Magician’s Apprentice Chapter XXVI

Posted on April 14, 2020 by Brian Bixby

The story so far: In order to train Tollon, Court Magician Sarton has set him the task of performing a major evocation . . . to clean Sarton’s workshop! Now read on . . .

A major evocation involves ceremony. You need to invite the spirit to join you, offer it a gift, and then tell it what to do. In the process, you must not tire, make stupid mistakes, let the spirit intimidate you, or drive a poor bargain.

Major evocations can change the fortunes of entire kingdoms. I’m using this one to scrub the workshop floors. Sarton explains, “If you fail, the worst that can happen is that the spirit forces you to cleanse the floors with your tongue. I think that’s an acceptable risk.” He says this with a straight face. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

So I’m standing in the center of the ceremonial room, clad in a robe, inside a circle sanctified by blessed waters that has been drawn on the floor. I have my offering, a hare, in my left hand, the knife to kill it in my right, and the text of the invocation in my head. Sarton and Mia stand behind me in their own circles. They are just watching. So if I end up licking the floor, I’ll have an audience. Great.

Magicians evoke spirits, demons, angels, and ghosts.

“I, Tollon of Velgard, apprentice magician, do hereby call, summon, and evoke the spirit GRUDNOSTUE.” I visualize Grudnostue in my head as a short, fat lady with olive skin and brown eyes, wearing an apron, and nothing else. She carries a broom. She is reportedly ill-humored and is rarely called upon by magicians. Just my luck.

“I, Tollon of Velgard, apprentice magician, do hereby call, summon, and evoke the spirit GRUDNOSTUE.” Some spirits, like Tavartet, will respond the first time you call them. Others are less cooperative.

Grudnostue appears, but not in her usual form. Oh, she’s still short and wears an apron. But she’s also wearing high heels, and looks exactly like Paviara.

Spirits will do this to you sometimes. They want to cause you to have an emotional reaction, so you lose control and they can compel you, instead of the other way around.

I know this is not Paviara. It doesn’t matter. I’m in love with her, and she’s standing right before me, ready and willing. I look at what I have to give her. A hare. And a knife. These aren’t good enough for Paviara.

It’s the knife that brings me back to reality. Why would I give Paviara a knife? I wouldn’t. And then I remember Grudnostue. I give her a false smile. “Nice try,” I tell her. And then go on with the ritual. “Grudnostue, I will offer you sacrifice of this hare if you will do my bidding. Do you accept?”

Grusnostue takes my recovery in stride, and changes into her more usual appearance. I almost wish she hadn’t. Grudnostue-as-Paviara was sexy. Grusnostue-as-Grudnostue is not. She nods. “I accept the sacrifice.” And when I make no move to actually carry it out, she adds, “And will perform as I was requested.”

I hold the hare by its ears directly in front of me and cut its throat in one stroke. The blood sprays onto Grudnostue. I announce, “In taking this sacrifice, Grudnostue, you bind yourself to wash and clean the floors throughout Sarton’s workshop, not to depart until this had been completed to my satisfaction.”

One great thing about magic: it can be quick. Grudnostue drains the hare of its blood in just a few seconds, disappears, and then reappears moments later. She announces, “Saving for the circles in which you and your fellow celebrants stand, all the floors in the workshop have been cleansed. This I pledge.”

I look at the floor outside my circle. It does indeed look clean. In fact, it shines. I nod at Grudnostue. “Having completed the task, as stated by you as your bond, I dismiss you, Grudnostue.”

Grudnostue vanishes. I let go of the dead hare and the knife, which clatter to the floor. And I follow them, dropping down onto my hands and knees, shaking violently. I’ve been petrified with fear this whole time, but only now can I show any sign of it. My body’s reaction almost overwhelms me.

Mia is beside me, rubbing my back, saying soothing words to me I can’t quite make out. And I hear Sarton talking to her from behind me. “He did well. Most magicians pee themselves the first time they do a major evocation.”

(To be continued . . .)

Posted in Magician's Apprentice, Writing fiction | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment

Magician’s Apprentice Chapter XXV

Posted on April 13, 2020 by Brian Bixby

The story so far: Tollon took an unauthorized night out on the town, and missed most of a day working as Court Magician Sarton’s apprentice while trying to get out of the neighborhood of Gehulia. Now read on . . .

Sarton should hire a cleaning woman. Oh, right: I am the cleaning woman, today at least. And I swear that there are places in Sarton’s workshop that haven’t been cleaned since Bad King Worgas died. The grime is caked on, and I’m talking about a three-layer cake.

Sarton did not want to hear my explanations as to why I went missing until late afternoon yesterday. He did not want to hear that there is a magician named Zella in Gehulia. He just told me that as punishment I should spend a day cleaning the workshop. And he forbade Mia to help in any way, shape, form, or fashion. In fact, he’s taken her into the city. The two of them are going to have a little holiday together while I clean. Not that this means I can slack off. Sarton made it clear he has ideas about how clean the place should be when he returns, and his expectations are not modest.

Have you ever noticed it is women we expect will be scrubbing floors, despite it being backbreaking labor? (Painting by Rudolph Kremlička (1886 – 1932))

Knowing even so that appearances are important, I’ve started with the entry hall and moved inward. I’ve now reached the ceremonial room, where Sarton conducts his major enchantments. And I’ve just found out that the cleanser I’m using doesn’t work very well against animal bloodstains. Which is a pity, because they are all over the floor. At the rate I’m going, I might get as much as a sixth of the floor cleaned by the time Sarton returns.

And then I have a brainstorm. There must be a spirit that will sweep, mop, or scrub a floor. Just because I haven’t run into one doesn’t mean there isn’t one.

So I go to the library and pull out some of the books we’ve been using that list the spirits and their capabilities. They’re organized by families, but there’s no order I can make out to the families, or the spirits within a family. It’s going to be a slog. Still has to be better than scrubbing the ceremonial room floor by myself.

I flip through pages. I have to stop and examine every single page, as the text is poorly organized. I run into fiery spirits, and consider arson. I run into amorous spirits, destructive spirits, intelligent spirits. I run into a second text that mentions Tavartet, and this one contains an invocation to torment him. I copy that one down. It may be easier to torment him and make him give up his demand for dragon’s teeth, than actually getting them for him.

I lose track of time, hunting through one book after another. And then I hear the door to the workshop open, followed by the voices of Sarton and Mia, and I know I’m sunk.

I rush out to greet them. Sarton is looking thunderbolts at me. He snarls, “Didn’t get very far, did you, boy? Sitting on your arse half the day?”

Yeah, but I’m going to try to explain. I’m already in the doghouse; how much worse could it get? “I figured that as a magician in training, I might be able to get a cleaning spirit to do the work for me.”

Sarton doesn’t look any happier. “Seem as though you failed at that, too, boy.”

Well, that didn’t work. “Yes, master. I suppose I should spend tomorrow cleaning, as well.”

“Exactly.” Sarton turns to Mia. “Hand me my bag, Mia.” She does. He takes it, reaches in, and pulls out a book, which he extends to me. “Take it.”

I do. “What should I do with this, master?”

“Why read it, Tollon. It’s a book that includes invocations for cleaning spirits. Once you understand it, you can put it back in the library, from which I removed it this morning.” Sarton laughs. “Sometimes even being smart won’t save you, Tollon, but I’d rather you tried to be smart, as you did today, instead of being stupid, as you were the day before. Let’s see which one you are tomorrow, when you try a major invocation for the first time.”

(To be continued . . .)

Posted in Magician's Apprentice, Writing fiction | Tagged , , , , | 7 Comments

Magician’s Apprentice Chapter XXIV

Posted on April 12, 2020 by Brian Bixby

The story so far: Tollon finds himself in the dismal neighborhood of Gehulia, at the mercy of an old woman and her two toughs. Now read on . . .

Am I of “the ken,” this old woman wants to know. Sounds like being of the ken is a privileged position. Since I’m not, I go for what privilege I have. “I don’t know your ken, but I am the apprentice to Court Magician Sarton, and if you don’t want him to destroy you with lightning bolts, you’ll let me go.”

The old woman doesn’t look very impressed. She steps forward and takes a closer look at me. “Sarton’s whelp, are you? He’s not here, boy. I am. And since you’re not of the ken, you shouldn’t be here. So why are you here?”

“None of your business,” I reply.

The next moment, I scream as every nerve in my body lights up in pain. It only lasts a moment. But a moment is too much.

The old woman nods contentedly at me. “Don’t get lippy with me, boy. Answer the question.”

“I needed a drink and a woman,” I reply. And wait to be struck with pain again.

I’m not. The old woman cackles. “You’re a pretty one to be so hard up. Still, it’s an honest reason. So your penance will be light.” She reaches into a pocket in the red jacket she’s wearing over her gown, and pulls out a small box. Holding it out, she says, “Here, boy, deliver this to Bjarn at the Red Foxtail. Tell him Zella sent it. Then you will have discharged your penance, and may leave Gehulia freely and without further harm.”

I reach out to take the small box, and find I’m no longer chained to the post. This woman is some sort of magician herself, clearly. I take the box. It’s not much bigger than my palm. “May I know what’s in this box, madame?” I ask in polite tones.

She appears mollified by my tones. “No. And best no one but Bjarn tries to open it.”

“And how do I find the Red Foxtail?”

§

I should have asked where Bjarn is. Because I’ve been to the Red Foxtail. To Bjarn’s house. To his workplace; he’s a tanner. (Ugh!) Every place I go, I’ve been told he’s somewhere else.  Finally, I was assured he was at the Dry Gulch, a tavern noted for its salty food. But the directions I was given were faulty. I’m lost.

City alleys can hide robbers . . . or washwomen. (“Alley” by Jules de Bruycker (1870 – 1945))

So I step into a dirt alleyway and summon Tavartet again, to tell me where the Dry Gulch is. Instead of getting a map in my head, I hear Tavartet’s voice. “For a second consultation in a day, you need to give me an offering.”

Trying not to attract any attention from anyone who might be nearby, I whisper, “I will actually make two offerings to you, one for the first consultation, one for this one, once I get home.”

“I require but one: three dragon’s teeth.”

What is it with dragon’s teeth? First Sarton, and now an immaterial spirit wants them. I make a counter-offer, “One. That’s all it’s worth.”

“I think not. Three.” The spirit’s voice is smug.

“All right, three,” I promise.

Immediately, a visionary map of the neighborhood appears in my head. My location is clearly marked. So is the Dry Gulch’s. It’s at the other end of the alley I’m standing in.

It is all I can do to restrain myself from calling Tavartet a bunch of hard names before I dismiss him.

Posted in Magician's Apprentice, Writing fiction | Tagged , , , , | 6 Comments

Magician’s Apprentice Chapter XXIII

Posted on April 11, 2020 by Brian Bixby

The story so far: Tollon, apprentice to Court Magician Sarton, made the mistake of going out and getting drunk in a place of less than sterling reputation. Now he needs to get home, but he’s not sure exactly where he is. Read on . . .

Spirits fall into classes. Some of those classes, neither Mia nor I can figure out. Voronzha, for example, is a spirit with an affinity for water, clocks, sexual attraction, and explosions. She (whatever gender means for spirits) will try to influence you into becoming a monomaniac. And she’s one of a class of spirits whose attributes seem to be based on the logic of a rabid hamster.

I’m not using one of them. I’m going to stick to one I understand: Tavartet. Tavartet belongs to the geographic class of spirits. They deal with spatial issues. If you’re good, you can get Tavartet to transport you instantly from place to place. But I’m going to use him for a more modest purpose: finding out where I am.

I draw a compass rose in the dirt of the yard with my foot. Elegance does not count, not for a spell like this one. I stand in the rose, close my eyes, visualize the rose with Tavartet’s name upon it, and summon him, calling on him to show me where I am.

Major spells require a lot of effort, or a bribe to the spirit. Tavartet seems to regard telling people where they are as a loss leader. I don’t need to give him anything. I just keep concentrating on the compass rose, Tavartet’s name, and what I “command” him to do.

Slowly, in my head, a new vision displaces the compass rose. It’s a map. It’s a weird kind of map. It’s like a three-dimensional model of the city and palace. And it shows me exactly where I am.

I remember to thank Tavartet before dismissing him. Giving him a gift later wouldn’t hurt, but that’s for later. I open my eyes, and the vision of the map goes away.

But I know where I am. I’m in Gehulia, the district in the city up against the Great Swamp. This district is home to slaves, poor people, criminals, and more poor people. And the place I came out of wasn’t The Widow’s Respite, but a tavern with a more noxious reputation, Herkan’s Hangman. It’s supposedly built on the site of a gallows. Many of its denizens will probably end up ornamenting one.

The good news is that it’s within the city’s walls. That’s one less obstacle I’ll have to deal with.

The bad news? People in Gehulia don’t like strangers. It’s said there are more unsolved murders and disappearances in Gehulia than in the rest of the city.

So I quietly walk out of the yard into the alley, looking carefully both ways for sign of anyone else stirring at this time. I walk quietly down the alley. At the end, I stay close to the wall of a building, and carefully look into the street that crosses there. It’s quiet. I cross, and go into the alley across the street. One block down, only twelve more to go.

Except suddenly the alley I’ve walked into isn’t an alley anymore. It’s a cellar. I whirl about, trying to figure out where I am, and am grabbed on both sides. I’m picked up, and slammed into a wall, banging my head against it.

By the time I recover my senses, I find that I’m chained to a post in the cellar. Two big men, roughnecks by the looks of them, stand on either side of an old woman. Her hair is black, her skin is red like mine, but wrinkled with age, and she’s wearing what looks like an expensive blue silk gown that is entirely out of keeping with the ragged men on either side of her.

Her voice is thin and brittle. “How now, young magician? What are you doing here? Are you of the ken, or against the ken?”

I have a feeling I’d better answer this correctly. Only I have no idea who or what “the ken” are.

(To be continued . . .)

Posted in Magician's Apprentice, Writing fiction | Tagged , , , , | 8 Comments

Magician’s Apprentice Chapter XXII

Posted on April 10, 2020 by Brian Bixby

The story so far: threatened by Lady Gwella, Tollon is being trained in magic by his master, Court Magician Sarton. Sarton has previously explained how the body’s organs affect the will, which is crucial to performing magic. Now read on . . .

I think I’ve flunked using my body organs wisely. I’m sitting in the dark, on the edge of a bed, with a hangover. It’s not my bed. It is my hangover. I’d rather those two terms were swapped.

I should recall the name of the woman snoring on the other side of the bed. I don’t. I think I was already too drunk at that point to remember little details like that. I’m not even sure if I seduced her with my charm, or paid for her body with my money. I’m not sure which would be worse, right now.

They’re all widows, don’t you know?

I think I’m in a bedroom in one of the upper floors of a tavern called The Widow’s Respite. If I’m correct, then I probably paid for this encounter. All the women in The Widow’s Respite are widows who just need a shoulder to cry on and a little money to tide them over. Just ask them.

I’m here because of Mia. Three days of her company. I don’t dare touch her for fear of what I might do, what those visions tempt me to do. But she’s there, with me all the time. And it’s not like I can go see Paviara, not that she’ll want to see me if I tried. What’s a guy to do?

Sarton is going to kill me. If I get back to his workshop in the palace.

Sarton will blame me for . . . well, I don’t know. Lack of self-control. Bad judgment. Impulsiveness. Does it matter?

That’s the question that brings me up short. It does matter, because if I don’t figure out why I did this, I’ll do it again. And one of these times, I’ll fall into Lady Gwella’s hands. After what Lady Vorana did to me, and how it still affects me, I don’t want to think what my life will be like if Lady Gwella gets hold of me. Assuming I still have a life.

Lack of self-control, bad judgment, impulsiveness: yeah, I won the trifecta. And, note this well, Tollon, my boy, those are things about you, not Mia.

Okay, we’ll deal with anatomizing my failures later. Let’s figure out how to get back to the workshop without being caught.

I find my clothes. I get dressed. I think long and hard about my next move, and then decide I need all the help I can get. I go over to the other side of the bed, hold my hand over the woman’s mouth, and shake her to wake her up.

“Shhh!” I tell her when she jerks awake. “Don’t make so much noise. I need your help.” I remove my hand from her mouth.

She sits up. I can barely make her out in the dark. “What is it?” she whispers.

“I need an inconspicuous way out of this place,” I whisper back.

She raises her voice to normal levels. “Go find one yourself, you turd.”

Obviously, my performance earlier in the evening was not one of my better ones. So I whisper back, “I’m a political criminal, and if you don’t help me, I’ll tell the authorities you hid me here for a week.”

That, surprisingly, works. Making various displeased noises, my companion of the night scrounges around for her clothes, puts them on, takes me by the hand, and leads me out of the room. We go through a confusing assortment of corridors and stairs. Finally, she opens a door to the outside.

I step out. I’m in a small bare yard, at what looks like the back side of some structure, facing a dismal alley. There’s a promise of dawn in the air and the sky.

I turn to thank the woman. I notice she’s probably a bit older than I am, still young, but showing some wear. That’s all I have time to notice before she spits in my face and slams the door on me.

Heigh ho. She gave me what I asked for, an inconspicuous exit. Now all I have to do is figure out how to return to the palace without being discovered.

Unlike Mia, I do not belong to a secret society. So it’s time to try out the lessons in magic I’ve been learning.

(To be continued . . .)

Posted in Magician's Apprentice, Writing fiction | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Magician’s Apprentice Chapter XXI

Posted on April 9, 2020 by Brian Bixby

The story so far: Tollon, apprentice to Court Magician Sarton, is apparently in danger from the Lady Gwella, a rival to Sarton. So Sarton is training Tollon in magic, with some help from the slave Mia. (If you want to catch up on this backstory, you can read chapters I – XX by going here.) Now read on . . .

“Magic involves commanding spirits to perform to your bidding.”

The three of us sit around a table in Sarton’s workshop. Sarton is holding forth. He’s in his working clothes, made of leather for endurance and protection. Mia is dressed in burlap again. Sarton is having appropriate clothes made for her, and for me as well. I’m dressed in the clothes I used to wear playing ball with my fellow servants.

“You have to take command of the spirits. And you have to be careful, because they will try to influence you, command you even, if they can. If they do take command of you, you become a danger to us all, and must be killed.

“Spirits influence according to their nature. You use a spirit to cast a love spell, the spirit will try to influence you to become more amorous. Hence, the greatest danger comes from spirits that can exploit weaknesses in your nature.

“Tollon, you are impulsive. You must beware of any spirit pressuring you to act quickly, or to go beyond limits you set for yourself.

“Mia, you are too self-effacing. However appropriate that is in a slave, it can be fatal to a magician. I would not want to see you attempt an invisibility spell any time soon, for fear that you might be influenced into never becoming visible again.”

Sarton pauses. So I ask the obvious question. “What’s your greatest weakness, master?”

Famously, Merlin’s apprentice defeated him by exploiting his weakness, which is why Tollon’s question is perilous for Sarton.

He laughs. “Curiosity, my boy. Why do you think I spend so much time trying to observe what goes on in the world? And curiosity is very dangerous, because it has no end. So I set firm limits to mine, and change them only when necessary. Any other questions?”

You bet. “None of the magic I’ve done with you so far has called upon a spirit.”

“Wrong.” But Sarton is not displeased. “So far, you’ve handled magical artifacts. They were given their power by spirits. So you’ve been dealing with them at one remove, Tollon. That’s all I dared risk with you before now.”

Ah, yes, my lack of character in Sarton’s eyes. I can feel myself blushing. So I’m happy Mia actually chimes in. “Master, how do we command the spirits?”

“That’s most of what I have to teach you both, Mia.” Sarton strokes his beard for a bit. “To start, you need to understand yourselves. You must impose your will on the spirits. So what affects your will?”

“What I think,” replies Mia.

“So your brain is involved,” replies Sarton. “What else?”

Mia and I sit there, without a clue. Sarton waits patiently. And then I have an idea. There’s an old saying that some men think with their genitals. So I hesitantly say, “Reproductive organs?”

Smiling, Sarton approves. “Certainly. They definitely influence what you think. What else?”

Mia smiles broadly. “Food.”

With a clap, Sarton says, “Certainly. Well, your stomach and your belly. Anyone who doesn’t think those organs don’t affect one’s thinking has never had an upset stomach or gotten drunk. Speaking of which, Mia, fetch us some refreshments. I want to make sure my mind is working properly.”

Mia gets up, and heads toward the kitchen. Sarton follows her with his eyes until she’s gone, and then sighs. To me, he says, “She’s smart and she thinks like a slave. That’s a dangerous combination. Are you still getting visions of her and Vorana?”

I screw up my face as I answer. “The frequency went down considerably while I was in hiding, and having her around isn’t causing them to increase anymore, which is weird.”

“Good.” Sarton is all seriousness now. “Learning magic is going to be tough on you, boy, but I have to give you an even tougher job. You have to train Mia not to think like a slave. I can’t do it; I have to play the master to both of you. But you can.”

“How do I do that?” I ask. Because I really can’t figure out how.

“Use your brain, Tollon. And your stomach. And your reproductive organs. But use them wisely,” is all Sarton tells me.

(To be continued . . .)

Posted in Magician's Apprentice, Writing fiction | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments

Magician’s Apprentice Chapter XX

Posted on April 8, 2020 by Brian Bixby

The story so far: Tollon has been hunted by the Earl of Haulloran, for reasons unknown, but the king ordered the whole matter quashed. Now Tollon must confer with his master on what to do next. Read on . . .

We end up in Sarton’s workroom, at his dining table. (Sarton sometimes doesn’t leave his workroom for days at a time.) Sarton sends Mia to get us some food. Which gives me the chance to tell him what I’ve learned. “Mia’s been trained as an assassin. I saw her attack Haulloran’s men. I recognize the style as Aantarvan School.”

Sarton gives me an amused glance. “You waited until Mia wasn’t present to tell me that, Tollon? Why, do you think she doesn’t know that herself?”

“Ah, but, but . . .”

“Vorana told me all about Mia when she sold her to me. And yes, it’s illegal to train a slave in any form of combat. That didn’t stop Vorana.” Sarton shakes his head. “Or Mia, for that matter. And to save you some trouble, yes, I know about the secret society Mia belongs to. It’s one of the better ones: fairly secure, ample resources, and extremely seditious in its politics.” Sarton laughs. “You’ve been hanging out with professional criminals, my boy, unlike the amateur scalawags you’ve played with in past.”

The most famous seditious political conspiracy: the Gunpowder Plot

Mia returns with a heavy load of food and drink. I notice she’s discarded the iron ring around her neck and switched out of the burlap to a decent frock. To my surprise, she sets the provisions out for three, and takes her seat at the table with us. Sarton waits until she’s settled, and says to her, “Mia, Tollon was surprised to find out you were trained as an assassin. Would you explain what that means for him?”

Mia gives me her loving look. “Master Tollon, a slave must protect her master. The more capable I am, the better I can do it. As you are my master, subject only to Master Sarton’s orders, I must protect you. I would not kill you, except at Master Sarton’s orders.” She turns to Sarton and adds, “I would regret that happening, although I know my feelings do not matter.”

“I have no intention of ordering you to do so,” Sarton says. “So let us regard that matter as disposed of. We got out of that business before Their Majesties about as well as we could. Because the matter has been officially cast into oblivion, Haulloran can never revive the charges. Clever how the king managed it so Haulloran couldn’t even object.”

“He actually seemed happy to shake my hand,” I point out.

“I noticed that, too,” says Sarton, stroking his beard. “What with Lady Gwella standing nearby behind an invisibility spell, glaring at you, whatever is going on, it must be complicated.

“So I have decided. You are in danger, Tollon. Why and how, we do not know, but Lady Gwella is involved. Magic is involved. So your education must be sped up. I can’t have you just reading about magic. I’m going to have to throw you into it, willy-nilly.” He turns to Mia. “And that brings me to an even more difficult decision. You’re going to have to learn with him, Mia. You understand?”

Mia nods. “Yes. You want me to be a fellow student, rival, or tutor, as my own talent dictates, in order to make Tollon learn faster.”

“Exactly,” Sarton replies. He looks over to me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, boy. You’re still my apprentice, and when you complete your articles, you will become a certified magician. But we are going to need every advantage to keep you safe and sound. So, another thing: you move in here. We’ll get your things this evening. Understand?”

My head’s spinning. I nod, anyhow. And then I have a thought. “Teaching magic to a slave is illegal.”

Sarton nods. “Just like training them to be assassins.”

I look over at Mia. She seems bothered not in the least.

END PART TWO

(To be continued . . .)

Posted in Magician's Apprentice, Writing fiction | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

Magician’s Apprentice Chapter XIX

Posted on April 7, 2020 by Brian Bixby

The story so far: For some unknown reason, the Earl of Haulloran’s men tried to apprehend Tollon, but the slave Mia fought them off. Charges were made by the earl and by Tollon’s master before the king and queen. Now they must be answered. Read on . . .

We must look like a procession of freaks. Sarton is in the lead, in full costume as Court Magician. His robe has enough gold thread in it to bankroll an entire town for a year. Then there’s me: velvet and leather robe, squeaky black boots, and every inch of my skin rubbed raw by Mia removing soot from it. I look as if I got a bad sunburn. And just as I’m walking six feet behind Sarton, Mia is walking six feet behind me. Because she’s officially a slave, she has to appear at this audience in burlap, with an iron ring around her neck.

We proceed down the Grand Audience Chamber at the official slow pace, walking in-between mostly empty galleries on either side. This isn’t meant to be a public audience. No one seemed to want to make this public.

Their Majesties, the Glory and Pride of the Realm, sit in their twin thrones at the far end of the chamber. In theory, they are co-rulers, representing two rival families who decided to make an alliance through marriage to end a cycle of civil wars and succession struggles. In truth, she has most of the power, and he has most of the brains, an arrangement that does not work well.

A royal audience before the most famous pair of joint monarchs on OUR world, Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain

“The Marvelous Master Magician of Court and Kingdom, Sarton of Serez,” the herald announces. (Sarton tells me he chose the specific form of his title because of the alliterations.)

Sarton bows. So do I. It’s required. I glance back and see Mia is not bowing. She’s a slave. She doesn’t count as an honorable person.

Sarton speaks in a formal voice. “Your Majesties, I present my apprentice, Tollon, Lord of Tyznar Heights.” I step forward to stand beside Sarton, and bow toward the thrones. Sarton continues, “Certain allegations were made alleging his behavior. He is here to answer them, with my pledge that he speaks truthfully.”

The king leans forward in his throne, and looks over to the gallery on his left. “Those allegations were made by Ronnard, Earl of Haulloran. If he is here, he should stand forth and make his complaint. If he is not here, he will be summoned with all due haste.”

The king’s wording is dictated by protocol. Haulloran is in the gallery. He steps down and forward until he reaches the central aisle, then he comes forward until he is standing on a level with Sarton and me, though as far away as he can be. He bows, and then says, “Your Majesties, I have since making those allegations investigated the matter more thoroughly. I wish to withdraw any accusations, explicit or implied, that were made by me or on my behalf concerning the individuals in question.”

The king replies, “There were allegations that four of your men had been assaulted, one had died, and it had been done by an apprentice and a slave. I see an apprentice and a slave here before me. Are these not the individuals you accused?”

The earl tries to keep up a dignified front as he says, “They are, Your Majesty. But a mistake was made in identifying them.”

The king does not bother to hide his amusement. “I would think so, Ronnard. Just look at them! A high wind would take them off! To think they could beat up four of your men! You need to hire better men than dancing masters to protect you, I think.” He turns his gaze to Sarton. “You’re not going to make matters difficult by making countercharges, are you Sarton?” And before Sarton can answer, the king turns to the queen. “I think it best that this whole matter be dismissed and cast into oblivion. What do you say, my lady?”

The queen feigns disinterest. “As you say, my husband,” she drawls in a low voice.

The king looks over toward the chancellor, who has been sitting off to the queen’s right. “Starguis, see that the matter is so recorded: settled and cast into oblivion.” And then he turns to us. Looking serious now, he says, “I think it best, Ronnard, if you’d shake hands with the boy, as a gesture of peace. Show the lad what true grace means.”

The earl turns and walks over to me, holding out his hand. He’s looking at me more with curiosity than anything else, as near as I can tell. The king has mentioned grace, so as the inferior party in this exchange, it is up to me as well to demonstrate it appropriately. I say to the earl, “I hope I am equal to the honor of grasping your hand, my lord,” before taking it.

Oddly enough, that pleases him. He not only shakes my hand, but reaches out with his other hand and clasps my hand between his and holds it before letting go. He then bows to me, to Sarton, and to Their Majesties before turning and walking back toward the far door at the end of the hall.

We do much the same immediately after, and depart the hall. As we head back to Sarton’s workroom, I heave a sigh of relief. “That went well,” I say.

Sarton shakes his head. “Not with the way Lady Gwella was looking daggers at you,” he replies.

“What are you taking about, master? She wasn’t there.”

Sarton turns to me. “Just because you didn’t see her, lad, doesn’t mean she wasn’t there. She didn’t want to be seen. And I’m sure she means you mischief.”

(To be continued . . .)

Posted in Magician's Misfortune, Writing fiction | Tagged , , , , | 5 Comments

Magician’s Apprentice Chapter XVIII

Posted on April 6, 2020 by Brian Bixby

The story so far: Tollon is in hiding from the Earl of Haulloran’s men, and fears he’s gotten mixed up in far too many secrets he doesn’t understand. Now read on . . .

The next morning, I am served a hearty breakfast by my host. He also tells me I will be staying put for a day or two. “Your presence would not help your friends at this time.”

“You saw Mia?” I ask.

“How I learned this is no concern of yours,” he replies in a frosty tone. And then he actually relaxes a bit, sits down at the table where I am eying the food, and lets a shadow of a smile cross his face. In the nearest thing to a positive tone he’s taken with me, he says, “Eat up, man, while the food’s still hot. I’ll tell you what I can while you eat.”

So I dig in, and the man explains. “Your master is a tricky one. He complained to the Chancellor that you are missing after an altercation with Haulloran’s men, and that he fears you may have been secretly killed by Haulloran. Haulloran’s story about how you and our mutual friend trounced four of his men was not thought credible. So now the earl is in a sweat to find you and bring you in unharmed. And your master wants you to stay here for a while to let the earl sweat some more.”

I think about this as I eat. This would only make sense if one thing were true. “The Earl does not want to reveal why he sought me or what he planned to do with me.”

“Exactly,” the man replied.

I don’t like the sound of that. And then another thought strikes me. “The earl’s wife is a witch. She could find me here.”

The man’s smile disappears. “I’ve been informed that is unlikely. But I am no magician. You are a magician’s apprentice. Is there anything you or I could do to minimize the chance?”

I think about it. She would be trying to trace me using something linked to me: my name, a possession of mine, someone’s memory of me. Unless Sarton got there first, stealing something of mine from my room would not be difficult. But she has no personal link to me. So she’s going to have to expend a lot of power to find me. But if I don’t match up with what she expects . . . ?

“This may not work, but it’s the best I can come up with. Can you get me hair dye to blacken my hair? Women’s clothes for me to wear? I want to make myself look unlike how I usually look. So if she sees me, she may not recognize me. She doesn’t actually know me.”

The man brightens again. “I think some things can be arranged. I’ll be back.” He gets up and goes down the stairs, being careful to close them up after himself.

Spare a moment to think of the abuse bearded women have suffered. Annie Jones (1865 – 1902) spent her life being exhibited by P.T. Barnum. That’s no way to live.

Two hours later, I wouldn’t recognize me. The man and a woman who I presume is his daughter have rubbed soot into my skin and hair, stuck a fake beard on my face, and have me outfitted in a woman’s chemise, gown, and apron. I look like a peasant woman from Aelestoyn, except for the beard, of course. The daughter found the entire process very amusing, and laughed out loud when I came out with the gown and apron on.

But now I’m alone again. My skin itches. I focus on reading a light romance, every so often pausing to scratch when I shouldn’t, or worry when it won’t help.

The man comes with dinner. I’d been hoping for his daughter. He tells me he has no news, except that the Earl of Haulloran’s men have been seen all over the city, presumably looking for me. He jokes that I look like a member of a traveling freak show. It’s so atypical of him to make a joke. I realize this is his way of hiding his nervousness.

I’m feeling it myself. Although he leaves me a candle for reading, I turn in not long after sunset. I’m asleep almost immediately.

When I wake up, it’s because the sun is shining in my face. Oh, and I’m being repeatedly shaken by someone. I open up my eyes. I see it is Mia. I sit up. I’m in the bed in the washroom in Sarton’s workplace. Sarton must have magicked me here. I’m safe. I feel so relieved.

Which ends a moment later. “Master,” Mia says to me. “You have to hurry and be ready to be taken before the king and queen to answer charges against you.”

(To be continued . . .)

Posted in Magician's Apprentice, Writing fiction | Tagged , , , , | 9 Comments

Magician’s Apprentice Chapter XVII

Posted on April 5, 2020 by Brian Bixby

The story so far: Tollon is on the run from the Earl of Haulloran’s men. His slave Mia has stashed him in an attic refuge, which raises many more questions than it answers. Now read on . . .

I’m not usually one to worry about things I don’t understand or can’t do anything about. Sarton’s started criticizing me for this, but it’s a good way to go through life.

Still, right at this moment, I can’t help but worry. Why did the Earl of Haulloran send men to pick me up? I don’t think it was because of Paviara; Paviara’s friends already got their revenge on me. Who is the man Mia knows, and why is he willing to hide me? And how does Mia know him anyhow?

There are windows along the room’s northern exposure. I don’t recognize the neighborhood. The library is stocked with a fair mix of books, nothing unusual. The furnishings look better than the neighborhood, which could mean any number of things.

Still, I’m sure of one thing. And when the man comes up with some beer and salt pork, I thank him and then say, “You’re part of a secret society.”

It’s not just because their membership is secret that people are suspicious; some secret societies have mystical or political agendas.

He does not look ruffled by my statement. “We prefer to call it a private mutual aid association.” After a pause, he adds, “The other sounds so suspicious.”

We’re sitting at a small table. I give him a look over. Maybe he’s fifty, spectacles, balding, dark of skin, amber eyes. His clothes are work clothes, but not laboring clothes. My guess is that he’s a craftsman of some sort.

He notices what I am doing. With a grunt, he says, “And I’m checking you out, young sir, too. I presume your charming escort told you not to ask me any questions.”

I admit it. “Which, of course, means I want to ask a great many.”

“Naturally.” He’s not the smiling type. That was meant as an observation, not humor. “Our association lends help as required by its members. Because you are not a member, your companion is responsible for our costs in protecting you, up to paying my family compensation for my death and the forfeiture of my property for abetting a criminal, if that is what you are. I hope you feel a similar obligation to us, as the beneficiary of our protection, but that is ultimately between you and her.”

We finish the rest of the meal with little to say to each other, and then he departs after asking me what I will want for breakfast in the morning. I light a candle and sit down to read a book.

I get nowhere. I’m can’t help mulling over my situation. I’m being hidden by a secret society! Mia, who is a slave, is a member, which raises all sorts of question.

And thinking of Mia, I recall something I noticed back in the Great Market when Mia took on Haulloran’s men. Even most guards and soldiers, let alone servants, are really only casual fighters. But there are systems of fighting, schools that train people in styles of fighting for various purposes. I’ve seen people who were trained in various styles, enough to recognize them when I see them.

Mia is a trained fighter. To be exact, she is a trained assassin. There’s no mistaking the style. That’s how she was able to defeat four men who were all twice her size. At least two of them are almost certainly dead.

Sarton joked that I was afraid of Mia. It was a joke then. It is not now.

(To be continued . . .)

Posted in Magician's Apprentice, Writing fiction | Tagged , , , , | 7 Comments