by Ron Root
Gresham started when he spied a trio of Chevaliers skulking about, challenging people, searching merchants’ booths and waving crystal wands over their possessions. Pulse racing, he fingered the purse holding his mother’s ring. Had the Captain told them of his witchery? Were they here looking for him? Was it too risky to even be here?
He was deciding how best to avoid them when a shout erupted from behind them. “You! Remain where you are!”
He could hardly breathe. Anticipating the worst, he turned to see who’d barked the order. Only paces away, three white-cloaked soldiers had surrounded a dark-skinned lady. They pushed the distraught woman to her knees, her eyes wide with fear. While two held her arms, the third waved his crystal wand over the necklace she wore. The crystal flared a bright blue. “Moonstone!” the man hollered. “In the name of His Grace, you are charged with heresy.”
“No, please!” she cried out as they ripped off her neckpiece. They bound her hands and looped a rope around her neck. The crowd opened a wide swath, staring in rapt fascination as the Chevaliers half-pushed, half-dragged the pleading woman down the street. He shared her dread. One churchman stayed behind, eyeing the crowd. When his gaze settled on him, Gresham quickly looked away.
Rayna took his arm. “Perhaps we should forego visiting the caravan.”
“Yes,” he whispered. “Let’s have look at your map.”
They returned to her academy. She had him wait while she retrieved the map. Returning, she spread it out on a table.
“This is definitely a map of our islands,” he said, looking it over. “That’s our Portsmouth,” he said, pointing, “but I’ve spent my whole life in the islands and have never heard of this place called A’ryth.” He looked up. “What is it you’ll do with this map?”
“Follow it and find my mother, of course.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that simple.” He pointed. “See these marks, and these? They represent mountains and swamps. Although passage along the sea looks simple enough, A’ryth itself is deep in wilderness.” He turned to her, “I’m sorry, this place you seek is no place for the likes of a lady.”
Gifted
The next day Gresham trekked the long walk to the university. The hot day made it seem even longer. His spirits brightened when he spied an archway with ‘University of Arcane Arts’ embossed on it. That glee faded dramatically when he spotted a group of Chevaliers camped outside its walls. Dare he pass by them?
Feigning casualness, he marched right up to the gatehouse guard. “Kindly inform your headmaster that Magus Verity’s nephew is here and wishes to speak with him.”
The bored guard raised the gate, letting him in, and led him to the guard shack. “Wait here,” he said, and disappeared into a building on the far side of the bailey.
Gresham surveyed his surroundings, a habit formed in his survivor training. The shack sported a single bench with several chains dangling overhead; likely pulleys for raising and lowering the portcullis. Lowered, its heavy bars and high walls would make the university impenetrable.
The sentry returned. “The headmaster isn’t in, but Master Kagen has offered to speak with you.” Gresham had no idea who that was.
He was taken inside to a room with books strewn everywhere. A white-haired old man sat waiting, appraising him as he entered. He smiled. “You must be Gresham.”
“Yessir. How is it you know my name?
“Your uncle is closely acquainted with our headmaster. It was he who told me about you. I am Master Kagen. Sit,” he said, gesturing to an empty chair. “I presume you’re here for news of your uncle?”
“Yes, among other things.”
“He departed yesterday and will likely be gone for quite some time. Is there some way I can assist you?”
“You could tell me where he went.”
“I’m sorry, I cannot share that information.”
“I beg you sir, it’s important that I find him.”
Master Kagen sat silent for a bit. “You are family, mayhap that gives you the right to know. I’ll have to think on it. In the meanwhile, you said ‘among other things,’ what did that mean?”
Dare he answer? Hells, share nothing; learn nothing. Opening his satchel, he removed his parent’s rings and Prior Rigby’s book. “Can you tell me anything of these, and what magic is—how it works?”
Kagen laughed. “Learn in one brief conversation what our students take years to learn, eh?” He picked up Gresham’s mother’s ring, examined it, then did the same with his father’s. Lastly, he thumbed through the book. “You ask what magic is. Baldric Milos, a famous Great Age Scholar, defined sorcery as ‘the shaping of the natural events through arcane means.’ In other words, manipulating normal things and events through use of the One Star’s aethers. We call such manipulation High Magic. A variant, known as Earth Magic, uses released aethers absorbed by the earth during daylight, that are released at night. Because it’s strongest at night, it’s often referred to as Moon Magic. Since the One Church considers its use heretical, you rarely hear it discussed.”
Master Kagen’s explanation was beyond him. He had no idea what anything the man just said meant. But thinking back on the Chevalier’s arrest of that poor caravan woman for having a moonstone, the part about The One Church rang true.
Kagen picked up the rings. “What is it you wish to know about these items?”
“My uncle gave me those rings. They belonged to my parents. The book behaves strangely when I touch it. But only me, no one else. I wish to know why. Also, I was recently possessed, and fear I might be a witch.”
He proceeded to recount his contest with Quinn, the sensations that came over him, the Captain’s remark, and the Marshal’s assessment of all that happened.
Master Kagen proved an attentive listener, waiting silently until Gresham finished. “I can certainly understand your curiosity; however, the answers could take a while.”
This man has answers he thought, his heart beating faster. “Take all the time you need, Sir.”
Master Kagen’s account of the rings was pretty much the same as his uncle’s, but what he said of the book was much more insightful. “The book is written in runes—the script of the magi. It describes warring spells. This reaction you’re experiencing hints of attunement.”
“Attunement? Is that some sort of bewitchment?”
Kagen chuckled. “No. Attunement is a rare form of the Gift. I know little of it, but we’ve a guest magus visiting from the mainland, a Master Vardon, who is well versed in the kind of spells in this book. What I do know is that attunement means you’re gifted. Not surprising given your heritage. I can verify that if you’re willing.”
I’m gifted. “Uncle Jarek suspected as much. At the time I thought it farfetched, but now… you say you can determine if I’m gifted. How?”
“By putting you through what we call a prism test.” He stood. “Come; this won’t take long. Afterwards, we’ll speak with Vardon about how the book affects you.”
He was led to a small, roofless amphitheater. Sunlight flooded the room. At its center stood a waist-high table supported by four marble pillars. Sitting atop the pillars was the largest gem Gresham had ever seen. Ruby red and half the size of a man’s head, it was pyramid-shaped save for its curved top. Other smaller jewels adorned the room’s walls.
“How does it work?”
Kagen placed a palm atop the gem. Light burst forth, echoed by the gems on the walls. The old man smiled. “What you see are radiating aethers. It happens whenever the stone is touched by someone capable of channeling them. If you’re mundane, they do nothing. Go ahead, try it.”
Taking a deep breath, Gresham reached out and ever so cautiously lowered his palm. Light flashed. His eyelids fluttered, and his legs gave out. All went black as he sank to the floor.
Fingertips rubbed his temples. His dizziness slowly faded, allowing him to focus again. Master Kagen was kneeling over him, attending him. “You absorb
ed the aethers so quickly you couldn’t contain them. You need training. As I suspected, your Gift is strong.” He helped Gresham to a sitting position. “Now, if you feel able, we’ll have that talk with Vardon.”
They went to Kagen’s chamber. He rang a summons bell, after which the door opened, and a plump wild-haired fellow about his own age poked his head in. “Sir?”
“Hagley, please ask Master Vardon to join us.”
Minutes later they were joined by a trim-looking man not significantly older than Gresham. Dark-haired and of medium height, his coal-black eyes radiated intelligence. “You wished to see me?”
“Yes, come in. I’ve a young man I’d like you to meet. First however, would you bear with me in a brief experiment?” Kagen stood, holding a scarf. “This may seem odd, but I’d like to cover your eyes.”
Looking puzzled, Vardon complied. Kagen cinched it tight and led him to the table filled with books. Burying Gresham’s deep within the pile, he said, “Please choose the desired book from the table in front of you.”
“That’s not much to go on,” Vardon said, blindly probing the stack. He picked up a book, shrugged, and set it back down. He did the same with book after book—until he found Gresham’s. The instant he touched it he jerked his hand away. He removed his blindfold and examined it. “I gather this is your desired book.” He looked at Kagen, “It made my hand throb.”
The old magus joined him. “Have you ever experienced this before?”
“No, but I’ve heard of it. I believe it’s called attunement.” Vardon studied the cover. “Battle Strategies and Actions.” He flipped through a few pages. “How did you come to possess this?”
Kagen pointed at Gresham. “That young man brought it with him. Since the boy reacts to it in much in the manner you do, I believe you’ve just verified the lad is attuned to the war arts.”
Kagen waved Gresham over. “Gresham, meet Master Vardon. He specializes in combative spells.”
Gresham nodded. “Pleased, sir.”
Vardon studied him as if seeing him for the first time. “And me as well.
Kagen crossed his arms. “I tested him. He’s strong.”
“As one would expect of someone attuned.” Vardon rubbed his chin. “So, you’re a new student?”
“No, Sir.”
“Then you studied the arts on the mainland?”
Gresham shook his head. “I’ve never studied them, Sir.”
Vardon looked at Kagen. “That’s surprising.”
Kagen shrugged. “The question is, what do we do with him?”
“That’s easy. With a Gift this rare, I’ll tutor him.” He smiled at Gresham. “What say you to becoming my student?”
Study under a War Mage; combine his arts with his military training. He felt overwhelmed. I’m gifted—and rarely so? But as much as Master Vardon’s offer appealed to him, staying amongst Chevaliers was too risky. “A most generous offer, Sir, but circumstance is forcing me to leave Stalwart. For how long, I can’t say. If your offer still stands when I return, I would be honored to accept it.”
“Nonsense! Whatever this matter is, it can wait. Consider yourself my student as of now.”
“Stop badgering him, Vardon. Give the lad time to think. You and I shall speak on it later. Right now, he and I have another matter to discuss.”
“As you wish, but rest assured, you’ll not dissuade me from mentoring such a rare talent,” he challenged, then left the room.
Master Kagen eased into a chair. “You asked of your uncle’s whereabouts. He’s undertaking a quest on behalf of a mutual friend.”
“What sort of quest? Where?”
“You wouldn’t have heard it. Ancient documents refer it as A’ryth.”
Did he mishear? A’ryth was the mysterious city on Rayna’s map!
“I’m sorry,” Kagen continued, “but I’m not at liberty to share the nature of his mission. Since he’ll likely be gone for some time, I suggest you seriously consider Master Vardon’s offer, he’s very good, and as you observed, very insistent.”
With Chevaliers lurking everywhere, there was no way he could do that, especially now that he’d learned where his uncle had gone. A’ryth! If Rayna would take him on as her guide, he might not only find his uncle; but stay in the company of the most alluring woman he’d ever met. And be free of the Chevaliers’ clutches to boot. It was fated. “I’ll think on it and give him my answer tomorrow. Right now, I have other business to tend to.”
“I understand you walked here.”
“I did.”
“That’s a long walk. How about I have Hagley drive you home. We don’t want you to be too tired to give our proposition due consideration. I’ll have him meet you at the stables.”
A short time later the fellow who’d fetched Master Vardon appeared with a wagon. “Are you Gresham?” he asked.
“I am,” Gresham said, climbing aboard.
The driver offered his hand. “Hagley here. Master Kagen says I’m to take you to the soldier’s hall in Stalwart.”
As they rode, Gresham pondered all that had just happened. I’m gifted—like my mother and uncle. He’d never contemplated such a possibility. And Rayna and his uncle seeking the same city! Was this coincidence, or was it preordained? Perhaps the gods were using him for some end of their own? Would she consider him for her guide? “Hagley, is there any chance you take me to the Lady’s Academy instead?”
Hagley did, and Gresham went inside to ask for Rayna, but the woman attending the desk was busily conversing with an older fellow. “I’m sorry, but Lady Rayna isn’t here,” she said, looking apologetic. “May I give her a message?”
“Yes, please tell her Robard is here. She’ll know who I am. Tell her I’m lodging at that Dragon place.”
“Yes milord.”
Looking frustrated, the man walked away.
The clerk noticed Gresham. “May I help you?”
“I was looking for Lady Rayna too. Perhaps I…”
She raised a hand, watching Robard leave. As soon as the door closed behind him, she glanced up at the balcony and nodded. He looked. Rayna was standing there, watching from above. ‘Come,’ she mouthed, waving him up.
As he climbed the stairs, her gaze never left the front door. She led him into an empty room. “I dare not let that man know I’m here,” she said, closing the door.
“Why? Who is he?”
She opened the door and took another peek. “Every year my father sends him to escort me to wherever I’m to go next,” she whispered. “But this time I won’t be going with him. Instead, I’ll be searching for my mother.”
His heart sank. “You found a guide?”
“I wish!” She sighed. “Truthfully, I don’t know how to go about finding one.”
“What would you think of me being your guide?”
“How? You said you did not know of the place.”
“Nor does anyone else, but I looked into the matter. A’ryth is an ancient city only a few scholars know about. All I need to find it is your map.”
“You looked into the matter?” she asked, smiling. “Aren’t you the clever one.” She studied him, as if seeing him in a new light. “I’m fully prepared to pay someone to guide me.” Did that mean she was considering using him? “Would two golds be adequate?”
Two golds! Gods! That was 200 pence! More than two months’ pay. Dare he tell her he’d gladly have done it for free? No, that was impractical. There’d be expenses to cover. “How about one gold before we leave—for buying supplies, and the other after we find your mother?”
“Agreed!” She spit into her palm and raised it. He did likewise. Pressing palms, they sealed their bargain.
“It’s urgent that I leave soon,” he said. “How quickly can you be ready?”
She glanced toward the door. “With Robard skulking about, the sooner we leave, the more pleased I’ll be.”
“Would tomorrow be too soon?”
/> “More like too late. How about you come for me at daybreak? Throw a pebble that window,” she said, pointing, “and I’ll come join you.”
Gresham left, hardly believing his good fortune. Time was short, and it was up to him to get them supplied. He could buy most of what was needed in Portsmouth, but using the Marshal’s supply requisition could save on expenses.
He headed for the armory. He entered and froze. Two Chevaliers were there foraging through gear. The supply clerk looked up. “One moment, gentlemen,” he said, turning to Gresham. “What can I do for you?”
Tearing his eyes from the churchmen, Gresham laid the requisition on the counter. “I need three packs; the kind you can strap on your back. Oh, and a sword.”
The clerk looked at it. “This doesn’t indicate that many packs.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, looking at the requisition. “When I talked with the Marshal, I was quite specific about needing three.”
The clerk eyed him. “You spoke with Marshal Booker?”
Gresham nodded. “Yes, earlier this day.”
The clerk looked at the Marshal’s seal. His eyebrows raised. “Far be it from me to question a Marshal. Wait here.”
Gresham eyed the Chevaliers, but they were paying him no heed.
“Here,” the clerk said, plopping the requested items on the counter.”
Thinking back on the map, at the wilds it depicted, he wondered if he’d need more than a sword. “How about one of those crossbows too?”
The clerk looked at him, then the requisition. “It’s does say ‘weapons,’ and that’s definitely the Marshal’s seal.” Shrugging, he brought one over.
Eyeing the Chevaliers, Gresham donned his sword, and tried to stuff the crossbow into a pack. It was too large. He stuffed two packs into a third, strapped the crossbow to it, put on the pack, and headed out the door.
Quinn was making his way to the garrison, his mood ill. He’d just endured another berating from his father for losing the tourney, getting reminded how his father had won his tourney, as had his father before him. Worse, Quinn had lost to a commoner, an intolerable embarrassment. What angered Quinn most was that Smithy had resorted to witchcraft to do it. At the time of the duel, he’d had been in such a state of shock he hadn’t noticed. Fortunately, his father had. Smithy, a witch’s get! In hindsight, it was obvious. How else could a commoner defeat a gentry? He smiled. His father’s plan was sure to work. The title would soon be his.
