A Touch of Magic (30 page)

“No one!” Randall cried indignantly. He realized that Edwin must think he was working for Aidan!

“No one? So, you’ve come all this way all by yourself have you? Just pranced from there to here with no help along the way?” Edwin wheedled.

 “Well no, of course not. It’s been me and...” Randall’s voice caught in his throat. He had almost said “me and Berry,” but instead he caught himself at the last moment and said “me and...anyone I’ve managed to get to help me.” He wasn’t sure how he had managed to weasel around the answer that time, but he knew that any mention of his friend could lead to dire consequences.

Edwin’s face grew hard. “Like who?” he barked. Randall’s mind spun as he felt the power of Llandra compelling him to answer the question.

“Like...like my ma. She gave me a magic dagger!” he answered, but Edwin just sat there, and Randall realized he was waiting for more. And the longer he waited, the stronger the compulsion to answer tore at his throat.

“And..and Brody and Declan and Tobsen. I met them on the trail and they took me to Paranol, but they ended up kidnapping me.” Edwin continued to wait with pursed lips.

It seemed like the man would continue to dig until the secret about the donnan was pried from Randall’s lips. After Shawncy’s reaction to the creature, Randall felt certain that if he let the secret out, he wouldn’t leave this room alive.

The compulsion he was under didn’t seem to mind about the quality of the answer, so long as it was truthful. Randall hoped that if he named enough boring details, the old man would eventually tire of the questioning and release him from the spell before he was forced to reveal the existence of his friend.

“And some guys on a ferry. They gave me a ride to Varna on the Lake after I helped ‘em get unstuck. The caravan master there offered me a job. Once I got here, I got directions to your place from a girl who makes candles. Her name was Estelle.” And still, Edwin waited.

Randall wracked his mind, desperate to think of anyone else who may have helped him on his journey other than the donnan, while the pressure to answer continued to mount. He knew he could not hold out much longer.

“And...and...”

“Why don’t you cut the kid some slack, you old codger. He’s come a long way,” said a familiar voice from the doorway, startling Randall and breaking the spell. The tug of compulsion was still there, but it was diminished greatly.

“Shawncy!” Randall cried. It was both an answer to Edwin’s question and a cry of relief.

“Hadda test the boy, didn’t I?” Edwin retorted hotly. “Never know who to trust these days. He could’a been anyone, nosing around, tossing your name about like that. Hadda be sure, didn’t I?”

“Yes, of course you did,” Shawncy replied, in a tone more patronizing than it was placating. “But I’ve met the boy, and can vouch for him. He is who he says he is.”

“Fine,” the old cobbler said, pulling the shoes from Randall’s feet. “He’s your problem, then.” The feeling of compulsion left him completely the instant the shoes were off of his feet.

Edwin tossed the pair of shoes he was holding back into the cupboard and made his way back to his workbench, muttering grumpily. He looked up from the pile of shoes and snapped “Well, go on, get out of here and leave me to my work!”

It was clear to Randall that the bad-tempered behavior wasn’t simply a display put on to fool the public, but was an ingrained part of the man’s personality. Still, Shawncy seemed more amused than annoyed by the man’s crabby demeanor.

“Fair enough,” he said with a laugh, guiding Randall out of the door with one hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go, and leave the
maestro
to his art.” Randall was more than happy to put the shop as far behind him as possible.

Soon enough, Randall found himself comfortably seated in a corner of a pub. The establishment was fairly empty, though a few patrons were scattered throughout and taking their afternoon meal. Shawncy seemed much more relaxed and at ease in this environment, which was a far cry from his behavior in Paranol. Randall, on the other hand, felt paranoid and on edge. It seemed like he was always getting into trouble in pubs. After the barmaid brought their drinks, Randall found himself abstractedly sniffing the brew to make sure that it wasn’t drugged.

“So, what brings you to Ninove?” Shawncy started, cocking an eyebrow at Randall’s odd behavior. “I saw you up the road from Edwin’s, but I didn’t see your caravaner friends.”

“It’s a long story,” Randall said, pulling a face.

“Well, we have nothing but time. Edwin will be at the shop for a few hours yet, and so we might as well swap stories until then.

So, Randall found himself telling Shawncy the story of his kidnapping, and the bandit attack, carefully leaving out any mention of Berry. When he got to the fighting, Shawncy knitted his brows and steepled his fingers but said nothing. Randall glossed over his travels from Varna on the Lake to Ninove and when he finished, Shawncy blew out a large sigh.

“Well, that’s quite a tale,” he said. “My own journey to the capital wasn’t nearly so exciting. I’m sorry that you had to go through that.”

“Speaking of your travels, what brings you to Ninove? I didn’t expect to see you here” Randall asked with a touch of bitterness. “I thought you were going to lie low. Save your own skin and all of that.”

Shawncy winced at the denunciation in Randall’s tone. “I deserve that, I suppose. But I got to thinking about what you said. And you were right—we should do more than hide in the shadows. As a group, we have saved a number of lives by getting Mages off of the continent. But every now and then, one of us gets caught. None of us can face Aidan alone and win. Together, though, we might have a chance against the Rooks.”

This was the opportunity Randall had been waiting for, without even realizing it. He felt his throat tighten and hot tears well up in his eyes as he realized that he had a chance to strike back at the man who had ruined his whole life and killed his family. He took a long pull from his flagon of ale and steeled his nerves so that he wouldn’t embarrass himself by breaking out into real tears.

“So, you’re going to fight then?” Randall asked, softly.

“We all are, Randall,” Shawncy said with a grim smile. “Every Mage that we could contact is gathering here in Ninove. It is going to be war.”

Chapter 17

The next several days were filled with frustration and boredom. After being on the road for so long, Randall felt cooped up and useless tucked away in Shawncy’s safe house. Not that the safe house wasn’t comfortable. Unlike the last one, this dwelling was well furnished, clean, and in a fairly well-to-do neighborhood.

Randall learned that Shawncy was going by the name “Taggart” here, and was ostensibly a minor merchant from the larger continent of Salianca. While this guise exposed Shawncy to a bit of scrutiny, it was as good a ruse as any to explain a new face in town with a little bit of wealth.

The cover allowed the Mage to travel freely around the capital, whereas Randall was forced to stay home. He just couldn’t get used to calling the man by his new name. Try as he might, Shawncy was the only name that came to mind when he thought of the wily Mage. And so, Randall had to stay behind when the man traveled into the city, lest he slip up and blow the Mage’s cover.

Shawncy had used his connections to go so far as to have his new cover added to an incoming ship’s manifest, so that if anyone asked around, the story would check out. He was ostensibly in Ninove to make arrangements to buy bulk iron from a merchant who had connections with the mining colony in the Ironpike Mountains. In turn, he had arranged to sell the iron to another merchant in Salianca, who would, in turn sell it to a distributor. Eventually, the metal was supposed to end up in the hands of the weapon smiths for some minor noble on Salianca who was involved in a land dispute. It made Randall’s head spin to think of all of the middlemen between the source of the iron and its final destination, each one shaving a bit of profit for themselves off of the top. It was no wonder that everything seemed to cost a fortune in big cities!

Shawncy’s ruse was of limited usefulness, however. He didn’t actually have the kind of money it would take to buy iron in bulk, and eventually, the merchants he was dealing with would grow weary of the delays. But for now, the subterfuge granted him easy access to the upper levels of middle-class society. And there was nothing the middle-class seemed to love more than to gossip about court intrigue.

While rubbing elbows and trading rumors with merchants may have been Shawncy’s idea of excitement, Randall quickly grew bored with the stories. He was stuck at the safe house, unable to take part in the drama unfolding around him. When the Mage was away, Berry could come out of hiding, but even then, they didn’t have the kinds of freedom they’d had while wandering the countryside by themselves. They couldn’t play with magic, as they were accustomed to, and any kind of game they did manage to come up with quickly grew trite and stale.

Things finally came to a head one night after Randall was forced to endure another dull story about how some merchant had overheard some customer tell another customer that they had heard from someone’s sister that that their cousin so-and-so was working for the Rooks. Halfway through the banal tale, Randall exploded.

“Who cares?” he spat. “If I have to hear one more story about how someone’s friend heard some secret from someone’s uncle, I think I’m going to scream!”

Shawncy seemed genuinely taken aback by the outburst. “I thought you were actually interested in how the war is coming along.” he said, stunned. “I thought you wanted to be part of things.”

“But it doesn’t mean anything!” he shouted. “It’s just dull rumor-mongering from dull people! I’m not doing
anything
. I just sit here every day and listen to you gossip like some kind of old woman!”

Shawncy sighed. “Look, Randall. I realize that you’re young and hot for action, but gathering intelligence is how wars are won. Without intelligence, any action we took would be premature and wasted. We need to know who our enemies are, and where they are gathered.”

“But nothing’s happening! You just go out every day and listen to these old fishwife’s rumors!” Randall protested.

“What else can I do, Randall?” Shawncy snapped, impatiently. “Our people are still making their way to the city. They have to do it slowly, or they will arouse suspicion. Without everyone here, we cannot win. I’m not certain we can win in any case. But until then, all we can do is wait, and fish for knowledge.”

“But I’m
bored!
” Randall cried.

Shawncy sighed. “All right, all right. I’ll see if I can get Edwin or one of the others to come by a couple of times a week to tutor you on your knowledge of magic. You really should be prepared in case you have to fight. Will that make you happy?”

Randall brightened instantly. “Oh yes! That would be wonderful,” he beamed. It had been an eternity since he had been given any formal training, and as boring as it seemed at the time, he jumped at the chance. His time on the road had made its mark on him. He was much more confident in his abilities now, and he was eager to see how far he could take them. As he daydreamed about the things he would learn, a thought suddenly struck him.

“But...” Randall started.

“But what?” Shawncy asked testily.

“Does it have to be Edwin?” Randall asked plaintively.

Shawncy laughed and pounded his fist on his thigh. “What, you don’t like the old coot?” he guffawed. He let Randall’s sullen expression speak for itself.

“Sure, the man seems to enjoy being a cobbler more than he ever enjoyed being a Mage, but you’ll find no one more qualified.”

“Really?” Randall asked, a hint of doubt in his voice. “He’s just so rude!”

“Maybe so,” Shawncy said. “But before magic was outlawed on Tallia, Edwin was known by another name. And he was one of the most powerful Mages in the kingdom. It’s a blessing to have him on our side.”

“Oh.” Randall said, mollified. “Uhm, can I ask another favor?” he asked, meekly. He wasn’t sure how the older man would take his request, but he suspected that he wouldn’t take it well at all. It would be best to come at the subject humbly.

“What is it?” Shawncy asked, arching one eyebrow cynically.

“If it’s not too much trouble, can I leave the city when I’m not studying?” Randall asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“What? Are you crazy?” Shawncy exploded. “Aiden has the word out about you, boy! Why the devil would you want to go out and risk everything?”

“I have to practice some time!” Randall shot back, just as hotly. “Listening to lectures about magic won’t teach me anything! I need to figure out how to use what I learn. If I can’t make it work, it’s completely useless! And to do that, I need to be far enough away from the city that nobody will notice when I gather magic. Besides, if I’m not here, there’s less chance of someone spotting me. You wouldn’t want people to start asking why you have a young boy in your house that you’ve never talked about, would you?” Randall ended on a wheedling note that had the barest hint of a threat in it.

“Why you little,” Shawncy started, knowing he’d been backed into a corner. He caught himself mid-sentence and started anew, “All right, boy. You have a point. Much as I’d like you to just sit here until everything is over with, I know that there’s a fat chance of that actually happening. You look so young for your age that I can’t help but think of you as a little boy. But I know you can take care of yourself out there in the countryside. Just promise me you’ll stay away from people. Anyone you happen to run across out there is a potential enemy.”

“I promise!” Randall swore enthusiastically.

I’m going to be training again!
Randall thought to himself excitedly.
Learning real magic!
His mind began filling with so many possibilities that he barely even noticed when Shawncy returned to his stories of rumors and intrigue, nodding absentmindedly whenever it seemed that Shawncy was expecting a response. Who could keep their mind on such nonsense when the future held the promise of magic?

* * *

True to his word, Shawncy brought Edwin by the house a couple of days later. The old cobbler looked even more sour than he had before, if that was even possible. The Mage looked down at the young boy disdainfully, and Randall got the distinct impression that the old Mage didn’t want anything to do with him. That suited Randall just fine. The man’s judgmental attitude reminded him, in some ways, of his old master, Erliand, though Erliand had at least tempered his acerbic nature with a sprinkling of humor.

After Shawncy left, Edwin broke the ice with a gruff pronouncement. “Well, might as well get on with it. I don’t want to be here all day. Got shoes to fix.” Randall nodded and sat down on the floor at Edwin’s feet as man settled himself on the sofa.

“So, then,” Edwin said, “Let’s find out what you don’t know. What are the five kinds of magic?”

“Five?” Randall asked. “I only know four. Runes, spells, will and summoning. And elemental magic, but Master Erliand said that really wasn’t any kind of magic at all.”

“Ah, Erliand always was a traditionalist,” Edwin said, matter-of-factly. “Some Mages don’t consider elemental magic a true Art at all, since by itself, it does nothing. But then again, neither do bindrunes. It’s a controversial topic. So, what can you do, then? What practical knowledge do you have? How much did you have time to learn before Erliand was killed?”

The mention of Erliand’s death made Randall’s throat tighten. Much had happened between that day and now, but he still found the memory to be painful. After taking a moment to compose himself so he could speak without his voice giving away his discomfort, he answered. “I can make a few runes. Buk and Eoin, plus some bindrunes. But I’m not very good at them.”

Edwin snorted. “A rank beginner then.”

Randall flushed. “I’m better with Words. I can call down lightning, confuse men’s thoughts, call forth flames, that kind of thing,” Randall bragged with false nonchalance. He was reluctant to say the actual words out loud, though. Even though the words needed a connection to Llandra to make them work, it felt unsafe to utter them aloud, lest he accidentally call forth the magic.

Edwin snorted disdainfully. “Those are master-level powers, pup, and you are no master. Don’t think your lies will impress me any. “

“It’s true!” Randall protested. “Those spells are what kept me alive while I was on the run!”

“Issat so? So you can call forth flames, then? Say the word, then!” Edwin taunted. Randall hesitated, still feeling uncertain about saying the word out loud.

Edwin leaned back chortling. “That’s about what I figured. Full of a braggart’s talk, until it’s time to pay the piper his...”

“Arkala!” Randall spat, interrupting the old codger. Edwin’s head snapped back and his hands flew up to shield his face, as if he expected to be engulfed in flames.

“Where did you learn that word?” Edwin asked breathlessly, eyes wide.

“Aiden used it when he tried to kill me,” Randall said, flatly, taking a small measure of pleasure in the fear he had caused the older Mage.

“And you picked it up, just like that,” Edwin said, sarcastically, snapping his fingers on the last word.

Randall nodded. “Well sure. It took me a few tries, but he was right in front of me when I heard him say it. How hard can it be to repeat a word?”

“How hard can it be? How hard can it be?” Edwin repeated to himself, incredulously. “Boy, that’s a demonic word! Mages spend years learning the intricacies of the demonic tongue before they can successfully speak that kind of magic into existence. Many of us can’t even make our throats make those kinds of sounds. And yet, you have the inflection down perfectly. The sub-harmonics in the second syllable were sublime. The overtones across the entire word were impeccable. You mean to tell me that you could reproduce all of that just by hearing the word a couple of times?”

Randall was confused. “Overtones? Sub-harmonics?”

Edwin was in a state of extreme agitation. “You can’t be serious! You don’t know what I’m talking about?” Seeing Randall’s brows knitted in confusion, he continued. “Look, the demonic language sounds crude, but that’s misleading. It’s a subtle, hidden language. What most people would hear as a guttural grunt is often times a complete thought. It’s a complete description of an idea. Besides the raw syllables we hear, there are overtones, and other sounds that an untrained person would never hear, and each of those shape and describe the idea. Saying a demonic word is the equivalent of trying to say a half-dozen words in your own tongue, all at the same time. And you could hear all of that while running for your life?”

“I don’t know what overtones and that other stuff you said is,” Randall explained. “But yeah. I heard him say the word, and I practiced with it until I could say it too. It didn’t seem like that big of a deal.”

Edwin just shook his head. “Trust me. It’s a very big deal. You said you could call the lightning. Tell me the word,” he ordered.

“Grd’zx’kan,” Randall said, and Edwin flinched.

“Again,” the Mage commanded with a tiny quaver in his voice.

Randall repeated the word, feeling his throat beginning to ache. This word has always been particularly rough on his vocal chords, and he usually only said it once or twice a day when he was practicing.

“Again,” Edwin demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.

Randall barked the word out again, and broke into a spasm of coughing. The taste of iron in his mouth compelled him to bring his fingertips to his tongue. They came away bloody.