The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1) (21 page)

Early the following morning, the first rays of a cheerless winter sun gleamed fitfully through the thinning grey cloud cover to cast long blue-grey shadows across the previous night’s snowfall. In a small clearing within sight of his tower, Symon stood and carefully formed the spell which would dematerialise him and send him swirling in organised chaos through sub-zero temperatures.

Bearing in mind that despite a travelling time of mere minutes, it would be close to mid-day when he arrived, Symon took a firm mental fix on his intended destination, closed his eyes and activated the spell. It wasn’t absolutely necessary for him to close his eyes. It was just that the way the air shimmered and rippled at the beginning tended to disturb his equilibrium if he watched it. He let his thoughts wander. The rest of him was speeding through the atmosphere in a swirl of atoms which would reassemble themselves as one coherent whole when he reached his destination. He could see nothing and hear nothing, so all there was to do was think. He was not fond of travelling by this method. Even though it was, for the most part, speedy and suited to his needs, he always felt slightly nauseous when he arrived wherever he was going, and while his atoms were adopting once more the corporeal form which held his astonishing mind and incredible powers.

Thankfully, considering the time of year, his destination was in warmer climes. He also had the comfort of knowing he had been there before. On this occasion he was not expected, and he considered how best to use the short time possibly available to him before he was either sensed or located. If the worst came to the worst, he would then be transported under heavy guard to the palace, there to be interrogated by the Emperor’s finest. At best he could expect to be held for at least a day, and face a confrontation he would prefer to avoid for as long as possible. The best thing that could possibly happen would be, he would arrive safely in Naboria, see who he had to see, and leave without anyone knowing he had even been there, apart from those who needed to.

If his facial atoms had been anywhere near his mind, they would have formed a smile, as he visualised the image of the person he had come to see, and the place where he had last seen him. These two factors were vital to the success of this long distance form of the spell. Should one of the factors be subject to outdated information, then it was within the remit of the spell to adjust accordingly, all depending on where the practitioner had placed the priority. In this case Symon allocated priority to the person, and sincerely hoped he hadn’t moved to Altanica. Symon wasn’t dressed for it.

One hundred percent certain he had done his calculations correctly, he pushed the thought aside, confident he would arrive in a large garden, shielded from the eyes of the curious and downright nosy by tall, fragrantly blossomed hedges and large clumps of ornamental grasses, swaying and shimmering in the soft tropical breeze. Symon sneezed as he materialised very close to a stand of tall grasses heavy with pollen, startling a flock of brightly plumaged birds which scavenged the ground for seeds and insects. With raucous screeches and a clatter of wings, they flew up to settle in the branches of a large shady tree, from where they looked down and chattered indignantly at him. The little magician stood unmoving for a few moments to survey the scene, using the pause to ensure that every part of him was behaving as it should.

A short flit between locations in the same city, or even the same country, held no dangers and was of little concern, but an ethereal transportation through the celestial void was a far more serious matter. Quickly he checked himself over, relieved to find his feet and hands had arrived on the correct sides of his body, and not only that, but the right way round as well. After raising his correctly aligned hands to his face and establishing he still had a mouth and nose, and that they were where they should be, he felt satisfied all was well, and approached the large single storey building which was his destination. He chuckled to himself as he walked, imagining how ludicrous it would be if he had been forced to conduct this meeting with his nose in the middle of his forehead, or his mouth operating from a position somewhere below his left ear. He almost laughed out loud as he visualised attempting to walk with his feet on back to front. So wrapped up was he in his imaginings, he failed to notice the tall, slender, black skinned man, his shoulder length hair worked into dozens of tight beaded braids, who had emerged from the shady interior of the house, and was intently observing the diminutive magician’s approach.

His deep rich voice boomed across the scented air. “Master Symon! I am honoured by your unexpected visit. You are most welcome!”

Returning quickly to the present, Symon smiled.

Small slender hand was enveloped in large slender hand, and both squeezed enthusiastically. “Kulas, my old ally, I am equally honoured that you remember me and offer me your welcome.”

They released hands and each bowed slightly to the other. The formalities over, Kulas ushered his visitor into the cool interior. “Make yourself comfortable while I fetch us some refreshment. My wife Melana is away visiting for the day, so we must fend for ourselves.”

Kulas hurried away, and after Symon’s eyes had become accustomed to the dimness he began to look around him. Blinds made of thin closely woven strips of rattan covered the unglazed window openings, effectively shielding those inside from the fierce glare of the tropical sun. Constructed of smoothly dressed limestone, the creamy whiteness of the walls cast its own soft light around the room. To Symon’s surprise, one wall was taken up almost completely by an enormous fireplace, at present clean and empty, while to one side of the polished stone hearth stood a large, ornate wrought-iron basket filled with logs, their resinous aroma scenting the air.

To one side of the large room, an oval pool was set into the cool blue slate of the floor. From the centre of the pool, a small fountain jetted about two feet into the air, before splashing melodiously over a random collection of small boulders, their natural colours turned to jewel intensity by the clear water, as it trickled over them and back into the pool.

The room was minimally furnished. In the broad space between the pool and the fireplace, two basket-like chairs swung on closely corded ropes, suspended from large metal eyes set deep into the roof beams. Casting a dubious glance at the chairs as they swung in the light breeze wafting through the open doorway, Symon went to stand beside the pool. Hands behind his back, he gazed down into the water, fascinated as always by the natural colours and striations revealed in the boulders.

He sensed, rather than heard, Kulas’ return. The tall black-skinned man walked soundlessly on bare feet. He bent to place a large carved and gilded wooden tray on a low, pale green marble-topped table, which stood on other side of the pool. From a large brightly glazed earthenware ewer, he poured a clear golden liquid into two tall, translucent beakers.

Putting the jug down, he handed one of the beakers to Symon. “I’m sure you remember this. It will refresh you after your journey, clear your head and cool you.”

Symon reached for the beaker. “I thought it looked familiar when you were pouring it. It must be the fruit cordial, of which I seem to remember consuming vast quantities last time I was in Naboria.”

Kulas nodded, smiling at the memory, then gestured to one of the hanging chairs, while seating himself in the other. Pushing himself with the balls of his feet, he began to swing gently to and fro. Symon watched him for a moment or two, then grinned.

Feigning irritation he turned and waved a finger at the other chair. “I don’t suppose you thought to bring a step-ladder, so that I could get into that thing, did you?”

Kulas threw back his head, and let out a great roar of laughter. Rising easily to his feet, he placed his beaker on the table. Before the little magician realised what was happening Kulas had grasped him round the waist and hoisted him bodily into the suspended chair. His small feet dangling a good six inches above the blue slate floor, Symon swung in delighted disbelief. Picking up his drink, Kulas returned to his seat.

He sipped and waited while Symon accustomed himself to this new experience, then turned thoughtfully to his guest. “Perhaps now you are settled, you will explain to me the reason for your visit. I doubt very much that you think so highly of me that you would make such a long journey, just for a social call.”

Symon took a sip of his drink, and raised an admonishing finger. “That’s where you’re wrong. I do think very highly of you, and it is for exactly that reason that I am here.” The corner of his mouth quirked, and he looked at Kulas from under his bushy eyebrows. “The fact that you are also possibly the only person in the world who can furnish me with the assistance I need, is neither here nor there.”

Kulas placed his feet flat on the floor to stop his chair from swinging, rested his elbows on his knees, and stared into his drink, the dozens of tiny beaded plaits falling to curtain his face.

From behind this curtain, he spoke, quietly and earnestly. “It is many, many years since we have worked together my friend, and it is a time that I wish with all my heart that I could forget, as I expect you do.

“When you were last in Naboria, this building in which we sit was little more than four walls, an earth floor and a partly completed roof. Now I have a comfortable home, a good wife, and two grown sons of whom I am very proud. I have a good life and a peaceful one. Your arrival after all these years, gives me the feeling that you are about to involve me in something of which I would rather not be a part.”

Symon opened his mouth to protest, but Kulas lifted his hand and shook his head. “No, my friend. Please hear me out. What we and the others did all those years ago, was no mean feat, and may have changed this part of the world for all time. I gave thanks more than once that you were on my side. After it was all over, your continued friendship meant a great deal to me. In fact, I hurt to my bones when you returned to your own land, but my eldest son was an infant then, and the other only expected.

“I vowed then to put the past behind me and devote my life to my family. The new emperor who arose from that conflict was a good and wise man. He and his heirs have shown their gratitude by providing the means and the opportunity for us to live a peaceful and undisturbed life. To be quite truthful, I would be very reluctant to involve myself in anything that would jeopardise that. I have not even used my powers for anything since, so the gods have probably taken them from me by now.”

Nodding his understanding, Symon sat for a while, lips pursed, deep in thought. Eventually he looked up. “It will be a constant regret that I fell out of touch. I must admit that I have made a concerted effort to keep the continent of Gamdonia, and Naboria in particular, far to the back of my thoughts.”

Kulas leaned back in his chair. “That’s hardly surprising. I however, am allowed no such luxury. Although I am no longer active as a magician, I am still a member of the Council, and as such am obliged to attend the twice yearly meetings in the capital.”

Symon nodded, thoughtfully turning his beaker between his fingers. “So, Gamdonia has a new imperial line. Perhaps I left too soon. I should have stayed to watch developments. All I was concerned about was the country of Naboria. Please tell me your new emperor outlawed the Vedric discipline; that would in itself have made all our efforts worthwhile.”

Kulas straightened up, stretched, and with a slight push of his foot, started swinging gently. He grinned at Symon. “In that case you will be relieved to hear that the official, and I stress ‘official’ discipline of Gamdonia, is now Rhamnic, although any magician who was trained in Talmion is free to continue. Vedric has, as you wished, been totally outlawed for many years now, on pain of death. Despite this, there are enclaves out in the desert vastnesses that still practice.”

He paused and regarded Symon with dark, troubled eyes. “Rumour has it that the ancient city of Vedra still lies out there somewhere, hidden among the dunes, impossible to find without a guide. It is there that these dark practitioners are said to hide themselves, and consort with the kind of foul beings we can only begin to imagine. Be that as it may, I think we have little to fear from them, although it is also rumoured that they have a new leader, and the winds of change sweep over the desert.”

“On occasion, the Emperor sends out armed search parties, but so far without success. His Imperial Majesty is quite an accomplished magician, and has about a dozen of the best magicians in the land in permanent residence. Nevertheless he despairs of his son who appears to have no talent at all. All his hopes are pinned on his daughter, his first-born, who apparently showed talent at a very early age.”

Symon chuckled, and gestured with his beaker. “I have an apprentice whose talent did not emerge until he was nearly sixteen. He is now turned seventeen, and at the rate he is progressing, I fear he will leave me far behind before too many years have passed. However, we digress.”

“Ah. You noticed.”

Symon let that pass, satisfied with his decision not to reveal the full extent of Karryl’s potential. He finished the last swallow of his drink before speaking. “Please rest assured that I have not come here with any desire to involve you in anything that would put you in danger. Nor will your magical skills be required in any way. This is more by way of an information gathering exercise. Something at home has been brought to my attention, and it started what I call my ‘worry bump’ tingling, and that hasn’t happened for years.”