The Wand-Maker's Debate: Osric's Wand: Book One (2 page)

“Archana's bones!” Gordyn's voice rumbled from his barrel chest as he swore at Osric. He had been standing guard since before his new Contege could draw a bowstring, but Osric knew he meant no disrespect. Gordyn had never been one to hold Osric's age or inexperience against him. “You shouldn't sneak up on new recruits, Sir, they may wet themselves.”

By the nervous look on the other Vigile's face, Osric was afraid that may have been more truth than jest. He allowed a smile to return to his face and let out a warm laugh. Slapping the young man on the back, Osric felt a pang of pity for the harassment the recruit likely suffered from Gordyn.

“Relax gentlemen. It's been a long day. It won't hurt to enjoy the last few hours.” He kept his hand on the young man's shoulder. “What is your name?”

“Dru, Sir, from Dangsten.”

Osric hadn't heard of the town, but he imagined it must be small. He got the impression that Dru wasn't used to the city yet.

“Well, Dru from Dangsten, if Gordyn gives you too hard of a time, you just let me know and I will deal with him. It wouldn't be the first time. He may have helped train me in DuJok, but it's been years since he could beat me.” Gordyn's only retort was a loud grunt and an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“Yes, Sir,” Dru replied, grinning shyly.

As Osric crossed the room to warm his hands near the hearth, he heard Gordyn grumbling under his breath to Dru.

“Don't believe that dribble, I let ‘im win to build his confidence. I could pin ‘im with one hand behind me back. Taught ‘im everything he knows, and look where it got ‘im. He should be thanking me for that pretty new tunic.” Dru laughed, and they went back to watching the celebrations out the window, both with one eye on the door. They wouldn't be caught off guard again.

Running the security for the peace ratification was a great endeavor. Osric was proud of his men; they had done a superb job. Thankfully, there had been only minor issues. One irate woman had caused a scene when she caught her large, hairy husband looking at another witch. It took five Vigiles to get her off of him. The witch's wand was confiscated until the next morning, when she could pick it up after paying her fine.

There was a theft of herbs at one of the shops, as well as a stolen wand at another, but both crimes had been resolved quickly. The culprit had been discovered when an odd limp was witnessed by an observant Vigile. It turned out to be a man with an umbrella wand stuffed down his pants. In a strange turn, he had stolen the herbs as well. Massive puss filled boils covered half of his body as the result of an anti-theft charm at the herb shop. He had then stolen the wand from the esteemed Wand-Maker Eni, because his own wand would not channel magic well enough to heal himself. Yet, why had he chosen an umbrella wand? Osric thought he would have been better suited stealing a quill, spatula, or knife wand; he may have gotten away with the theft if he had. Osric could understand the man's desire to have an Eni wand. He had owned a wand from an unknown maker; no wonder he could not heal himself. It looked as if it were a child's attempt at a wand; just a stick by any true way of measurement. No finish, no style, and no autograph.

Most of the best Wand-Makers liked to leave their autographs or initials on their product so people knew who made them. Well, except for Gus, of course. Though Gus didn't need to sign his wands, one could tell a true Gus by the bolt symbol. A few peddlers here and there claimed to sell them, but the bolt never looked quite right. Everyone knew that a true Gus wand could only be purchased from Gus himself. He could afford to be that picky, as he was the world's best Wand-Maker, and his wands were quite valuable.

Osric had spent enough time by the fire. His hands were warm and he needed to be in the throne room before the signing took place. All was well at the outpost, so he would leave the men to enjoy the story.

Gasps of excitement and awe came from the crowd, which Osric guessed was due to a display in the fire. He pulled his leather gloves on tighter, hoping to keep the warmth in longer on the last stretch up to the palace.

He approached the cart of a portly man he knew well. James had red cheeks and big brown eyes with more eyebrow than mustache. He waved and smiled at Osric, drawing attention to a disproportionately small chin for such a large man. He had an odd looking cart that he had made himself years before. It didn't look terribly sturdy, but James liked to brag about how he had reinforced the corners and walls with metal bars. That had allowed him to make a larger cart that was much lighter than that of his competitors. The sign, however, simply said “MEAT”. When Osric had asked about the sign several years back, James told him he had made it as a child with the help of his father. It was out of sentiment that he had never replaced it.

Frequenters of his cart knew that James sold a whole lot more than meat. His four course meals were known to be the best in the region. James was, in fact, also a trustworthy source of intelligence for Osric. He had provided him with a great deal of information on the assassination attempt that led to his promotion to Vigile Contege. Nobody is afraid to talk to a man behind a cart.

“I'm not used to seeing you so far from the dragon platform, James, but a scent that enticing can only come from one cart. How are you my friend?”

“Thriving, Sir! I haven't seen a crowd this merry, or this hungry, in years. It was well worth rolling this beauty to the market. Have you time for a meal?” James motioned to a large slab of meat and a pot of vegetables. Osric's stomach grumbled at the scent of succulent tubers, sweet young corn and earthy green beans mingling together in the pot, with the subtle aroma of thyme and rosemary, and just a hint of lemon.

“To my despair, not now. It's about time for the signing, so I must head up to the palace.” Osric smiled back and leaned in to examine the food, and he whispered, “Have you heard anything of note?” In a city the size of Stanton there was always a criminal population. Most of them were rather boastful of their intentions unless there was a Vigile nearby.

“Not a peep, good Sir. Are you sure you are not hungry?” James was a great salesman and had worn down many customers with tenacity alone, as if the food was not good enough already. “As you can see, I have one of the best cuts of meat I have had in some time, as well as greens. I'll even throw in a honey cake. For you, free of charge; for the cake that is.”

“I never said I wasn't hungry.” Osric shook his head while speaking. “To be truthful, I am famished. However, I don't have time; that is the issue. Would you mind coming up by the palace in a bit? I am sure there are more than enough customers up there for you, and when I am done with my rounds, I will be one as well.”

“Thank you, Osric. You are a good man. I will be there. You can count on me.” James put a thick hand over his heart in a dramatic display, and smiled his most thankful smile. After all, no carts had been allowed up by the palace all day; just another layer of security added for the occasion.

Osric said his farewell and began to walk to the palace, his stomach objecting to leaving behind such impressive fare.

“Good Sir!” James shouted after Osric. When he turned around, James tossed him a piece of dried meat, a thank you for the business he knew awaited him at the top of the hill. None of the food would go to waste that night.

“Thank Archana, and thank you.” Osric said as he walked away and took a bite.

“And thank you, my friend!” James said from behind the meat cart.

Osric was starting to feel as though he should be at the palace. Something was not quite right, but the feeling was not urgent, so he thought it must be nerves. It was, after all, a very important day. Ambassadors from every tribe, tongue, and species in the world were attending. The Ratification Ceremony had been almost a thousand years in the making, and he was in charge of the safety for everyone in attendance. Osric was taking the responsibility seriously.

He had personally met with each of the representatives gathering for the signing and had sensed no danger. If any one of the ambassadors had any desire to bring an end to the treaty signing, he would have known.

Osric took a bite of the meat James had thrown him, and savored the texture and taste as he walked. It had a rich, smoky flavor, and he looked forward to seeing the man again later for a real meal. The rough gravel path would soon turn to gray stone and be easier on his tired feet. Right then, he would welcome any comfort.

The night was not yet over and Osric still had a nagging feeling,
something isn't right!
His pupils contracted, and his muscles tensed as he slowed down and looked around. He tried to focus with his gift to locate the source of the feeling, but it was vague and he saw nothing out of the ordinary. The feeling passed and he felt his muscles relax and his heart rate slow. Maybe it had just been his nerves, as the time for the signing was fast approaching. He would stay alert for anything unusual, but he hoped nothing would go wrong so close to the conclusion of the day.

He passed an old witch and overheard her teaching a group of children, “We are all granted the same measure of magic. It is how well you use it, and your wand, that make you a better witch or wizard!” She put much emphasis on the word ‘wand', and continued to explain that each of their magical gifts were different, “The gift is what differentiates everyone. You are born with your ability and must learn to master it. For example, a Wand-Maker is the only one who can make wands.” She went on describing different gifts as Osric trailed out of earshot.

He had to dodge out of the way of a woman chasing her children, shouting, “If you don't get back here right now, I'm going to sick a paun on you!” Osric laughed. The boys must have really been misbehaving for her to say that. To imply the threat of a supernatural beast was the way of most mothers, and even Osric's mother had attempted to scare him into good behavior on occasion.

The paun were something of a myth.. They killed quickly, regardless of the size of the group, and never left survivors; or so the story went. The trouble was, nobody had ever actually seen one so their existence was questionable. Still, anytime someone came across a gruesome scene of unexplained death, they blamed the paun.

The truth of the matter was that not every creature lived by the Hunter's code. It was popular, and most societies upheld the practice, but there were the occasional offshoots that killed more than they needed and left the remains to rot in the sun. They killed without honor and refused to thank families for their sacrifice. It seemed unnatural, but it happened.

Shortly afterward, he passed by a heated scholarly debate on why unicorns could not, or would not, speak. Two elderly gentlemen had strong feelings on the subject; it was a common topic at any celebration. Only one fact was known and agreed upon by all; unicorns could not be killed.

He took a short detour around a scuffle over a game of lucky dice. One man felt that the other had used his wand to influence the roll. His Vigiles had that in hand quickly, however, impressing Osric with their prompt response.

At last, he could see the door to the palace. Osric's best friend Kenneth stood to the left side of the entrance. His Profice, Toby, second in command to the Contege, stood on the right. They saw him approaching and quickly ended their conversation, squaring their shoulders and gazing straight ahead. Osric was looking forward to the warmth of the palace. He had to school his expression to hide his eagerness as he walked the last few yards on gray stone worn smooth over the years by the passage of many feet.

“Toby, Kenneth, is it safe to assume that you haven't had any trouble up here?”

Kenneth casually waved his hand in the air and leaned back against the cool stone of the palace wall. “A couple deliveries are all we have seen in the last three hours, Os. Not even a dancing lady or a fire teller. Could you move a meat cart up here at least? We're withering away to nothing while you enjoy the festivities.” He indicated the meat in Osric's hand with a nod of his head, wiping imaginary drool from his chin.

Kenneth was lean with dark features and brown eyes, and his corded muscles were a little too close to the surface of his skin. He kept his long, black hair tied back, and he usually had enough weapons on him to arm a small army. Between the sharp blades and his thickly veined, broad neck he could appear dangerous when he chose. His fellow Vigiles would fear him if it were not for his disarming smile and quick sense of humor.

Whoops and gasps could be heard in the distance where the crowds were gathered. Osric looked at Kenneth with feigned sympathy and took a big bite out of the meat in his hand.

“It's true; it's been all dancing girls and feasting for me today. I'm sorry you missed it.” Then with a wink, “Toby, how do you put up with this guy?”

Toby was several inches shorter than the other two men, but his intimidating presence made up for what he lacked in stature. His smooth, shaved head was oiled to a high sheen, in stark contrast to the thick mustache and beard that shadowed his jaw. A thin scar crossed his cheekbone just below his right eye and two thirds of his first finger was missing from his left hand. He liked to tell new recruits an elaborate tale of how he lost his finger, and nearly his eye, hunting drogmas in the swamps east of Catrain. However, an Empath friend of Osric's had discovered it had really been a drunken brawl with an angry dwarf. An empty bottle of spirits is no defense against a sharp axe. Around his neck was a twist of colored thread his son had made for him, and a gold unity chain adorned his left wrist. Toby's skin may have been hard as nails, but he had a soft spot for his family.

Toby shot Kenneth a sarcastic grin. “After years of listening to Old Thamas grumble about his aching bones and tired feet, Kenneth's immaturity is a refreshing reminder of his youth, Sir.” Toby had been Contege Thamas' Profice for seven years prior to the Contege’s disappearance. After his promotion, Osric was afraid that Toby would resent him for passing him in the chain of command. Toby was more than qualified for the position, and was the obvious choice for Contege. On Osric's first day in his new post, Toby stood across from him, placed his palms flat on the surface of the desk, and looked intently at his new Contege. Osric had tried to appear less nervous than he felt, but after a few moments of regard, Toby smiled and said, “I am sure you are wondering why I am not sitting in that chair. They offered me the position, and I declined. I would much rather leave the joy of dealing with our superiors, and the responsibility for any failure, on your young and capable shoulders. I would be happy to advise you, but let there be no doubt, I do not envy you this promotion.” Osric wasn't sure if he had meant it at first, but Toby had been an able and willing source of advice on everything from new recruit training to social etiquette.