time, and wondering what the other Magi were doing.

  Yawning again, Kevon walked back to the central tower.

  “Kalron! Come in!” Pholos exclaimed as he spotted Kevon looking into the laboratory. “I’m almost finished here, but I do need to go down to one of the storerooms afterward for some fennel. You’ll need to know where everything is soon, so…”

  “Sure,” answered Kevon. “I’ll go with you.” He walked in to watch Pholos finish tending potions much like he had done for Holten, though none of them looked or smelled familiar. “What are you brewing?”

  Pholos rolled his eyes. “These are mostly antidotes for livestock. There’s a poisonous weed in the valley that herders can’t get rid of. The cows and goats like to eat it, and die in a few hours without this stuff.” He wrinkled his nose. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth all the trouble.”

  Kevon smiled.

  “It’s going to be so great that you’re studying here,” Pholos commented, stirring the next potion in line absently. “When the brothers aren’t bickering or competing, they’re always off somewhere planning something. Mirsa is always grumpy, and Shofud is always reading. It seems like we two have more in common than anyone else here.”

  “More than you know,” Kevon mumbled, nodding.

  “Hmmm?” Pholos looked over at Kevon quizzically.

  Kevon smiled again. “I’ll tell you later. Is there anything I can help with?”

  “Nah,” Pholos answered, shaking his head. “This is the last one.” The younger Mage finished stirring the unpleasant looking brown fluid in the flask before him, and carefully wiped the stirring stick clean on a cloth before setting both to the side. “Done,” he announced cheerily. “Let’s go find that fennel.”

  Kevon followed Pholos out and down the stairs. They walked through the great hall to one side and entered one of the concealed hallways. As they entered the storeroom, Kevon could not stifle the gasp that escaped his lips.

  “Nice, isn’t it?” asked Pholos, smiling.

  Kevon nodded, speechless. The laboratory upstairs was designed much like the one in Holten’s home, on a larger scale. The shelves were larger and better stocked, and Kevon had noticed there were no drying racks or other places to handle unprepared herbs. Now he saw why.

  The walls of the storeroom were lined with deep shelves and bins filled with every manner of herbal ingredient that Kevon had ever used, and many he could not identify at first glance. Drying racks were built around every support beam in the surprisingly large room, and there were two small tables where other equipment for processing and storing herbs were arranged.

  “There’s enough here for…” Kevon trailed off.

  “Years?” Pholos finished. “Mostly. There are some things that we can’t get here, though. Wolfsbane, for example. It doesn’t grow here at all. That’s why I was in Navlia, buying odd herbs that we were running low on.”

  “But why so much?” Kevon asked.

  “We have four potion labs on the second floor alone,” Pholos answered. “We rarely use more than two at a time, but I have had to tend all four a few times. Plus, there’s Master Gurlin’s private laboratory. It must be at least twice the size of any of the others, considering the amount of herbs I’ve seen Mirsa carrying upstairs.”

  “Mirsa is allowed above the third floor?” Kevon asked, mildly interested.

  “Yes, Master Gurlin, visiting Masters, and the top student are always allowed to go wherever they please in the tower.” Pholos furrowed his brow thoughtfully. “That will be Shofud after tomorrow, and as soon as he tests for Master, it might be you!”

  Kevon shrugged, grimacing. “I’m not sure I’m going to be here that long.”

  Pholos tied the drawstrings of the pouch he’d just filled from a bin. “Planning on leaving already? When?”

  “Pholos,” Kevon began, sitting on a stool near one of the preparation tables. “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course,” Pholos answered, sitting down on another stool. “What does that have to do with…”

  “I’ve lied to you,” Kevon admitted. “I’m going to tell you the truth now, but you have to promise to listen to the whole story before you do anything.”

  “Kalron, what is…”

  “First of all, my name’s Kevon, not Kalron. My friend is Waine, not Willem,” Kevon began. “It’s true that I was Holten’s student, and that he sent me here, but that’s where it ends.”

  Pholos sat, wide-eyed and unusually silent.

  “My Master…” Kevon almost spat the word, his face twisted in disgust. “Holten… sent me here to be killed.”

  Pholos opened his mouth to speak, but Kevon interrupted him.

  “The only reason I’m telling you this,” Kevon continued, “Is that we have more in common that you know. Your Master… ordered me to kill you last night. He expects it to be done tomorrow.”

  The younger Mage shifted on his stool, as if to stand, but Kevon motioned for him to stop.

  “If I had to kill you now, I would lose nothing but the ally you might have been,” Kevon cautioned. “If anything it would make it easier for me to get within striking distance of Gurlin at will.” Kevon steepled his fingers and stared at Pholos over them. “But I don’t think either of us wants that.”

  Pholos’s hands flexed on the table, and he shook his head in disbelief. “How dare you accuse my Master of this?” he asked, eyes quivering. “The others would…”

  “The others are quite aware,” Kevon interrupted. “I saw as much from one meal with them. It might seem that they treat you differently because you are the youngest, the least powerful. It’s more than that. They’re part of something you aren’t, something you would not choose. They know it, and they amuse themselves at your expense.”

  Pholos sat, stern faced, a small twitch in one corner of his mouth, the only visible movement. Watching the younger Mage’s eyes dart back and forth, focusing on things that were not there, Kevon imagined he had looked much the same after reading the letter Holten had sent with him.

  “Wh… What are they a part of?” Pholos asked, looking to Kevon as if his answers could piece back together the fragments of his shattered reality.

  “Something larger than this place, but beyond that, I know nothing,” Kevon admitted. “I’ve been wondering the same thing myself for more than a season now, and I’m honor-bound to the Myrnar to find out on their behalf.”

  Pholos’s eyes widened at the mention of the sea-people, but Kevon continued.

  “We don’t have time to talk about it. I have to know if I can count on you to keep this to yourself, even from Master Tarska.” Kevon answered Pholos’s questioning look as soon as it crossed his face. “If they would kill us for no reason at all, I doubt they would hesitate to kill
even a Master who asked too many questions.”

  Kevon saw the realization washing over Pholos as concern for others brushed aside his fear for himself.

  “What do you need me to do?” he asked.

  After confirming with Pholos that the best way to find out the secrets the other Magi were keeping would be to kill them, and look around afterwards, they devised a quick plan. Mirsa was likely to leave with the departing group of Magi in the morning, and would thus be one less danger to face immediately. Kevon was adamant that Pholos not do any of the killing himself, but instead provide a distraction or cover from attacks by the brothers, if needed. Pholos had no objections, and mentioned a few items in one of the libraries that might help him do just that.

  Deciding they had taken enough time, Kevon reassured Pholos that they were going to be all right, and left the younger Mage to continue his duties.

  Playing the part of the eager student, Kevon headed back upstairs to explore the libraries. Not surprisingly, Kevon found Shofud poring over a large text in the back corner of the first library he happened to enter. The portly scholar nodded smugly at Kevon when he scuffed a boot too loudly over an uneven part in the floor, but otherwise continued his studies, oblivious.

  Kevon worked his way around the room, skimming titles and flipping briefly through any books that caught his interest. He continued until he came to a shelf that contained mainly combat-oriented magic. Kevon slowed to pay more attention to the various subjects, and one of the books in particular caught his eye. It was titled ‘Counters and Concealment.”

  Kevon pulled the volume from the shelf and opened the cover.

  Since the War of the Magi, Magic users of all types have shunned the use of the Arts against one another. However, there are those who do not adhere to these conventions. Therefore, the knowledge of means to stop them, and take them by surprise if needed, must be preserved.

  Kevon flipped past the rest of the introduction to the notes and diagrams. His heart skipped and thumped as he saw the level of detail and explanation of the runes and their uses. This book was more precise and organized than any he’d ever read before. Watching Shofud from the corner of his eye, Kevon formed a few of the runes in the Concealment section in his mind, still not daring to allow any power into them. The other student ignored him completely until Kevon formed a simple Illusion rune. Shofud looked up disapprovingly. Kevon grinned and forced the image from his mind. Shofud rolled his eyes and resumed reading his book.

  Kevon noted the spot where he replaced the book. He would have to come back for it later. He browsed through some more books, but all he could think about was the one he’d put back. His stomach started grumbling, he was so hungry that he thought he could smell roasted chicken.

  Kevon kept looking at book titles, but the smell seemed to be getting stronger. It got harder and harder for him to concentrate, so he closed his eyes and tried to force the phantom scent from his mind. Then he heard the rustling noise behind him.

  Opening his eyes, Kevon turned to look over at Shofud’s table. The Mage was almost shoulder-deep, reaching into the case on the table that Kevon had assumed held quills or ink. Shofud’s arm was not visible under the table, so Kevon figured the case was somehow similar to Holten’s Traveling Tome. Shofud grunted and half-stood before pulling a chicken leg out of the case and closing it. Kevon watched while the other Mage finished the meat and placed the bone in a small pile Kevon had not noticed before.

  A traveling cold box? Kevon wondered. I know just where to put that in my saddlebags… He frowned a moment. Perhaps I shouldn’t think too far ahead.

  Kevon turned and left the library room to see if breakfast was ready.

  When he reached the dining hall, Pholos and the brothers were already eating, along with roughly half of the kitchen staff, and one other person Kevon did not recognize. Everyone seemed to be clustered near or around the newcomer. From the chatter that rattled around the room, Kevon gathered that this was a messenger from the party of Magi that were to arrive later in the day.

  “Yes, midday, as I’ve said…” the man sighed as yet another servant asked him when the group was arriving. “There are twenty of us in all.” He took one of the four mugs of cider that were offered to him, and carefully selected meats and cheeses from the platters that paraded in front of him.

  Someone noticed Kevon and he was ushered to a seat near Pholos. He ate quietly, taking a little bit of everything, savoring each bite.

  Convinced the man had no more information to give, the crowd surrounding him melted away, trickling back into the kitchen. The man breathed a sigh of relief, and began to enjoy his food in peace.

  Not particularly concerned with the man, or the others that followed behind him, Kevon finished his meal and carried his own dishes back to the kitchen. He found Waine soaked to his elbows in dirty dishwater, scowling.

  “I think we’ll have to put off that ride we were going to take until tomorrow, Willem,” Kevon said, stressing the word just enough to catch Waine’s attention without raising undue suspicion. “You’re far too busy today.”

  “Yes, they’re expecting we’ll be busy at this until at least mid-afternoon,” Waine answered, eyeing Kevon briefly. “Allowing for that, tomorrow should be better.”

  Kevon nodded and turned to leave. He made a mental note to slip away and return here around mid-afternoon to see what Waine had to say then. With just over two hours until noon and the expected arrival of the visiting Magi, Kevon walked unhurriedly back to his room.

  Time seemed to crawl. Kevon was frustrated that he was unable to scribe any scrolls that would be of use in the coming conflict. After about half an hour of pacing, he decided to return to the library to see if it was unoccupied. Finding no one else there, he walked directly to the shelf where he’d left the book he wanted, pulled it out, and dropped it into his pocket. After returning to his room, Kevon spent the next hour thumbing through the book, looking forward to having more time to study its contents at length.

  Kevon left his room and started down the curved staircase at the end of the hallway. Before he had taken more than a few steps downward, the jumbled murmurs of many voices drifted up from the Great Hall. When he reached the end of the stairs, Kevon peeked around the corner to see that the expected party of Magi and attendants had arrived, and were now assembling.

  He slipped around the corner and into the crowd, feeling more than a bit uneasy around so many other robed Magi. He accepted the glass goblet of wine he was offered by one of the several kitchen servants milling through, but declined food from the trays that were circulating around the hall.

  The bulk of the activity in the room was focused on the three black-robed figures that were spaced a good deal apart from each other. Each Master had in attendance a green robed Mage, a Journeyman, and three brown robed apprentices. The groups seemed to keep to themselves for the most part. After a minute of observation, Kevon could also match some of the attending servants to their respective Masters by the hems of their tunics. There were well over twenty visitors; Kevon imagined that the herald that arrived earlier had not counted the others, merely himself and the Magi.

  The crowd quieted as Gurlin tapped into the room with his staff. Mirsa followed closely behind him, an intriguing expression of anticipation and superiority on her face.

  Gurlin coughed twice and cleared his throat. “For the public half of this Test, Mirsa will perform a demonstration of the Elements in the courtyard.”

  He turned to the side as Mirsa stepped in beside him, and both gestured to the open entry door.

  Murmurs of approval rustled through the crowd, and they began moving outside. The group clustered outside the door, and when Gurlin and Mirsa exited, Mirsa headed toward the outer northwestern section of the courtyard, the sector least crowded with buildings.

  As the Mage approached the outer wall, she stopped and turned to face her audience. She stretched her hands out forward, a look of supreme concentration on her face. The snippets
of conversation that had been continuing from inside wound down to silence as Mirsa closed her eyes and dropped her hands down to her sides.

  From his place near the center of the crowd, Kevon watched, curious to see how powerful Mirsa really was. At this distance, he could feel her spell beginning as a mere twitch in his mind’s eye.

  Mirsa’s palms turned upward and she began raising them slowly.

  Kevon could feel the ground shudder as the earth beneath Mirsa parted, and she was lifted by a shaft of stone that rumbled upward beneath her feet.

  By the time her upturned palms were raised to shoulder level, the stone pillar Mirsa stood on was already taller than she was. It ground to a halt, and Kevon could feel the magic waver and change as her arms continued to rise. Mirsa’s elbows bent slightly as she turned her palms outward as she lifted them further skyward. For moments nothing happened, but Kevon felt the twinge of release an instant before twin gouts of flame erupted from the performing Mage’s hands, shooting high into the air above the assembly.

  Gasps broke the silence, but hushed as Mirsa drew her hands back down to her chest, clasping them in concentration. Kevon felt the breeze stirring, and saw Mirsa’s cloak and loose strands of hair ruffle and whip about unnaturally. The wind swirling around Mirsa began whistling from the force. Kevon could see the dust in the air outlining the funnel that stretched from the base of the pillar to the top of the outer wall.

  Smiling, Mirsa stepped off the pillar and extended her arms, buoyed by the whirlwind. She completed a perfect rotation and landed gently, having to bend her knees only ever so slightly. The breeze died down and Mirsa ran her fingers over her ears, straightening her windblown hair before continuing the demonstration. Closing her eyes once more and steepling her hands in front of her, Mirsa began another spell.