Delminor's Trials

by Stephen J Wolf

  “Maybe. But I imagine Hammon would welcome someone who wants to practice his craft. His son’s a baker or something and has no interest in spells.”

  “What’s this going to cost me?”

  “The usual. Come on. Plus, you need to bring back some of what you learn, maybe a spellbook or two I can put on display here.”

  Delminor followed her to a workroom in the back of the shop. He spent the next couple hours helping her catalogue spellbooks and prepare a host of spell components for her own use. When he finished, she offered him a pallet to sleep on for a bit and then handed him a map with more detailed information about finding Hammon.

  The next day, he purchased a selection of spell components and provisions, then set off in search of a master. With any luck, his parents would just be glad to be rid of him.

  Chapter 3

  The Apprentice

  Delminor sat at a makeshift camp under the cover of trees. Rain poured all around him, but the tree cover was thick enough to keep him mostly dry. He’d had a difficult trek so far and he was barely halfway to his destination.

  The feral creatures were challenging for him, as he wasn’t a fighter and magic spells took so long to cast. He’d taken a few hits from a pack of swallomers, tiny fliers with colorful wings that pecked ferociously. They flew like darts, faster than the sand jays, and were thus harder to avoid.

  Delminor rubbed his arms and the poultice he had created from his spell components. The throbbing would last a while, but his mother had trained him to make such a poultice to prevent infection.

  Thinking of home gave him a sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t want to ever see his father again, and he suspected all his lab equipment would be destroyed anyway, probably with a bonfire to burn all his notes for good measure.

  His family had never understood his predilection for magic. They were simple workers, relatively simple-minded, content with their simple lives. Adding magic into the mix would only add complication to their daily routines.

  But he was their son and they supported him to some degree. Many of his experiments had been ruined by their intrusions, but they had let him do his work.

  Maybe they weren’t so horrible after all.

  Delminor shook his head. No, he was determined to push his magic skills further and the only way to do that was to seek training. Spellbooks were great, but there was nothing like a master mage to offer instruction. Mimicking hand and body gestures from diagrams was a challenge, at least.

  Some days, Delminor was impatient with the magic. Why was it necessary to prattle off a host of archaic words and to contort oneself into strange positions to cast spells? Who came up with the process anyway?

  * * *

  Hammon’s village was more of a hovel than a home. There were perhaps a dozen huts in total and the few people looked miserable, as if waiting for their lives to end. The houses were broken down and Delminor’s hopes were seriously challenged.

  It didn’t take long to find the old mage. Delminor knocked on the door and was greeted by a middle-aged man. “Whazzit?”

  “I seek the tutelage of Master Hammon.”

  The man barked a hearty laugh and opened the door. “Da, ye’ve a visitor.” He looked at Delminor and cackled again.

  Delminor entered the meager home, noting messes in every corner, cracks in the table and chairs. There was only one room and it smelled as if it was also used for refuse. His nose crinkled.

  In the corner, on one of the cots, sat an old man huddled in on himself. He rocked back and forth uncontrollably, the thin blanket over his head shaking.

  “Are you the mage Hammon?”

  The old man lifted his head and Delminor winced. The man’s face appeared melted, it was so old and bedraggled. A gasping voice responded slowly, “Is my name. Is not my skill.”

  Crestfallen, Delminor’s shoulders dropped. “I came all this way to train under a mage.” He turned to the son. “Don’t you go all the way to Jerrona to get supplies for him?”

  The man laughed at the foolish teen. “Supplies, yes. But not for magic. Seems ye came all this way for naught.”

  “But I was told—” Delminor shook his head. “No, this is some kind of test, isn’t it? You’re both just trying to see if I’m dedicated enough to fight my way in. Well, I’m committed to this. I want to learn. I came all this way.”

  “Lookie ‘round,” the man said. “Ye see mage stuff?”

  “Yes,” Delminor said instantly. “Everything is ‘mage stuff.’ We can make use of the basic world around us to cast our spells. It’s a foolish question.”

  “Well, wot about that?” The man chortled. “Yer really itchin’ to stay.”

  “I intend to learn.”

  “Fine,” croaked the old man and Delminor’s spirits raised instantly. “It not be trainin’ like ye expect. But I’ll show wot I know. Brack, fix him a place to lay his head.”

  Grumbling, he did as instructed, opening a wood chest and pulling out a tattered blanket. He flapped it out on the floor near the two cots and gestured to it grandly. “Yer room, sir.”

  “Seriously?”

  The old man narrowed his eyes and Delminor choked back his rebuke and made his way to the blanket.

  “Get yerself a nap and we begin the morrow.”

  * * *

  Sleep was not forthcoming, especially as Brack kept moving around, crashing into things. That, and Hammon had a wracking wheeze and stopped breathing now and again, only to follow up with a deep inhale, usually choking in the process.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d gotten himself into, but Leesha told him to come here and surely he would learn what he came for. He needed only to be patient. Not his strong suit.

  Morning light crept through a hole in the side of the house and Delminor used it as an excuse to rise from the hard floor. He stretched and took care of his morning needs, then returned to ask what the day would bring.

  Hammon was unable to speak for some time, so Brack gave the instructions. “Ye’ll go into the wood over there and fetch a few arms of wood. An ax out back, use her.”

  Delminor obeyed, wondering how gathering wood would help him to learn magic. His mind wandered as he did so, looking for a logical connection.

  Seeking spell components was a key skill all mages needed. Perhaps he was to be rated on the types of wood he brought back with him. Was this stick worth his effort? Did that branch have an added nutrient within? Was it better to have dry branches? Leaves?

  Earth magic was Regnard’s specialty and therefore what Delminor had the most access to. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the pages so he could call upon the energies to help guide him now.

  But nothing came. He needed the spellbooks. The few spells he had cast along the way came to him in a time of panic, his inner self speaking for him. He needed a way to channel that part of himself, to bring forth the magic at will.

  He tried now. Lifting a branch, he traced it from end to end, noting the texture, feeling the knots. “Rekkalorius brathernor frejia brannallic rectronoth breganforrius kaie breckthermos poreshenai krillborth wrackken brethos kathra mortius hassthen fortius kaie.”

  The branch cracked and snapped and slowly stretched into a solid piece of wood, unmarred by bends and gnarls. He had recalled enough to make a change, but he had intended to shatter the branch.

  Delminor found a fallen tree and decided it would be a good candidate for fireplace wood. He hacked off a few branches and cleared the extrusions, then brought the pile together and carried it back to Hammon’s.

  Brack greeted him with a scowl. “Wot in blazes took ye?”

  “I was finding the best timber I could. Surely not any old piece of wood would do as a good spell component.”

  “Er, right. But next time, hurry it up.”

  Most of the day was spent chopping the wood into narrow pieces that fit inside the small stone hearth outside the house. When he asked how this was part of his training, Hammon only shook his head and asked about his
dedication.

  * * *

  The course of weeks passed and Delminor became proficient in finding and chopping all sorts of things, from wood and herbs to vegetables for stew. He learned to cook a fair bit along the way, but his patience was waning.

  No one in the tiny hamlet was helpful in his quest. They knew little of magic and didn’t care much to talk about it. They wouldn’t discuss Hammon’s past at all and the old man didn’t divulge much, either.

  A storm blew in, sending torrents of rain to the town and turning everything to a mucky mess. Lightning flashed repeatedly, the thunder awakening Delminor.

  He looked out the window at the raging storm, so free and full of energy. He hurried outside and stood as the rain pelted on his face and lightning flashed in his eyes. The storm was close and a blast of lightning struck a tree in the forest, then another, the deafening booms ominously loud.

  Another blast struck Hammon’s roof, lighting the thatch and burning brightly. The rain pelted down but it wasn’t enough to squelch the flames. Delminor ran inside and screamed for the others to leave. Hammon was too frail to move quickly, though Brack tended to him, but the flames ripped open the roof, debris falling inside and threatening to burn everything.

  Delminor stomped his feet on the flames nearby, then buried his head under his arms as more thatch fell. Lightning continued to blast outside and he heard more shouts of panic. He knew in the moment that no one would be able to help him.

  With Brack and Hammon outside, Delminor turned to flee, but a beam came crashing down, knocking him down. Fire burned eerily close and he couldn’t get away, trapped under the beam.

  He needed to stop the fire somehow, but if the rain itself wasn’t strong enough, then what could he do? He struggled against the wood, but he couldn’t lift it off his legs. He hoped Brack would come and release him, but the man was taking his time.

  “Everything’s a spell component,” he muttered to himself. He scraped his hand on the floor and wiped up a pile of dirt, now muddied in the rain, and he focused his thoughts, recalling the spell he had used against the sand jays and saying the incantation, his hands pulsating back and forth in a dedicated rhythm. He pushed them forward and a stream of mud sprayed outward, extinguishing the nearest flames.

  But it wasn’t enough. The roof continued to burn, sending more debris down and soon Delminor was surrounded.

  The door opened and Hammon stood in the frame, looking for Delminor, seeing him trapped under the beam. He waved his arms and called above the storm, “Barricon fruthis necricor jalicorith forithei slyderian grienan wrech kanorl.”

  The beam on Delminor’s legs became slick with some conglomeration of mud and rain. He shifted his legs and managed to pull them free, then he crawled to the door as the far wall of the hut collapsed, just as Hammon doubled over from the exertion of the spell.

  The fire quelled but not before taking half the house with it. The rest of the hamlet faced similar destruction and the night faded into chaos.

  * * *

  Hammon was a mess for the next many days, barely able to eat or speak. Delminor did his best to assist Brack with repairs to the house, though he didn’t think it was worth salvaging.

  When he was able to speak again, Hammon worked with Delminor in the basics of earth magic. There was little the old man could teach him, but he insisted he try. The lubrication spell was among the first lessons, as was its counterbalance, a solidification spell, both of which Delminor used to decent effect in helping with the repairs.

  After a couple months, which included his birthday, the house was in good enough condition and the trio returned to its protection.

  Delminor eagerly awaited Hammon’s next lesson, but the old mage shook his head. “There’s little more I can teach yer.”

  “Don’t say that. I know there’s more you can do.”

  Hammon smiled sadly. “I’m old and used up. There’s not much left in me. But yer actions that day, trying to save us from the fire, ye lit an energy in me I hadn’t felt in years. But even that’s fading now. Yer welcome to stay, but ye probably oughta move on.”

  “But to where?”

  Hammon stared at him hard. “When I were learning magic, I stayed over at the Magitorium. It’s a hefty trek to the west of here, but ye’ll find it right enough if ye keep going. Ye may find yerself in a scuffle or two along the way, but maybe ye’ll have a better time than that.”

  Delminor frowned at the promise of battles. He knew feral creatures abounded outside of towns, but he’d never been far from a settlement for long. His trek here had taken him between towns, but heading west would be different.

  Brack took a deep breath. “I’ll go with yer and make sure ye get there safely. It’s the least I can do.”

  Chapter 4

  Magitorium

  Brack and Delminor battled their way to the Magitorium. The land was fertile and the creatures were more suited to this environment, giving Delminor a different set of creatures to face than he had seen before. Brack was handy with a sword and dealt with most of the creatures himself, leaving Delminor to fend off squirrets and rodia.

  Eventually, the Magitorium rose up high into the sky, a tower many stories tall and surrounded by a thick layer of clouds. Without the cloud cover, the tower would have been visible from leagues away, but thick mists kept it hidden in shadow. Delminor wondered if it was a natural phenomenon or one guided by the hands of the mages within.

  “I ain’t going in there,” Brack announced.

  “Not even to rest?”

  “I’ll camp out here and head home. Ye go on in, though. It’s what ye’re here for.”

  The oaken door before him was littered with all manner of knockers. They were all different shapes and sizes, including some that looked like animals or trees. He touched a rounded boulder that was in front of him and a deep rumble shook the door.

  Moments later, the portal opened and a mage in black robes appeared. He was tall and lanky, perhaps in his forties, and he peered down at Delminor with judging eyes. “We have no toys here, child.”

  “I have no need for toys. I seek to train as a mage.”

  The man suddenly smiled, breaking his face into a frenzy of insanity. “Well, you should have said so sooner! Come right in, come in, come in, come in.”

  The foyer was dark and uninviting, but the doorman put a hand on Delminor’s shoulder and ushered him through anyway. Fire burned dimly in sconces along the wood wall, lighting a path, but not by much. There was also a glowing metal pipe running down the center and off into the distance that added an eerie glow to the space.

  They took a few twists and turns and soon the teen felt lost. A few more hallways, through another doorway, and the mage pushed Delminor into a plush chair. The man then sat behind an ornate desk and pulled out a quill and parchment.

  “I must log you into our records.”

  “But why?”

  “All mages must be registered here.”

  “But why?”

  “Because they must.”

  “But why?”

  The man blew out an exasperated sigh. “Because we can’t always identify the ones who are incinerated or buried alive or what have you and we use these lists to discover who’s missing by process of elimination. Is that a satisfactory reason?”

  “Is—is it so dangerous here?”

  “My lad, you are in the Magitorium. Surely you came here knowing what awaited you?” He tapped the quill absentmindedly on the parchment then realized he was making a mess and slapped his own hand for it.

  “I thought it was a place where I could learn magic.”

  “And you can. And you will. But there are dangers here, too. You see, magic is a wondrous force. It can do many things besides what you’ve undoubtedly thought of. You can’t turn lead into gold and you can’t bring people back from the dead and you probably can’t take over the world, but there is a lot you can do.”

  “None of those are my goal.”

  “All
the better,” the man smiled. “But to learn magic, you must practice it. Tell me, have you ever engaged in swordplay? No? Have you watched others? It can be a pretty mess, if you ask me. It’s the same with magic. Just more likely for people to get hurt.”

  “I see.”

  The man leaned forward. “Have I frightened you? Are you going to skip along and find another place to be?”

  Delminor straightened his back. “No, I’m here and I’m ready. Is there someone here who would teach me? I know a few things, but not much.”

  “I may oversee this place, but I’m no administrator. I won’t pair you up with some tutor. That’s for you to figure out, if anyone is willing. Consider it your first challenge.”

  “All right. I actually thought my first challenge would be something like trying to find a room to stay in.”

  The man’s eyes lit up. “Oooh, I like that! Yes! It’s a wonderful idea. Okay, that will be your first challenge. Then you can find a tutor.”

  Delminor’s head sank into his hands. “Where do I start?”

  “Well you can’t stay in here, that’s for sure. Go on, off with you now.”

  Delminor walked out the door and took a few steps down the hall only to hear a voice screeching behind him.

  “Waaaaait! You never got registered!”

  After giving his name and hometown, Delminor was left to wander the tower. It was overwhelming. The largest place he had ever been in was Jerrona, and not alone until his most recent visit. Being tasked with exploring a massive sky-high tower was daunting.

  “All I need is a place to sleep,” he reminded himself. “And eat, I suppose.”

  He made his way across the first floor, asking for help along the way, but he was given bad information at every turn. It felt like he was being challenged to figure out the truth from the insanity. Or they simply didn’t want him here.

  He climbed a set of stairs and meandered through a series of rooms, many of which were furnished with spell components and other supplies. A few were occupied by a mage practicing some work or other, but many other doors were closed to inspection.