A Touch of Magic (29 page)
Once they arrived at the city, Randall asked the barge master if he would introduce him to the caravan master, and to his relief, the large man agreed. The caravan master’s name was Keenan and the two seemed to be old friends. They spoke for several minutes, with the barge master bragging on Randall’s willingness to work for little more than free passage.
“I can always use another skilled hand,” Keenan told Randall. “Especially if you’re cheap. But you look a little on the scrawny side. And you’re definitely too young. I don’t really think you’re exactly what I need here. I need to keep this ore safe from here to Port Medlin. They don’t pay me to be a babysitter.”
“But I really need this job!” Randall begged. “I don’t have any money, and I need to get to Port Medlin!”
“Sorry, kid,” Keenan said as he turned away. “I ain’t lookin’ to take on any apprentices.”
“I ain’t no apprentice!” Randall said, catching at Keenan’s shirt sleeve. “I’m a good caravan guard! Give me a chance!”
Randall realized that his wheedling made him sound more like a kid than a tough caravan guard, but he couldn’t help himself. He was desperate to travel with the caravan, and he didn’t know what else to do. Without this job, he would have to attempt to travel overland to Port Medlin all by himself, and he didn’t even know the way.
Keenan yanked his sleeve out of Randall’s grasp. “Shay, this whelp has exhausted his welcome. Get him out of my sight.”
A large longshoreman nearby stopped what he was doing and approached Randall, shaking his head. “C’mon pup,” he said, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Desperation spurred Randall into reckless action.
The big man pushed Randall’s shoulder, spinning him around, but the young Mage continued rotating on the ball of his foot, coming full circle. Suddenly, the longshoreman had no resistance to push against. As he stumbled forward, Randall stepped behind him and lashed out with a wicked stomp to the man’s calf, bringing him to his knees. Randall smoothly drew his dagger and pressed it against the man’s throat in one fluid motion. He looked up to see the caravan master staring at him, wide-eyed.
“I’m good at this,” Randall said, with considerably more poise than he had shown moments before.
“So it would seem,” Keenan said slowly. “But Shay’s not a fighter. If you’ll let my man up, maybe we can give you an interview after all.”
The longshoreman shot Randall a look of resentment when he let the burly man up. He regretted embarrassing the man, but what else could he have done? He needed some way to prove to Keenan that he could handle himself before he was thrown off of the lot.
“That was a pretty slick move, lad,” Keenan remarked. “Where’d you learn your way around a blade?”
“My uncle used to be a soldier, at least before I was born,” Randall lied, thinking quickly. “All I ever saw him do was sit around and drink all day and tell stories about the ‘glory days’.”
Randall winced at how bad the cliché was, but Keenan seemed to buy the story. “Hah, I know exactly the type!” he guffawed. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. He got himself wounded pretty bad and they drummed him out.”
Randall nodded. “Leg wound. He couldn’t march very far or stand for very long afterwards. He missed it, I suppose. He was always showing me stuff, like how to hold a sword, or what to do when it was two on one. I guess he hoped I’d grow up and join the King’s service myself.”
“Trying to live on through you,” Keened agreed. “So, why didn’t you?”
“Money,” Randall replied. “When I met up with Brody in Paranol, he told me what kind of money a caravan guard makes compared to a soldier, and it sounded too good to be true. They needed an extra hand, and so I went with them.”
“Brody, eh? I haven’t met the man myself, but I’ve heard about him. He and his crew really deal in elven artifacts?” Keenan asked.
“Yeah,” Randall said with a sneer that wasn’t hard to fake. Thinking of the trio left a bad taste in his mouth. “That’s why I left. In my house, we were taught to respect the King’s law. I didn’t want any part of that devil touched business!” He spat on the ground for good measure.
“Well, I can’t say as I’d pay as much as Brody and his gang, but at least you’ll be doing an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay,” Keenan promised. “But before I sign you up, I need to make sure you know more than just a trick or two. Consider this the hands-on part of the interview. Shay, run and fetch some of the boys so we can see what this kid’s made of.”
The longshoreman shot Randall another dirty look as he put down the box he was loading and jogged down the main thoroughfare and around a corner. Randall was sure that he’d get no favors from the resentful dock worker. More than likely, he’d pick the toughest men Keenan had.
When they arrived, it looked like he had guessed correctly. The men looked exactly like what Randall expected of a caravan guard: hard, muscular, and carrying themselves with the smooth, graceful movements of fighting men. Keenan wasted no time, barking orders for everyone to suit up for weapon’s practice. Randall soon found himself paired off with a man nearly twice his age.
Randall put Master Erliand’s training to good use, dancing in and out of danger, landing blows without ever quite taking any licks himself. He knew that the enchantment on his dagger was helping him considerably, but still, he was proud of his performance. He thought Master Erliand might have been proud of him, too.
The guard handled the loss with much more dignity than the longshoreman had, congratulating Randall and slapping him on the shoulder when the match was finished.
After a short rest, Randall found himself facing a new opponent. This man was considerably faster than the previous man had been, and it took all of his skill just to keep the man from scoring the winning blow. As the fight wore on, he noticed that he was unconsciously drawing magic from Llandra in the heat of battle.
He clamped down on the connection in a panic. Varna was a huge city! There were bound to be Rooks everywhere! He hadn’t gathered much power, so hopefully it had gone unnoticed. Randall didn’t want to risk holding onto the magic, though. Every moment he held onto it he risked discovery. Taking advantage of a brief lull in the fight, he pushed his small reserve of magic into the dagger at his belt. It wasn’t much, but it felt like cheating.
Instantly, the tide of battle turned in Randall’s favor. He began exploiting weaknesses in his opponent’s defense that he had not seen before, and he seemed to anticipate the man’s attacks almost before they were made. Soon he was landing blow after blow, blocking any answering strike or dancing nimbly back out of reach.
This man did not handle loss nearly as well as Randall’s first opponent, throwing his practice sword down and stalking off after he had been dealt a particularly viscous swipe across his brow. After Randall single-handedly bested two of the other guards simultaneously, Keenan had seen enough. He had a job!
“Hell’s bells boy! You could have done half as well and still gotten the job. You beat some of my best men!” Keenan crowed. “You ain’t much to look at, but you sure can handle a blade!”
Randall knew that the only reason he had won so easily was because he had used magic. Still, he couldn’t help but break out in a wide grin. He wasn’t even breathing hard, thanks in part to his youth, but also in large part due to the talisman he had tucked underneath his tunic.
It isn’t really cheating to use magic, is it? After all, I used my natural talents same as anyone else, he reasoned. I have reason to be proud! Those were grown men, and experienced fighters, too! Bobby couldn’t have done that!
It would take some time to load the iron ore from the barge onto wagons, which was longshoremen work. The burly, grizzled dock workers didn’t want Randall’s help, and in truth, they resented how easily the boy had made a fool out of one of their own, so he was left to his own devices.
The caravan wagons would be loaded by late afternoon, and the group would be leaving first thing in the morning. Keenan arranged for Randall to bunk with the other caravan guards in a shared room at the inn, but until evening time, he had the run of the city.
If he thought Paranol was big, it was only because he had no idea what a big city looked like. Varna on the Lake was humongous! As Randall rode through the city, anyone looking at him must have thought he was crazy. The entire time, he kept up a steady stream of commentary, expressing his amazement to the unseen donnan still perched on his shoulder. To the onlooker, it would appear that the wide-eyed youth was talking to himself.
And the prices for goods were just as oversized as the city! It wasn’t so long ago that he had laid his eyes on a talen for the first time in his life, and thought it a fortune. Here, the gold coins seemed to be changing hands everywhere he looked. It was a world that Randall just couldn’t fathom. Who would ever need that much money? And why would someone pay such an outrageous sum for something so completely mundane, like a meat pie or a wedge of cheese? And yet here, fortunes were freely given over in exchange for practically nothing! He just shook his head and continued on, sure that he would never understand big city life.
As the afternoon wore on, Randall eventually found himself near the outskirts of Varna on the Lake. He knew he had been looking for the edge of town in the back of his mind since he left the docks. He kept telling himself that he wanted to see how big the city was, but now that he was here, he knew that wasn’t true. If he wanted to stay with the caravan tonight and leave in the morning, he needed to head back toward the docks now. He would be on the high seas in two or three months at most. And after that, he would be safe. There would be no more running, and no more hiding what he was. Once he reached Salianca, he would be able to meet others like him, and lead a rich life dedicated to unlocking the secrets of Llandra.
But instead of heading back, he kept looking away from the city and to the road beyond. It was as if there were two paths open to him. One of them was a simple path, and if he took it, he could leave this accursed place and all of its memories behind him forever. The other was not so simple, and Randall was not sure where it would lead at all. To his death, more than likely.
It would be easy now for him to run away and leave everything behind him. His job acting as a caravan guard would bring him directly to a port city, and would earn him enough money to pay for passage. It was what he should do, he knew. But now that he was free to choose, he realized that no matter how simple the journey would be, it wasn’t what he wanted.
Randall had unfinished business on Tallia, and if he took the easy path, he would be forever haunted by what could have been. The easy path was the coward’s path. The easy path meant never confronting the people who murdered his family. With the easy path, there would never be any closure, and there would never be any justice done.
Until this very moment, Randall had never really had a choice. The last few months were a constant struggle for survival’s sake, and events had forced him in one direction or another. But now, looking at the road, he realized that he did have a choice. He could leave tomorrow, or he could take the road before him. For the first time in his life, Randall felt like he was the master of his own fate. What happened from this moment forward was completely up to him.
After all of the danger he had faced since that fateful day outside of Frank’s Inn, Randall found that he no longer truly cared about being safe. What he truly desired led down a different path: the path of vengeance. He would never be able to truly have peace until he was able to look Aidan in the eye and demand a reckoning for the things he had done.
Randall made up his mind. He would bring Aidan to justice, or he would die in the attempt. So, even as he tried to convince himself of all of the reasons that he should turn around and go back, he nudged his horse toward the road and out of the city.
It took six weeks for Randall to travel to Ninove. He could have made the journey sooner, but he was really in no great hurry to meet his fate. He spent as much time off of the road as possible, but occasionally he would wind his way back toward it, to make sure he was still heading the right way. Once, he spotted a tinker traveling in the opposite direction. The man was open and friendly, probably due in large part to Randall’s boyish looks, and after a short but pleasant conversation, the man confirmed that the road he was on would indeed take him to the capital city.
“There’ll be a big fork in the road after a few days travel,” the tinker offered helpfully. “Just keep to the right, unless you are hankering to head up into the mountains.”
Randall thanked the man and continued on his journey. He second-guessed himself constantly during the trip, berating himself for not taking the guard position with the caravan back in Varna on the Lake and traveling to Port Medlin. But even in the face of his self-reproach, he found himself turning toward the capital city every morning after breaking camp. In the meantime, he continued to practice his magic as much as possible, refining his understanding of the few spells and runes that he knew.
Over the course of several days, he tried to work out the spell that Master Erliand had used to shield him from Aidan’s flames. Master Erliand had used it several times, but Randall had been in no position to pay any attention to it. He racked his memory, trying to puzzle out the sounds, and he thought he had gotten most of it. He was convinced that he was only missing the first consonant sound, and that once he found it, the rest would fall in place easily. So, every evening, he would draw power from Llandra, and try different combinations, hoping one of them would be the one that would unlock the secrets of the spell. He repeated variations of the word so many times that it soon lost all semblance of meaning. One evening, as he was repeating nonsense syllables over and over again, his mind drifted.
It was definitely two syllables, Randall said to himself, lost in thought. Something short and choppy.
Lost in thought, he lazily let the syllables he was pronouncing elongate and drift, playing with the word in a sing-song way like little children do. As he repeated the words, he half-heartedly tried to push his gathered power into them.
“Mochin, Jo’chin... Schocheen... Losheen... Yosheen...
Yaosheen
.”
Drawled and elongated sounding, the last word barely resembled the spell that Master Erliand had used. And yet, Randall felt the familiar tug as power flowed into the spell. As the magic mingled with the Word, a tiny translucent bubble popped into existence directly in front of Randall’s face. It looked exactly like a tiny blue soap bubble, only it was completely stationary.
The bubble only lasted for a moment before a tiny pencil of flame shot toward it, smashing it out of existence. Randall shot his eyes toward the campfire. He couldn’t be sure, but he was convinced that there was just the faintest hint of a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of the donnan’s mouth.
“Berry! How could you?” Randall admonished with mock distress. “Have you been listening to me start campfires? Bet you can’t do it again!”
The shielding spell, weak as it was, had only used a tiny fraction of the magic Randall had gathered. When the bubble had burst, he felt a tug on his power reserves, but he had clamped down on the flow reflexively. He was sure that had he allowed more power to flow into the spell at the moment Berry had struck, the bubble could have withstood a stronger attack.
From then on, magic practice became a game that Randall and Berry shared. Randall would evoke a shield around something, and Berry would try to destroy it. Sometimes Berry would invoke a shield, and Randall would try to bring it down. The donnan seemed to have a knack for learning magic, picking up spells after hearing only a few repetitions, like some sort of fae parrot. Randall didn’t give much thought to why his shield was so different than Master Erliand’s, but it worked, and that was really all that mattered in the end.
And Randall had guessed correctly: the more power he pushed into the shield, the more solid the bubble would become and the longer it would take Berry to smash it down. He also discovered that his little friend was capable of wielding an enormous amount of power. The donnan seemed capable of bringing down every one of his shields, no matter how powerful he made them. The effort was as rewarding as it was exhausting, and he could feel himself improving every day.
One day, Randall finally managed to create a shield that Berry couldn’t breach. The little imp battered it over and over again with lightning and fire, until finally he gave up, throwing his arms up in the air melodramatically and falling back into the grass. A little punch-drunk from exhaustion, Randall fell back into the grass too, laughing hysterically at his friend.
Eventually, the pair made it to Ninove, though it was hard to know exactly when they passed into the city itself. Randall knew he was getting close when he began running into small farmsteads along the road, few and far between. At the first sign of civilization, he asked the donnan to hide. Rather than disappearing, Berry scampered down from his place on Randall’s shoulder and crawled into the travel sack.
“Aw, Berry,” Randall said sadly. “You don’t want to just turn invisible and hang out on my shoulder?”
The little imp petulantly pulled the sack shut.
“C’mon Berry,” Randall said. “You know I hate to hide you away. But what else can I do? At least there’s some food in there! It’ll only be for a couple of days, I promise!”
As they traveled, the farmsteads became more common until eventually homes were clustered close enough together to give Randall the feeling that he was passing through a small village. Further down the road, and he felt like he was in a large town. Soon after that, he was in the city proper.
Once in the city, Randall quickly became hopelessly lost. Ninove, being the capital, was the largest city on Tallia. Wandering around, he turned down half a dozen side streets, and easily passed up dozens more. At first, he had hoped that he could just spend some time looking around the city and he would eventually find what he was after. After meandering aimlessly for a couple of more hours, he realized how foolish that notion was. Eventually he stopped, hitching his horse outside of a small shop with brightly colored candles lining the windowsills.
Inside the shop was a cheerful young woman sitting by a fireplace. As Randall walked in, she pushed up a long plank, lifting a neat row of thin candles from a pot of tallow, hanging from the board by their wicks. She rested the plank on a peg, leaving the candles to harden, and then rose from her chair with a smile.
She has a very pretty smile
, he caught himself thinking.
“What can I do for you, love?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron. “Needin’ some candles, I take it?”
Love
? The easy familiarity caught Randall off guard, and he found himself blushing furiously. In Geldorn, you would only use such a term with your own true love, and even then, it would be awkward to speak it in public. He found himself staring at the ground at his feet as he struggled for words.
“No, miss. I’m looking for shoes. No, wait! That’s not it. I have shoes. I just need to get them fixed.” Randall struggled to regain his composure as he continued to stare at the floor.
The young woman giggled delightfully. “Aren’t you just darling! First time in the city? I can tell.” She took his arm and steered him toward the door. She had an overpowering personality, but in the most pleasant of ways. Randall found himself being led back out of her shop, and all he could think about was her hand on his arm.
“All right. Look up there,” she said, pointing toward a tall tower that rose up above the city buildings in the distance. “That’s the East Tower. Head that direction, but keep that tower on your right hand side. You’ll eventually get to the tailors and cobblers shops. And if you ever need some candles, you come on back this way! And don’t call me miss. My name’s Estelle!”
“Thank you miss...” Randall started before catching himself. “...Estelle.” He turned and caught her looking at him in amusement, smiling warmly. Blushing again, he turned and hurriedly unhitched his horse and rode off in the direction that she had pointed him toward.
Ten minutes later, he was kicking himself.
“I’m so stupid!” he grumbled to himself. “Why didn’t I tell her my name! I’m pretty sure she liked me. I’m such an idiot!”
* * *
After a couple of false starts, Randall finally found the area of town that Estelle had referred to. After that, it only took a few minutes to find the shop of Edwin the Cobbler, which was the name that Shawncy had given back in Paranol. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to talk to the man about since he had decided against trying to escape to Salianca, but he was pretty sure that Edwin was a fellow Mage. It wouldn’t hurt at all to talk to a sympathetic ear and find out the lay of the land here in Ninove. It might also help Randall from making any glaring, and potentially fatal, mistakes.
Entering the cobbler’s shop, Randall was struck once again by how unlike a Mage the shopkeeper looked. Master Erliand, Shawncy, and finally Edwin all looked like terribly ordinary people. Then again, Randall supposed that he didn’t look like much of a Mage himself, being an under-developed teenage boy. The shopkeeper was rather short and heavyset, with a bulbous nose and a large bald spot threatening to engulf the remainder of his mousey brown hair.
“Hello?” Randall asked the busy cobbler. “Are you Edwin the Cobbler?”
“So what if I am?’ the cobbler snapped. “Can’t you see I’m working?”
Randall was shocked by the man’s rudeness. He surely couldn’t do much business with such a poor attitude! The rude behavior must be part of the cobbler’s cover to keep from having too many customers and thus, too much work. But to Randall’s dismay, the cobbler’s table was practically engulfed by a huge pile of shoes and boots in various states of disrepair. It seemed that the crabby little man had more work than he could keep up with!
“I was told that you were the man to see,” Randall started before being interrupted by the irascible old man.
“Yes, yes. Best cobbler in all of Ninove,” the man spat sarcastically without looking up from his work. He gestured toward the huge pile of shoes on the table beside him. “Throw your shoes in there. Be at least a week before I get to them.”
“Oh, wait” Randall said, unsure of how to take the conversation further. “My friend, uh, Shawncy, said I should talk to you.”
The man stopped working and peered at Randall . “Shawncy, eh? Good customer, lotta repeat business. Well, have a seat, then, and kick your boots off,” he said, winking while gesturing to a tiny stool against one wall of the shop.
The light of recognition had flared in Edwin’s eyes the instant the young Mage had mentioned Shawncy’s name. Randall wasn’t sure why he was being asked to take his boots off, but after seeing how much effort these men put into their cover stories, he guessed that it was some kind of ruse to allow them to speak without drawing suspicion.
Edwin pulled up another stool and made a show of measuring Randall’s feet. “So, what’s your name?” he asked as he worked.
“Randall, sir,” he replied.
“Well, Randall, your boots are terrible. Can’t say as I can even fix them up proper. Have to sell you something new. I have just the thing,” the cobbler said as he stood up and began rummaging in a cupboard full of haphazardly stored shoes. “Ah, here they are. Used, but in good shape. I’ll give ‘em to you for a couple of ringets.” Before Randall could say a word, the cobbler had slipped the pair of shoes onto Randall’s feet.
“Ah yes, a perfect fit!” the cobbler crowed, puffing up with pride.
The fact of the matter was that Randall’s boots were in pretty bad shape. But he hadn’t come to the cobbler’s shop to buy a new pair. “I didn’t really come for shoes, sir.” Randall said. “My friend, Shawncy of Paranol, he said I should talk to you.”
“Look kid,” Edwin snapped . “I don’t have time for foolishness. If you have no use for shoes, then I have no use for you. Go away and find someone else to pester.”
“But...Shawncy said that you would help me.” Randall protested. “I’m a Mage!” The words had spilled out of him before he even had realized what he was about to say.
“Oh you are, are you?” Edwin replied, his voice menacing. “Magic’s illegal, you know. I have half a mind to report you and your friend Shawncy to the Rooks. Where did you say you met him again?”
“In Paranol,” Randall answered. “He was pretending to be an apothecary.” He didn’t know why he was answering the cobbler so freely. The words seemed to tumble out of him before he had a chance to stop them.
“Paranol, huh? And did you go to his house? Do you know where he lives?” Edwin leaned in as he continued the questioning so that he seemed to fill Randall’s vision.
“Yessir,” Randall said. “Well, to a ‘safe house’, he called it. I don’t know if it was his real house.”
He had tried to stop himself from answering the last question, but the words had come out regardless! Something was forcing Randall to answer. It had to be magic! Randall’s heart raced as he anticipated the next question.
“I see.” Edwin said slowly, leaning closer. “Who are you working for?” he snapped suddenly.
