The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1) (10 page)

Since leaving Karryl to make his own way back to the tower, the little magician had spent the remainder of the morning flitting here and there, making a few discreet enquiries, others not quite so discreet. His impromptu arrival in places which had previously been considered the hallowed halls of business, did cause a certain amount of consternation and bluster, but on the whole it turned out to be a very successful venture. Feeling very pleased, both with himself and the results of his morning’s work, Symon headed for the Writers’ Guild shop.

Scrollmaster Andir’s normally unshakeable composure was jolted rather severely as he looked up from his book to find he had company. He was absolutely certain that the door to the Guild Shop had not opened, and indeed, the small bronze bell above it hung completely motionless. Nevertheless, there in front of him, his expression inscrutable, stood Symon the Court Magician. Closing the book and replacing it on a shelf behind him, Andir used the moment to recover.

He turned slowly and, hands clasped at waist level, made a slight but respectful bow. “Good day Master Symon. It’s good to see you again. How may I be of service to you?”

Symon raised one eyebrow slightly as he noted the faintest tremor in the Scrollmaster’s voice. With a smile verging on the conspiratorial the little magician took a pace forward. “Forgive my unorthodox entry, but I had no wish to be seen entering your most esteemed premises. I am here on an errand of the utmost secrecy.”

He tapped the side of his button nose with a forefinger.

Nodding his understanding, Andir moved round from behind the counter to stand closer to his visitor. “Then you may have no fear. What passes within these walls will be no-one’s concern but ours.”

Symon inclined his head in acknowledgement of the reassurance, and lightly placed a hand on Andir’s sleeve. “The reason I am here is to purchase a present for Karryl’s birthday at the end of next week. I believe you have, that is if you haven’t already sold it, something with which he was quite taken when he was in here recently.”

Andir rubbed his long chin as he thought for a moment, then struck the air with a slender ink-stained finger. “Of course. The quill knife. Yes, I still have it. Your young apprentice seemed quite crest-fallen when I told him the price.”

Symon feigned surprise. “Indeed? What price, then, were you asking?”

“One hundred and twenty shillings. After all, it is Naborian. But if you were to make the purchase I would be happy to give you a special price.”

A smile crossed Symon’s face and his grey eyes sparkled. “That is indeed most accommodating of you. May I see the knife?”

From a pocket in his dark blue robe, Andir produced a tiny key and walked across to a small glass-topped display cabinet. Carefully unlocking it, he opened the lid and lifting out the knife, handed it almost reverentially to Symon. The magician was genuinely surprised. Quite heavy for its size, the knife was beautifully crafted. The design worked into the ivory handle was distinctively Naborian, both in its boldness and the colours of the semi-precious stones with which it was set. This, however, was not the thing which had surprised him. As Andir laid the knife across the palm of his hand, Symon had felt an unmistakeable tingle, telling him the object had been endowed with magical attributes.

“It is indeed a beautiful thing.” he dissembled, placing the knife carefully on the counter. “I think it will prove to be a most suitable birthday gift. Now, how much do I owe you?”

Andir reached up to a shelf and took down a narrow rectangular wooden box, lined with deep red velvet and, seemingly unaffected by the knife’s magical qualities, placed it inside.

As he fastened the lid with a small bronze hook, he looked at Symon, his expression slightly apologetic. “I’m afraid I can’t ask any less than one hundred shillings.”

His eyebrows lifted in silent query. Symon nodded, giving the Scrollmaster a broad smile as if well pleased with the transaction. From a pocket inside his robe, he counted out five coins before tucking the box into a concealed pouch.

Having settled the pouch the little magician straightened his robe. “Just one more thing. Could I trouble you for a small cup of water? This has been quite a busy day and I’m a little dry.”

Andir’s smile was sympathetic, and he indicated a chair in a corner of the shop. “Of course. Take a seat and I’ll go and get it for you.”

As he turned towards the heavy curtain concealing the door to the rear of his premises, he suddenly gasped, and with a long drawn out groan, leaned forward, his hands over his face.

Symon hurried round the end of the counter, and placed a supportive hand on the Scrollmaster’s back. “What is it? Are you feeling unwell?”

Andir’s hands dropped limply to his sides, revealing a face which had turned ashen, his eyes staring in horror as he turned to look at the little magician.

Appearing almost panic-stricken he gripped Symon’s upper arms. “Someone close to you is in danger, maybe hurt.”

Aghast, Symon looked up into Andir’s tormented face, undecided as to which to take more seriously; the unexpected declaration of impending disaster, or the possibility that the seemingly unassuming and innocuous Scrollmaster was an undisclosed Seer. Gently releasing Andir’s gripping hands, Symon guided him to a nearby stool and eased him onto it, at the same time focussing his gaze on the door until he heard the click of the lock.

Quickly deciding that it would be far more politic to establish the reason for Andir’s distress than to conduct an untimely inquest into his apparent breach of the law, Symon regarded him sternly. “Tell me Scrollmaster, what it was that you saw or sensed.”

Andir began to wring his hands and gave Symon an agonised look. “It was no more than a brief glimpse, along with a very real sense of danger. Somehow I knew it was someone close to you.”

His face contorted with distress, he stared over Symon’s shoulder into the middle distance. Thick with emotion, his voice hardly rose above a whisper. “He was falling. Then there was nothing, just blackness.”

Mystified, Symon stood lost in thought for a short while, until realisation hit him like a hammer blow. “Karryl! I told him to go back to the tower. He’s alone there!”

Making a brief gesture towards the door, he turned and looked into Andir’s stricken face. “We will speak of this later, but now I would appreciate it if you would follow me to my tower when you feel sufficiently recovered. I will inform the guard at the East gate that you are on your way. Now I must go.”

Hitching up the hem of his robe he scurried over to the door and out into the street. After glancing quickly to right and left, then checking to ensure that he was not observed by the Scrollmaster, Symon tucked his hands into the wide sleeves of his robe, closed his eyes and quietly spoke a short phrase. A tiny whirlwind made sport with a fallen leaf in the empty doorway.

* * *

A thorough search of the tower and the surrounding woodland revealing no evidence that Karryl had returned, Symon went back to the tower. From a space behind the front door he pulled out a carved wooden staff, slightly longer then he was tall. Tapering slightly towards the bottom, it was shod with iron for durability, while the head was a small intricately worked ball of what appeared to be silver. Firmly gripping the staff, Symon turned to step outside just as the grey cat came bounding down the stairs and through the door. She stopped to look up at him, and gave a plaintive miaow.

The little magician’s tone betrayed his anxiety. “Ah! I’m glad you’re here. Karryl is nowhere to be found and has left no message. I fear he may be in some kind of danger.”

The cat gave another miaow, rubbed its head against the staff, then trotted off along the path towards the adjoining one which led to the barracks. Half running, half walking, Symon followed her into the gathering dusk. Reaching the top of the incline, they were about to turn onto the long rutted path towards the barracks when a shout went up behind them. Symon turned to see the Scrollmaster’s tall rangy figure, robes flapping in his haste, striding purposefully towards them.

Hand pressed to his chest, he gasped for breath. “Thank goodness I caught you! How did you get here so quickly?”

Symon’s eyes were flinty, his tone flat. “Magic. Now, time is moving on and we must find Karryl before darkness overtakes us completely. Are you in full command of your gift?”

Andir’s expression was rueful as he shook his head. “Alas, no. I fear I can be of no further use to you, except perhaps in a physical search.”

Uttering a scornful “Hmph!”, Symon strode off along the path, his staff tapping loudly on the stony surface.

The first shades of twilight beginning to gather around them, magician and Scrollmaster hurried along in strained silence, peering from side to side into the hedgerow. As they approached the bend in the path which would have taken them along the rear of the barracks, the grey cat appeared out of the gloom. Stopping in front of them, it gave a loud ‘miaow’ before trotting over to a gorse bush near the edge of the path. There, it sat down, wrapping its tail around its back paws. Symon scuttled over to the bush and poked rigorously about underneath it with his staff.

Finding nothing, he lifted his head and uttered a long, surprisingly loud “Ka-a-a-rryl.”

He stood motionless, listening for some kind of answer. None came. Symon called again, and this time Andir added his voice. Their calls drifted away unanswered into the rapidly descending darkness.

“Perhaps we should try further along.” ventured Andir.

“No” returned Symon firmly. “We’re in the right place. We must keep searching around here.”

As he spoke, the grey cat left its spot by the gorse bush and bounded off noiselessly into the deepening shadows.

“It seems our companion has decided to go home.” remarked Andir.

Symon said nothing, just stood for a few moments lost in thought while the Scroll-master stood helplessly beside him, watching through small gaps in the hedge as lights began to come on in the barracks. The evening silence was suddenly broken by the sound of a sharp click, accompanied by whispering. Andir turned and was amazed to see Symon’s face illuminated by a soft warm glow which gradually increased until the entire area around them was bathed in its comforting luminescence. In the palm of Symon’s hand rested the source of the light. The intricately worked silver ball which had earlier adorned the top of his staff now glowed steadily, its magical radiance unwavering as Symon carefully re-seated it. With the staff lifted high above his head he called out again, listening intently as the chill breeze blew his voice into drifting tatters across the night air.

Suddenly he turned, grounded his staff, and with his head on one side placed a hand on Andir’s arm. “Do you hear that?”

Andir listened for a moment and was about to deny he could hear anything when he too heard the sound being carried up to them on the freshening breeze. “I can hear running water. Is that what you mean?”

“Exactly. Down there somewhere is the Wyreditch, the stream that flows down from the Fox Hills into the River Lowen, which in turn flows through the city and into the sea. Karryl may have found a way down.”

He leaned heavily on his staff, his expression stricken, his tone filled with foreboding. “If we don’t find him when we get down there, then there’s no knowing where we should search, or what might have happened to him.”

Andir placed a hand on the magician’s shoulder. “Then there’s nothing for it but to get down there as quickly as we can, and try to find him before it gets any colder.”

He strode over to the gorse bush which Symon had investigated. When he spoke it was with a confident tone that hinted at a previously unsuspected strength of purpose. “I’ll go first and see if there is a way through while you hold up that remarkable light of yours. If it’s safe, I’ll call you.”

With that he wrapped his hands in the cuffs of his sleeves and began to sidle carefully past the bush while Symon held the glowing ball high in the air.

Andir turned and gesticulated. “Hold it a bit lower and out to one side. I’m in my own shadow and I can’t see where I’m putting my feet!”

Symon obliged, his estimations of the Scrollmaster, who was now pushing manfully forward, rising rapidly. He could see the tall man’s head over the top of the scrubby hedge, and he appeared to be standing still and looking down. He remained motionless for a few moments, while Symon fretted inwardly and cast occasional anxious glances at the glowing ball. It was a determinate spell, and he wasn’t sure how much longer they would have its light before it started to dim.

He had just decided to follow when Andir turned and pushed his way back onto the path, his brow furrowed, his eyes troubled. “There
was
a path there, but it appears to have broken away and fallen down towards the stream. I could hear that quite clearly, but it can’t be seen from up here.” Questions filled his eyes as he vaguely waved his hands in the air. “Can’t you get down there with …um …er …you know?”

Symon frowned. “No, no. I have to know where I’m going.” He gave a wry smile. “It wouldn’t do if I ended up with my feet encased in solid rock, or up to my eyebrows in water now, would it? No, there’s nothing else for it. We shall have to get down there as best we can, and pray that this light doesn’t give out. Moonrise is hours away.”

He had just finished speaking when the sound of voices and the heavy crunch of marching feet reached their ears. Turning in the direction of the sounds, they saw bobbing flickering lights piercing the darkness, seeming to reach higher into the air as they crested the rise, then dropping slowly down again as they progressed towards them along the stony path behind the barracks. Andir gave a little squeak of surprise, and looked down. The grey cat was rubbing its head against his leg, and purring loudly.

Looking slightly puzzled, the Scrollmaster turned to Symon. “Our travelling companion has returned, and seems to have brought company.”

As he spoke, two things happened simultaneously. The sounds and lights embodied themselves into a small squad of torch-carrying soldiers. The light from Symon’s glowing ball dimmed, flickered and went out. From the rear, a stentorian voice called the squad to a halt in front of Symon and Andir. The latter, slightly bemused, attempted to see properly in the semi-darkness. Symon, appearing to have no such problem, leaned quietly on his darkened staff.

He gave a knowing smile as a burly young sergeant, kitted out in fatigues, stepped forward and saluted. “Sergeant Vintar and rescue party reporting as requested sir.” Leaning forward he spoke quietly. “I believe you have a problem.”

Symon inclined his head. “That is very good of you, Sergeant Vintar. Yes, it seems that we do.”

He motioned wordlessly at the half dozen similarly attired soldiers, standing stiffly to attention. The sergeant turned to the little squad. “Stand easy lads while I get some details.”

Deliberately omitting the reason for Andir’s presence, Symon gave a brief resume of what had transpired, and Andir described his brief foray into the scrub at the top of the escarpment. Sergeant and rescue party listened intently until the two had finished.

Vintar called out a name. “Kimi, I think you’re the man for this job; to start with anyway.”

The rest of the squad moved aside, exchanging good-natured banter as the strangest looking man Andir had ever seen moved to the front to stand beside his sergeant. The man was a complete contradiction to everything Andir had ever learned about the typical soldier. Despite the chill of an evening which promised frost, he was not clad in uniform fatigues like his companions. Instead, he wore only slim fitting brown leather trousers well worn to suppleness, and a matching sleeveless waistcoat, tightly laced up the front so it fitted snugly round his wiry body, while his footwear consisted of soft, calf-length leather boots. Barely head and shoulders taller than Symon, in contrast to the little magician’s portliness, this man was small-framed and well-muscled. His sharp features and slightly tilted eyes gave his face a rather alien cast. All this paled into insignificance when compared with the top of his head, which was totally devoid of any vestige of hair. Instead, it was completely covered with an elaborate tattoo. Commencing with an inverted triangle between his dark, narrow eyebrows, it gradually widened across his deep forehead in a complex series of interwoven circles and whorls, before spreading out to cover his entire crown from the back of his ears to the nape of his neck.

Astonished, Andir leaned closer to Symon. “What is he? He doesn’t even look big enough to be a soldier!”

Calmly, Symon leaned on his staff, more at ease now that the chances of locating Karryl had been considerably increased.

His even white teeth caught the torchlight as he grinned at Andir. “Don’t be fooled by appearances. As Sergeant Vintar said, he’s the best one for the job. He’s an Ingalian Hill Ranger.”

Andir’s brow furrowed. “Well, what’s he doing here?”

Symon didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he indicated with a nod in the direction of the diminutive Ranger that something was happening. The leather clad Kimi was moving towards the hedge, the remainder of the squad close behind him, holding their torches aloft, the stiffening breeze blowing the flames sideways to cast erratically dancing shadows on the stony path. The ranger dropped into a crouch, scuttled through the prickly gorse without so much as a rustle, and vanished from sight. Closely followed by Andir, Symon moved nearer to the little group of soldiers, who nodded respectfully, but said nothing.

After watching the hedge for a short while, Vintar turned to them. “All we can do now is wait. If he finds the boy quickly he’ll come straight back, but if he has to search further afield, well…”

He left the sentence unfinished, and the little group stood quietly, each lost in their own thoughts, the silence occasionally broken by the scrape of a shifting foot. Then, as suddenly and noiselessly as he had left, the tattooed ranger was beside them.

Breathing easily, he held his palms together in supplication. “I find him.” he announced in a heavily accented, sing-song voice. “He still breathe, but very slow. Not able to wake.” He looked directly at Symon. “You come, bring rope, I guide you.”

With that he bobbed his head, turned swiftly and disappeared back through the hedge. There he waited, his hand outstretched until Vintar passed him the knotted end of a coil of heavy rope. Crossing to the other side of the path, the sergeant looped the other end round the bole of a sturdy elm tree, securing it firmly with a hefty knot while one of the soldiers shook out the coil of rope so it ran freely. Suddenly, the rope began to snake across the path and through the hedge with almost incredible speed.

Seeing this, Vintar touched Symon’s arm. “If you’ll allow me sir, I’ll show you how to wear the rope so that you can go safely down. Myself and two of my men will follow you, so you’ll be in no danger.”

Symon nodded and turned to the Scrollmaster, who was beginning to look a little wild eyed. He held out his staff towards him.”Hang on to this while I’m down there. It will probably get in the way.”

Andir, while greatly relieved that he was not expected to plunge into the unknown with only a rope to support him, still looked rather dubious as he reached out hesitantly for the decorated staff.

Symon shook it impatiently. “Come on. Take it. At the moment it’s just a piece of carved wood. You could give someone a nasty crack over the head with it, but that’s about all.”

Andir took the staff, gripping it hard at both ends and eyeing it warily, while Vintar showed Symon how to loop the rope around himself, and demonstrated as best he could on flat ground, how to make the descent. To everyone’s amusement, Symon reached down and, grabbing the back hem of his robe, proceeded to pull it up between his legs and tuck it into his belt. He waddled over to the hedge and pushed his way through the gap. He then looped the rope around his body as Vintar had demonstrated, and slowly began his backward descent into the darkness. Feeling vibration through the rope, his confidence increased as he became aware of the presence of the unflappable sergeant above him. He began to move more rapidly, the sound of the water running below becoming progressively louder as he pushed and bounced his way down towards it.

Eventually arriving beside the stream, unscathed but a little short of breath, he waited at the end of the rope until he was joined on the narrow strip of shingle by Sergeant Vintar and two of his soldiers. Quickly extricating himself, Symon turned and hurried towards a flickering light a few yards along the shingle. Drawing nearer, he was gratified and surprised to see that the wiry hill ranger had managed to get a small fire going. What he saw in its flaring, wind-tossed light made his blood run cold.

Kimi was sitting cross-legged, almost at the water’s edge, with Karryl’s head cradled on his knee. The boy’s upper body and the tops of his legs were stretched out on the pebbles, his bare feet a scant inch or two away from the water. Symon stumbled the last few steps and dropped to his knees beside the prone form of his young apprentice, placing an enquiring hand gently upon his back.

Kimi’s tone was quiet and reassuring. “Not hurt, nothing broken. Knocked out. Very cold. Heart beat very slow. Must take him to warm place quickly, now.”

Symon turned stricken eyes to Vintar who was crouching beside him and removing his fatigue jacket. “How shall we get him up that bank?”

The ranger answered for him. “No need. Walk beside water. Long way but easy. Take one hour.”

Symon stood up and eyed the swirling tendrils of mist beginning to rise from the surface of the stream, rapidly consolidating into what promised to become a dense fog.

“I don’t think …” he began, then bent quickly to help as he saw Vintar starting to pull the sleeves of his jacket over Karryl’s limp arms. The jacket was several sizes too large, but with the aid of a belt and some cord they soon had it wrapped snugly around him and securely fastened.

Vintar stood and peered into the darkness beyond Kimi’s little fire.”I think it will be better if we take him up the bank. We may not have an hour. Even though he doesn’t appear to be seriously injured, he’s chilled right through, so speed is vital. This is how we’ll do it.”