Magician (16 page)

A few minutes later, Pug’s eyes
began to sting from the pungent smoke, and he turned back to the
window and pushed open the shutters. “Kulgan?”

“Yes, Pug?”

“It would be much nicer working
with you if we could somehow keep the fire going for warmth but move
the smoke outside.” Between the smoking fire pot and the
magician’s pipe, the room was thick with a blue-white haze.

The magician laughed loudly. “Right
you are.” He closed his eyes for a moment, his hands flew in a
furious motion, and he softly mouthed a series of incantations. Soon
he was holding a large sphere of white and grey smoke, which he took
to the window and tossed outside, leaving the room fresh and clear.

Pug shook his head, laughing. “Thank
you, Kulgan. But I had a more mundane solution in mind. What do you
think of making a chimney for the fire pot?”

“Not possible, Pug,” Kulgan
said, sitting down. He pointed to the wall. “If one had been
installed when the tower was built, fine. But to try to remove the
stones from the tower, from here past my room, and up to the roof
would be difficult, not to mention costly.”

“I wasn’t thinking of a
chimney in the wall, Kulgan. You know how the forge in the smithy has
a stone hood taking the heat and smoke through the roof?” The
magician nodded. “Well, if I could have a metal one fashioned
by the smith, and a metal chimney coming from the hood to carry the
smoke away, it would work the same way, wouldn’t it?”

Kulgan pondered this for a moment. “I
don’t see why it wouldn’t. But where would you put this
chimney?”

“There.” Pug pointed to two
stones above and to the left of the window. They had been ill fitted
when the tower was built, and now there was a large crack between
them that allowed the wind to come howling into the room “This
stone could be taken out,” he said, indicating the leftmost
one. “I checked it and it’s loose. The chimney could come
from above the fire pot, bend here”—he pointed to a spot
in the air above the pot and level with the stone—”and
come out here. If we covered the space around it, it would keep the
wind out.”

Kulgan looked impressed. “It’s
a novel idea, Pug. It might work. I’ll speak to the smith in
the morning and get his opinion on the matter. I wonder that no one
thought of it before.”

Feeling pleased with himself for having
thought of the chimney, Pug resumed his studies. He reread a passage
that had caught his eye before, puzzling over an ambiguity. Finally
he looked up at the magician and said, “Kulgan.”

“Yes, Pug?” he answered,
looking up from his book.

“Here it is again. Magician
Lewton uses the same cantrip here as Marsus did, to baffle the
effects of the spell upon the caster, directing it to an external
target.” Placing the large tome down so as not to lose his
place, he picked up another. “But here Dorcas writes that the
use of this cantrip blunts the spell, increasing the chance that it
will not work. How can there be so much disagreement over the nature
of this single construction?”

Kulgan narrowed his gaze a moment as he
regarded his student. Then he sat back, taking a long pull on his
pipe, sending forth a cloud of blue smoke “It shows what I’ve
said before, lad. Despite any vanity we magicians might feel about
our craft, there’s really very little order or science
involved. Magic is a collection of folk arts and skills passed along
from master to apprentice since the beginning of time. Trial and
error, trial and error is the way. There has never been an attempt to
create a system for magic, with laws and rules and axioms that are
well understood and widely accepted.” He looked thoughtfully at
Pug. “Each of us is like a carpenter, making a table, but each
of us choosing different woods, different types of saws, some using
pegs and dowel, others using nails, another dovetailing joints, some
staining, others not. In the end there’s a table, but the means
for making it are not the same in each case.

“What we have here is most likely
an insight about the limits of each of these venerable sages you
study, rather than any sort of prescription for magic. For Lewton and
Marsus, the cantrip aided the construction of the spell; for Dorcas,
it hindered.”

“I understand your example,
Kulgan, but I’ll never understand how these magicians all could
do the same thing, but in so many different ways. I understand that
each of them wanted to achieve his end and found a different means,
but there is something missing in the manner they did it.”

Kulgan looked intrigued. “What is
missing, Pug?”

The boy looked thoughtful. “I . .
. I don’t know. It’s as if I expect to find something
that will tell me, ‘This is the way it must be done, the only
way,’ or something like that. Does that make any sense?”

Kulgan nodded. “I think I know
you well enough to understand. You have a very well-ordered mind,
Pug. You understand logic far better than most, even those much older
than yourself. You see things as a system, rather than as a haphazard
collection of events. Perhaps that is part of your trouble.”

Pug’s expression showed his
interest in what the magician was saying Kulgan continued. “Much
of what I am trying to teach is based on a system of logic, cause and
effect, but much is not. It is like trying to teach someone to play
the lute. You can show them the fingering of the strings, but that
knowledge alone will not make a great troubadour. It is the art, not
the scholarship, that troubles you.”

“I think I understand, Kulgan.”
He sounded dispirited.

Kulgan stood up. “Don’t
dwell on it; you are still young, and I have hope for you yet.”
His tone was light, and Pug felt the humor in it.

“Then I am not a complete loss?”
he said with a smile.

“Indeed not.” Kulgan looked
thoughtfully at his pupil. “In fact, I have the feeling that
someday you may use that logical mind of yours for the betterment of
magic.”

Pug was a little startled. He did not
think of himself as one to accomplish great things.

Shouts came through the window, and Pug
hurried to look out. A troop of guards was running toward the front
gate. Pug turned to Kulgan. “The elves must be coming! The
guard is out.”

Kulgan said, “Very well. We are
done with study for this day. There will be no holding you until you
get a look at the elves. Run along.”

Pug raced out the door and down the
stairs. He took them two at a time, jumping to the bottom of the
tower landing over the last four and hitting the floor at a full run.
He dashed through the kitchen and out the door. As he rounded the
keep to the front courtyard, he found Tomas standing atop a hay
wagon. Pug climbed up next to him, to be better able to see the
arrival over the heads of the curious keep folk gathered around.

Tomas said, “I thought you
weren’t coming, thought you’d be locked away with your
books all day.”

Pug said, “I wouldn’t miss
this. Elves!”

Tomas playfully dug his elbow into
Pug’s side. “Haven’t you had your fill of
excitement for this week?”

Pug threw him a black look. “If
you’re so indifferent, why are you standing in the rain on this
wagon?”

Tomas didn’t answer. Instead he
pointed. “Look!”

Pug turned to see the guard company
snap to attention as riders in green cloaks entered through the gate.
They rode to the main doors of the keep, where the Duke waited. Pug
and Tomas watched in awe, for they rode the most perfect white horses
the boys had ever seen, using no saddle or bridle. The horses seemed
untouched by wetness, and their coats glowed faintly; whether by some
magic, or a trick of the grey afternoon light, Pug couldn’t
tell. The leader rode on an especially grand animal, full seventeen
hands in height, with a long flowing mane and a tail like a plume.
The riders reared the mounts in salute, and an audible intake of
breath could be heard from those in the crowd.

“Elf steeds,” said Tomas,
in hushed tones. The horses were the legendary mounts of the elves.
Martin Longbow had once told the boys they lived in hidden, deep
glades near Elvandar. It was said they possessed intelligence and a
magic nature, and no human could sit their backs. It was also said
that only one with royal elvish blood could command them to carry
riders.

Grooms rushed forward to take the
horses, but a musical voice said, “There is no need.” It
came from the first rider, the one mounted on the greatest steed. She
jumped nimbly down, without aid, landing lightly on her feet, and
threw back her hood, revealing a mane of thick reddish hair. Even in
the gloom of the afternoon rain it appeared to be shot through with
golden highlights. She was tall, nearly a match for Borric. She
mounted the steps as the Duke came forward to meet her.

Borric held out his hands and took hers
in greeting. “Welcome, my lady; you do me and my house a great
honor.”

The Elf Queen said, “You are most
gracious, Lord Borric.” Her voice was rich and surprisingly
clear, able to carry over the crowd so that all in the courtyard
could hear. Pug felt Tomas’s hand clutching his shoulder. He
turned to see a rapt expression on Tomas’s face. “She’s
beautiful,” said the taller boy.

Pug returned his attention to the
welcome. He was forced to agree that the Queen of the elves was
indeed beautiful, if not in entirely human terms. Her eyes were large
and a pale blue, nearly luminous in the gloom. Her face was finely
chiseled, with high cheekbones and a strong but not masculine jaw.
Her smile was full, and her teeth shone white between almost-red
lips. She wore a simple circlet of gold around her brow, which held
back her hair, revealing the lobeless, upswept ears that were the
hallmark of her race.

The others in her company dismounted,
all dressed in rich clothing. Each tunic was bright with contrasting
leggings below. One wore a tunic of deep russet, another pale yellow
with a surcoat of bright green. Some wore purple sashes, and others
crimson hose. Despite the bright colors, these were elegant and
finely made garments, with nothing loud or gaudy about them. There
were eleven riders with the Queen, all similar in appearance, tall,
youthful, and lithe in movement.

The Queen turned from the Duke and said
something in her musical language. The elf steeds reared in salute,
then ran through the gate, past the surprised onlookers. The Duke
ushered his guests inside, and soon the crowd drifted away. Tomas and
Pug sat quietly in the rain.

Tomas said, “If I live to be a
hundred, I don’t think that I’ll ever see her like.”

Pug was surprised, for his friend
rarely showed such feelings. He had a brief impulse to chide Tomas
over his boyish infatuation, but something about his companion’s
expression made that seem inappropriate. “Come on,” he
said, “we’re getting drenched.”

Tomas followed Pug from the wagon Pug
said, “You had better change into some dry clothing, and see if
you can borrow a dry tabard.”

Tomas said, “Why?”

With an evil grin, Pug said, “Oh?
Didn’t I tell you? The Duke wants you to dine with the court.
He wants you to tell the Elf Queen what you saw on the ship.”

Tomas looked as if he were going to
break down and run. “Me? Dine in the great hall?” His
face went white. “Talk? To the Queen?”

Pug laughed with glee. “It’s
easy. You open your mouth and words come out.”

Tomas swung a roundhouse at Pug, who
ducked under the blow, grabbing his friend from behind when he spun
completely around. Pug had strength in his arms even if he lacked
Tomas’s size, and he easily picked his larger friend off the
ground. Tomas struggled, and soon they were laughing uncontrollably.
“Pug, put me down.”

“Not until you calm down.”

“I’m all right.”

Pug put him down. “What brought
that on?”

“Your smug manner, and not
telling me until the last minute “

“All right. So I’m sorry I
waited to tell you. Now what’s the rest of it?”

Tomas looked uncomfortable, more than
was reasonable from the rain. “I don’t know how to eat
with quality folk. I’m afraid I’ll do something stupid.”

“It’s easy. Just watch me
and do what I do. Hold the fork in your left hand and cut with the
knife. Don’t drink from the bowls of water; they’re to
wash with, and use them a lot, because your hands will get greasy
from the rib bones. And make sure you toss the bones over your
shoulder to the dogs, and not on the floor in front of the Duke’s
table. And don’t wipe your mouth on your sleeves, use the
tablecloth, that’s what it’s for.”

They walked toward the soldiers’
commons, with Pug giving his friend instruction on the finer points
of court manners. Tomas was impressed at the wealth of Pug’s
knowledge.

Tomas vacillated between looking sick
and pained. Each time someone regarded him, he felt as if he had been
found guilty of the most grievous breach of etiquette and looked
sick. Whenever his gaze wandered to the head table and he caught
sight of the Elf Queen, his stomach tied up in knots and he looked
pained.

Pug had arranged for Tomas to sit next
to him at one of the more removed tables from the Duke’s. Pug’s
usual place was at Lord Borric’s table, next to the Princess.
He was glad for this chance to be away from her, for she still showed
displeasure with him. Usually she chatted with him about the thousand
little bits of gossip the ladies of the court found so interesting,
but last night she had pointedly ignored him, lavishing all her
attention on a surprised and obviously pleased Roland. Pug found his
own reaction puzzling, relief mixed with a large dose of irritation.
While he felt relieved to be free of her wrath, he found Roland’s
fawning upon her a bothersome itch he couldn’t scratch.

Pug had been troubled by Roland’s
hostility toward him of late, poorly hidden behind stiff manners. He
had never been as close to Roland as Tomas had, but they had never
before had cause to be angry with one another. Roland had always been
one of the crowd of boys Pug’s age. He had never hidden behind
his rank when he had cause to be at odds with the common boys, always
standing ready to settle the matter in whatever way proved necessary.
And already being an experienced fighter when he arrived in Crydee,
his differences soon were settled peacefully as often as not. Now
there was this dark tension between Pug and Roland, and Pug found
himself wishing he was Tomas’s equal in fighting; Tomas was the
only boy Roland was unable to best with fists, their one encounter
ending quickly with Roland receiving a sound thumping. For as certain
as the sun was rising in the morning, Pug knew a confrontation with
the hotheaded young Squire was quickly approaching. He dreaded it,
but knew once it came, he’d feel relief.