The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1) (11 page)

The burly sergeant quickly outlined his simple, but what was to prove to be highly effective, plan. After sending the two soldiers who had accompanied him back up to the top with their instructions, and accepting assurances from Symon that he could indeed return unaided, Vintar squatted and lifted Karryl bodily into his arms. He stood still while Kimi fastened the end of the rope securely round both of them, then turned to face the stony, scrub covered earth bank looming above him, the flickering glow of torches barely discernible at its top.

After one last check that Karryl was quite secure, Vintar gripped him firmly and bellowed upwards. “Take up the slack!”

The rustling slithering sound of the heavy rope blended with the whispering hiss of dry, wind tossed seed heads. Vintar felt the tension on the rope grip round him. At that moment it seemed to him that his limp burden became somehow lighter. He glanced across at Symon, who, while watching anxiously, had one hand slightly raised in his direction. Vintar nodded an acknowledgement just before the darkness became absolute. Kimi had doused the fire and now moved nimbly across to stand beside the little magician.

Moving his booted feet slightly to firm his balance, Vintar once again bellowed into the darkness. “Pull!”

Leaning back against the now taut rope, he began to walk slowly and steadily up the long slope, the safety of himself and Symon’s apprentice totally dependent on the strength and tenacity of the men of his squad at the other end. About half way up, he glimpsed a dark shadow, moving swiftly and noiselessly against other dark shadows. Vintar allowed himself a grim smile as the light-footed hill ranger hurried upwards unaided, to add his wiry strength to that of the men on the rope.

Feeling the level ground of the old path beneath his feet, Vintar straightened up to release the tension on the rope, and stepped swiftly through the gap in the hedge, widened by his men while the rescue party were down by the stream. Eager hands reached forward to remove the rope, and Karryl was lifted and placed carefully on a litter which had been assembled and laid on the ground.

Kneeling beside it, Kimi pressed his ear to Karryl’s chest. After listening for a moment, he signalled all was well before standing up and gently placing a thick grey woollen blanket over him. At that moment the sound of rapid footsteps was heard coming along the path, and the little group turned to look as Symon strode into the torchlight. A few low murmurs of astonishment accompanied his arrival, but he ignored them.

Vintar stepped forward to place a reassuring hand on Symon’s shoulder. “He seems to be all right, but I think he’s going to have a right royal headache when he comes round. I noticed he’s got quite a lump on the side of his head. He must have fallen off one of those big stones in the stream and hit his head when he landed. Thanks for that bit of unusual help, by the way. Now, do you want us to take him to the garrison hospital?”

Symon clasped his hands together and shook his head. “No. No. Please, bring him to my tower. I will take care of him. I would ask however, that you send a runner to Mordas the Physician-Mage at the palace, and request that she attend as soon as possible.”

Vintar picked out one of the soldiers, a tall, athletic looking man, and gave him the order. The soldier retrieved an extinguished torch, re-lit it, and set off at a ground-eating long paced jog-trot towards the palace, while Vintar picked out the wiry little hill ranger plus another three of the soldiers to carry Karryl’s litter. The two remaining soldiers were left with the unenviable task of returning to barracks with the heavy rope and the biggest part of the rescue equipment.

Symon scuttled over to stand beside Andir, who had been despondently watching the whole proceedings. Gratefully relinquishing the staff, the Scrollmaster gestured towards the rescue party, who had now lifted the litter off the ground and were settling their grip before setting off.

He ventured to give voice to his feelings. “I fear I haven’t been of much use during all of this.”

Symon waved a dismissive hand and looked up into the long face of the Scroll-master. “Nonsense. If it hadn’t been for the fortuitous occurrence of your seeing, I may have been away much longer. As it was, I was able to start my search for him in daylight. If you must torture yourself, consider the consequences of not declaring your gift and receiving the proper training.” Pushing his round face up closer to Andir’s, he gave a wicked little grin. “Strictly speaking, you’re a criminal.”

As Andir’s expression grew even more abject, the little magician shook his head and sighed in mock despair. Turning away, he fell in beside the passing litter bearers, glancing frequently at Karryl’s still, cold face in the hope that it would reveal some sign of returning consciousness. As they made their way quickly but carefully down the long, gradual incline towards the tower, his hopes began to fade.

For the last hundred years or so, Symon’s life had been a peaceful and untroubled one, spent partly in quiet contemplation and partly in travelling the world, studying its peoples and gathering an impressive collection of spells and magical artefacts. Now his mind travelled as he kept pace with the litter. He could not recall feeling, in all that time, such fear and helplessness as that which now settled itself inside him like an icy stone. Yet only those rare persons who knew him well would be able to recognise the anguish that gripped him. Outwardly he appeared composed, seeming to take everything in his stride, which to a degree, he was. Only by looking into his eyes would anyone have been able to detect his inner torment. Sensing he was being observed, he looked up to see Kimi’s thoughtful gaze focussed on him, the swirl of tattoos animated by the flickering light of the wind-tossed torches. Their eyes met and, as if recognising a kindred spirit, the wiry hill ranger inclined his head briefly, then glanced at the still form on the litter. With an affirmative nod, he returned his eyes to the front, leaving the magician feeling surprisingly comforted by the exchange.

They had barely covered half the distance when the torches began to sputter. Realising their source of light would probably be exhausted before they arrived, plunging them into darkness on the stony uneven path, Symon glanced over his shoulder. The soft pale glow on the skyline told him it would be a while before the moon was sufficiently risen to give them the benefit of its light. Allowing the litter carrying his young apprentice to move ahead, Symon stepped to one side and grounded his staff. He was about to remove the intricately worked silver ball when Vintar, who had been bringing up the rear, stopped beside him.

His deep voice carried an inflection of concern. “Is something wrong sir?”

Symon’s bushy eyebrows twitched briefly. “No, not at all Sergeant, but thank you for asking. I was about to see if I could provide us with some more light. The torches seem to be on the verge of reaching their last.”

Symon quickly removed the silver ball from the top of his staff. Hearing the sharp click, Vintar stared in fascination as the magician cupped the ball in his slender hands and quietly whispered to it. In the cold misty air the strange lilting words seemed to drift and swirl around him like the intangible ghosts of past memories. For a moment or two, nothing seemed to happen. Then, as if in response to some imperceptible signal, Symon lifted the ball and deftly replaced it on top of the staff. No sooner had he lowered his hand than a glow began to emanate from within the small silver globe, increasing unwaveringly until the darkness surrounding them was forced into retreat by a soft comforting light.

Symon bobbed his head, released a small sigh of relief and smiled up at the obviously impressed Sergeant. “Between you and me, I wasn’t sure whether the spell would work twice in one night, it’s so long since I used it. But I don’t think this will last for as long as it did the first time. We must make haste.”

With that he raised the staff above his head. Bathed in magical light like some messenger from the gods, he trotted off to catch up, Andir and Vintar close on his heels.

Apparently of its own volition, the door of the tower swung open as the litter bearing the still unconscious Karryl was gently placed on the flag-stoned floor of the porch. Stepping quickly inside, Symon crossed to the bottom of the stairs and leaned his still glowing staff against the newel post. Revealed by the soft light, the grey cat was sitting wide eyed and ears pricked forward, half-way up the first flight.

“Ah!” exclaimed Symon. “I’m glad you’re here.”

The cat stood up, miaowed once, then bounded noiselessly up the stairs. Symon turned to find Kimi had entered on equally silent feet, effortlessly cradling Karryl’s limp form in his arms. Almost instinctively Symon reached out. Anxious grey made contact with determined obsidian, holding wordlessly for scant seconds until, with a barely perceptible nod, the little magician conceded defeat.

Gripping his staff, he led the way up the dog-legged staircase, whispering a short phrase as he arrived at the door. It swung open, and Symon hurried into Karryl’s room, Kimi close on his heels. Together, by the slowly dimming light of the staff, they laid Karryl on his bed and quickly removed the jacket which Vintar had wrapped around him. They were about to start removing Karryl’s own torn and grubby clothes when Symon suddenly bent closer to peer at the strands of vegetation twisted around Karryl’s belt.

He noticed the dark leather bag, half concealed beneath his body. “Wait! There’s something tied to his belt.”

A slight frown on his normally impassive face, Kimi stood back and watched as Symon reached under Karryl’s waist. Carefully gripping the bag between thumb and fore-finger he gave it a tug. It would not move, the boy’s dead weight holding it firmly against the mattress. Symon gave another tug, then paused for a moment as Kimi reached out and grasped Karryl’s side, gently rolling him away. Quickly pulling the mysterious bag towards him, Symon removed Karryl’s belt, tucking bag and belt into his robe before carefully covering him with warm blankets. Just as he had finished, Symon heard footsteps on the stairs and scurried out to the still open door. Andir had entered the room, accompanied by a tall fair-skinned, russet-haired woman, a large, woven, curiously embroidered soft bag slung over her shoulder.

The magician reached out and clasped both her hands inside his own. “Mordas! I am so glad to see you! Thank you for coming so soon.”

As Symon looked up almost beseechingly into her face, the attractive Physician-Mage smiled warmly, a tone of comfort in her soft rich voice. “I came as quickly as I could. Where is my patient?”

Releasing Mordas’ hands, Symon showed her into the room where Karryl lay, his tousled hair dark against the pillow, his face pale. As Mordas entered, Kimi gave her a respectful bow then started to leave the room.

Holding out her hand, Mordas touched his arm with a long slender forefinger. “Stay, friend Kimitan-paridi-na. I may have need of your skills.”

The hill ranger’s dark eyes glinted. He bowed his head once again as he touched his right hand to his chest and then to his tattooed forehead. “All I have is yours.”

He took a couple of paces back and stood watching and waiting. Mordas moved to the head of the bed and looked down for some moments at Karryl’s unconscious form.

She turned her head and dubiously eyed Symon’s staff and its dimly glowing ball. “Could we have some more light in here?”

The little magician, who had been staring at the floor and pondering the brief exchange between Mordas and Kimi, looked up with a start.

Before he could reply, Andir spoke from the doorway. “I’ll get a lamp from the other room.” He started to hurry away but was stopped dead in his tracks by Symon’s sharp “Wait!”

Andir re-entered the room as the magician held out his hand, palm upwards. He proceeded to hum, a single deep pure note which hung in the air before seeming to take substance and move in sinuous waves around his outstretched hand. Symon continued to hum steadily, following a smooth and gradual ascending scale as the waves began to coalesce and take a more solid form. Preceded by a subdued ‘pop’, a perfectly formed sphere of radiance hovered in the air a couple of inches above his hand. Gradually softening the humming until he had stopped altogether, Symon crossed the room to Karryl’s bedside. Slowly he tilted his hand, and the magical ball of light floated serenely away to hover above and slightly to one side of Karryl’s head.

Mordas, her long russet hair shining in the soft glow, smiled knowingly. “The Light of Perimus?”

Symon nodded, and sketched a bow. “Yours to command. Simply say left, right, up or down, and it will move to your bidding. It will serve better than a lamp. No shadows.”

He bent to peer into Karryl’s pale still face, placing his open palm gently against it as if to imbue some awareness of his presence.

Straightening up, he looked wistfully at Mordas. “As I can be of no further use here, I will go and make us all some tea.”

As he turned to leave, his gaze fell on Andir, still standing by the bedroom door, complete bafflement replacing his habitually dour expression. This was the third time in as many hours he had witnessed magic at close hand. Even though he was well aware of Symon’s powers, it was all getting a bit much for the quiet and studious Scroll-master.

“Have the soldiers gone?”

The question jolted Andir out of his state of bewilderment. “Oh!…I’ll go and see.”

His reply was almost too enthusiastic, and he hastened towards the outer door, seemingly relieved to have something to deal with that he could understand. Seconds later the diminishing sound of his footsteps could be heard echoing from the stairwell. Symon headed for his tiny kitchen. Stopping on his way to light two oil lamps, he glanced round. Satisfied he was not observed, he quickly opened the interdimensional door and hid away the leather bag and belt he had retrieved from Karryl.

In his kitchen, he busied himself with making tea. He was about to pour four large cups of the nourishing fruit and herb brew when Andir poked his head round the door. “Have you finished with Sergeant Vintar’s jacket?”

Symon managed to look slightly sheepish. “I’d forgotten about that. It’s on the end of Karryl’s bed. Thank Vintar and his men, and tell the sergeant I’ll contact him soon.”

Andir strode away to retrieve the jacket, leaving Symon alone in the kitchen with his own troubled thoughts. It was only the sound of her voice saying his name that made him look up. Mordas had entered the kitchen and was regarding him with a look of tender concern in her emerald eyes.

The little magician blinked at her like a disturbed owl. “How is he?”

Folding her arms, Mordas focussed her gaze on the small rectangle of night framed by the window. “He’s breathing steadily and his temperature is almost back to normal, but I think it will be some time before we know if any real and lasting damage has been done. All we can do now is keep him comfortable and wait.”

Symon looked dejected. “Yes, I’m afraid I have to agree with you.” He frowned. “By the way. Is Andir still here? I’d like a word with him as soon as may be.”

Mordas moved closer to Symon and kept her voice low. “Well, since the soldiers left he’s spent most of the time pacing up and down with his hands behind his back, looking at the floor. I don’t think he really knows what to do in this kind of situation.”

Before Symon could answer, the tall physician-mage had lifted the loaded tea-tray and was on her way into the living room. Her mellow voice drifted back into the kitchen. “Who knows? Karryl might wake up while we’re having our cup of tea.”

* * *

Declining the offer of tea, Kimi remained at Karryl’s bedside. Andir sat in silence, cradling his cup between his hands as he gazed unseeing at a picture on the wall. Unable to settle, Mordas left her tea unfinished and hurried back to Karryl’s room.

Symon glanced across at Andir. “There’s no need for you to stay any longer if you want to get back.”

Andir shook his head. “No. If it’s all right with you I’ll stay for a while. If Karryl wakes soon, I may be able to be of some help.”

Symon cocked his head and looked into the face of his old friend. “That’s good of you. But don’t forget we have another little matter to discuss.”

With a satisfied little nod he hurried off to join Mordas and Kimi at Karryl’s bedside.

It was the early hours of the morning before a now frequently yawning Andir decided to call it a day. Having accompanied the Scrollmaster to the front door and asked him to call on him as soon as possible, Symon climbed wearily back up the stairs and re-entered Karryl’s room. Kimi and Mordas were standing together, deep in whispered conversation by the curtained window.

Kimi turned and looked rather warily at Symon, but Mordas gave the little magician a smile and beckoned him over. “Now we have you to ourselves there is a course of action we have been considering, and I think we ought to discuss it with you. Could we go into the other room?”

Symon inclined his head. “Certainly dear lady, but first I shall brew us some fresh tea.” He scuttled off to his kitchen.

Leaving the door to Karryl’s room slightly ajar, Mordas went over and settled herself in an armchair by the dying fire. Kimi pulled up a small wooden stool on which he perched, one foot tucked under him in the manner of his tribe. When they were comfortable, and Symon had roused the dying fire, Mordas took a few sips of her tea.

Gravely, she looked first at Kimi then at Symon. “There is something we would like to try in an attempt to bring Karryl out of his unconscious state. The result is not guaranteed. It may even have the opposite effect and send him deeper, but that is rare. It is a technique that I learned from the witch-women of Ingalia, but one which I had forgotten about until now. It was friend Kimitan who reminded me of it.”

An expression of intrigued surprise crossed Symon’s face, and he leaned forward slightly in his chair. “Just tell me how I can help.”

Mordas spread her hands in appeal. “All we would ask you to do is ensure that Kimi and I are not disturbed. It involves a complex and lengthy spell with which Kimi, being a spell-maker, is quite familiar.”

Symon studied the tattooed ranger for a long moment. “I was aware that you had many skills, but I hadn’t realised you were a spell-maker. In that case, you must be …”

Mordas finished for him. “A prince of one of the royal houses of Ingalia. Hence the complexity of his tattoos. However, that is for another time. Will you permit us to craft this spell and use this technique under your roof? It may prove to be the saving of the boy.”

Symon raised an eyebrow. “May I observe?”

Taking the question as implied permission, the tattooed Ingali prince slipped off his stool and respectfully sketched a bow. “Please watch doors.” he requested in his lilting sing-song. “We must have no disturbance. Crafting take much time and …” He looked enquiringly at Mordas and twirled his fingers by his temples.

“Concentration.” supplied Mordas. “Friend Kimi is right. It will take all that, so the sooner it is begun the better. I am sorry we cannot allow you into the room, but a power such as yours could possibly divert the spell. Your will for it to work may unintentionally upset a delicate balance, making it harder for us to control.”

She stood up and briefly touched Symon’s shoulder.

The diminutive magician’s reply was low and wistful. “I understand.” He turned in his chair to watch as Ingalian prince and physician-mage returned to Karryl’s room, quietly closing the door behind them.