The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1) (8 page)

The next few weeks flew by as the little magician guided his rapidly maturing protégé through a steadily increasing regime of study in a range of subjects so diverse that Karryl sometimes wondered if he would take it all in. The shelves in his room were soon filled with the books and scrolls which Symon termed ‘required reading’. He often found himself studying far into the night, either in an armchair by the fire or, as the winter increased its grip, snuggled up in bed with a warm blanket around his shoulders.

It was on one of these chilly evenings, as the first light snowfall of the season was sprinkling everything with white, that Karryl was sitting at the table, grappling with the task Symon had set him to ‘define the differences between the Rhamnic and Talmion Codes of Discipline.’ He was sitting gazing at nothing in particular, tapping his quill against his teeth as he pondered.

“Don’t chew your quill, Karryl.”

“No-o-o-o.” answered Karryl vaguely. “I was just thinking.”

“That’s good. Now, while I have your attention, I have just remembered. Tomorrow is a rather special day; for you anyway, and we must be up early.”

Karryl put down his quill and closed his inkpot.

Symon smiled. “I thought it was about time you met His Majesty, so I have made an appointment for us at the ninth hour.”

Karryl’s eyebrows made a frantic dash for his hairline. “You mean, I…we …I’m going to meet King Vailin in person!?”

Symon chuckled and patted his palms together. “There’s no need for you to worry. Although he is young, he is an excellent king with a good head on his shoulders. I held him on the day he was born, and his father, also King Vailin, if you remember your history, was a good friend to me. I recall when…”

He stopped and wagged his finger in the air. “Ah. No. This is no time for reminiscences. It would be better if I gave you some instruction on the proper way to conduct yourself when you meet His Majesty, not that I think you’ll have any difficulty. The man is quite human, after all, no airs and graces, very ‘well grounded’ as we say. In fact, you remind me a lot of him when he was your age, although I think young prince Vailin was of a more serious frame of mind.”

Karryl grinned. He’d been finding it hard to keep a straight face anyway with a whole gamut of emotions flooding through him, but mostly a strange mix of excitement and trepidation. Resting his elbows on the table he cupped his chin in his hands to prevent himself releasing the whoop of delight building up inside him. He tried hard to concentrate as Symon explained what he should expect, how he should conduct himself, and what he could expect to see.

Symon’s next words carried a different tone. “I don’t think you ought to visit the palace wearing those clothes though, do you?”

Karryl looked down at the rather drab but serviceable clothes he was wearing. Giving a desultory flick to the grey woollen tunic he had retrieved from Symon’s box, he thought for a moment. “Shall I
go and see what else I can find?”

The little magician shook his head. “You won’t find anything suitable in that old box.”

He leaned back and clasped his hands on his chest. “However, you will find in the wardrobe in your room, some clothes that will be. Oh! And some boots, which I promised some time ago, but have only just got round to.”

He gestured towards Karryl’s room. “Go and try them on. I think they’ll fit. Then give them a good brushing.”

Nearly falling over his feet in his haste, his grinning young apprentice dashed off to his room, while Symon wandered towards the kitchen. He thought it very unlikely that any more worthwhile studying would be done on this day.

Karryl paused in the act of opening his door and grinned over his shoulder at Symon. “It’s a pity this wasn’t next week.”

Symon turned and raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

Feigning astonishment, Karryl raised his hands in the air. “Didn’t you know? It’s my birthday!”

He slipped into his room, leaving Symon chuckling. “Cheeky young scamp.” The little magician scurried off into the kitchen to prepare supper, muttering good-naturedly to himself.

* * *

Their faces tingled in the frosty air as they briskly walked the mile-long, tree-lined incline to the palace. This time, much to Karryl’s relief, they didn’t emerge through a gap in a hedge. Symon led the way across a small paved courtyard surrounded by a high grey brick wall, and stopped in front of a large iron-studded wooden door. Carved into the lichen-blotched key-stone of the arched doorway was the ancient royal crest, a Grelfon with its head bowed beneath the crown. Symon reached into a niche in the wall and pulled down on an ornately worked bronze handle. Master and apprentice listened as an unseen bell’s metallic jingling gradually faded away, but the door remained shut. The pair stamped their chilling feet in the thin covering of previous night’s snow.

A worried expression on his face, Karryl looked about for any signs of outside activity. “D’you think we should knock, or ring again?”

Symon chuckled. Reaching up, he broke away a large cobweb liberally strewn with the husks of drained flies and other bits of windblown dross, festooned across the door. “No need. This is what is known as the Mages’ door, and as you can see, it is seldom used. When the bell rings, a check is made to see whether any magician is expected. If not, the door is not opened.”

“But suppose you hadn’t had time to make an appointment!”

Symon looked almost gleeful. “Then it would be an emergency and I would go hurtling through the main entrance as fast as my little legs would carry me.”

Giving Karryl a conspiratorial wink he turned to face the door as they heard the sound of bolts being drawn. Karryl’s sigh of relief rose in a white cloud on the frosty air. The door swung silently back, opened by a sternly countenanced footman clad in conservative dark blue, its severity only alleviated by a single row of gold buttons down the front of his immaculately tailored jacket.

As magician and apprentice stepped inside Symon looked up with a smile. “Ah! Good morning Jobling.”

The footman bowed respectfully to Symon. “Good day, my Lord.” He inclined his head towards Karryl. “Good day, young Master. You are expected.” He began to lead them briskly along a wide but dimly lit corridor. “Please be so kind as to follow me.”

Karryl was baffled. He gave the sleeve of Symon’s cream coloured robe a tug, and whispered in his ear.”Why did he call you ‘my Lord’?”

Symon turned slightly and gave his young apprentice an enigmatic smile, but no reply, merely placing a finger to his lips in a tacit request for silence. Blowing out his cheeks in frustration, Karryl dutifully followed, his curiosity burning deep. They turned right into an intersecting corridor, a few more paces bringing them to a small four-panelled door, in the centre of which was a large bronze door-knob. Jobling reached out and placed his hand, fingers outspread, flat on the top left-hand panel. Feeling a slight tingling of his skin, Karryl released an audible gasp, causing Symon to turn and give an almost imperceptible shake of his head. The footman stood for a few seconds as if listening, then nodding to Symon, stepped to one side. Karryl’s skin continued to tingle as Symon moved up to the door and made a brief gesture with one hand before reaching out and grasping the door-knob.

The door swung silently outwards and the little magician led the way into a small ante-chamber. Tastefully furnished, it housed some well stocked book-shelves, two comfortable chairs and, to Karryl’s delight, a table laden with a selection of savoury pies, fruit and cakes. A glass flagon of what appeared to be fruit juice graced the centre of a small sideboard. Hearing the door close with a soft thump, Karryl turned towards it, but his gaze fell only on a timber panelled wall. He could see nothing to indicate that a door was ever there, and Jobling the footman had obviously remained outside.

Turning back to the table, Karryl grinned, his eyes shining. “Is this for us?”

Symon nodded an affirmative, and Karryl reached for an apple pie, only to find Symon’s hand grasping his wrist. “We shall return this way, then you can eat your fill before we leave. I doubt whether you would have time to finish that now, anyway. Imagine how it would look, meeting His Majesty for the first time with crumbs on your tunic.”

Karryl managed to look sheepish, then began to take a closer interest in his surroundings. After a few moments of quiet observation, he turned to the little magician, a knowing smile curving his mouth. “I don’t see any doors. They’re all magical aren’t they? And was that footman using magic, or was that just you I was sensing?”

Symon patted the palms of his hands together, his eyes twinkling. “Very good, but so many questions! Yes, he was using magic. Most of the senior palace staff have some basic magical ability. In fact, a few, including His Majesty, are quite proficient if not sufficiently adept to become qualified magicians. That is why he has taken such an interest in you, so try not to be too surprised at anything you may see or hear.”

Just as he finished speaking, they both felt an uncomfortable surge, and Symon frowned, shaking his head in disapproval. “That was sloppy. I thought he’d mastered that.”

A small, plain door had appeared in the wall, opposite the one through which they had entered. Symon steered Karryl forward, making a simple gesture as he did so. The door opened towards them, revealing the back of a heavy wine-red curtain.

As he reached out towards it, Symon spoke quietly. “Remember what I told you. Bow from the waist, and don’t look up until His Majesty speaks to you. All right?”

Karryl’s heart was thumping double time, and he wiped his hands nervously down the front of his new dark green tunic. Pulling the curtain aside, Symon revealed what was to be the first of many views Karryl was to have of the throne room. He was given no opportunity to look around as he felt Symon’s fingers touch his arm and he stepped forward. Keeping his eyes fixed on a point on the carpeted floor a few paces ahead, Karryl moved briskly towards the figure seated directly in front of him. About five paces away he stopped, bowed stiffly from the waist and waited. From the corner of his eye he noticed Symon’s feet and the hem of his robe moving past him, until they disappeared from the periphery of his vision.

“Welcome, Karryl.”

The voice was warm, deep and vibrant. Karryl straightened up and looked at the man seated on the ornately carved throne in front of him. He bore no resemblance to the image of the king that Karryl had conjured up in his mind. He looked about the same age as he imagined Joel’s brother Ghian would be, and was leaning back, hands resting on the arms of the throne, his legs crossed at the ankles. There was little evidence of the trappings and regalia of majesty. His deep maroon robe was trimmed at hem, sleeve and neck with an unpretentious design in gold and silver thread, while his dark brown shoulder-length hair shone smoothly beneath a simple gold circlet, adorned on the front by a large pigeon’s-blood ruby.

King Vailin II leaned forward, elbows on the arms of his throne. “I’ve heard a lot about you from your worthy tutor.”

He smiled and indicated Symon who was, Karryl now noticed, standing to the left of, and slightly behind the king. “Tell me something about yourself.”

Karryl took a brief glance around while he gathered his thoughts. He noticed that apart from the king, Symon, himself, and a splendidly attired guard with grounded halberd standing stiffly at each side of the room, no-one was present. He clasped his hands behind his back, then catching an encouraging nod and, to his surprise, a wink from Symon, he decided to start at the beginning. His confidence grew as he told King Vailin a little about his past and his schooling, while the king listened intently, nodding occasionally, or asking a question.

Just as Karryl was about to relate his experiences as an apprentice magician, Vailin held up his hand and smiled warmly. “That will do for now, Karryl. Thank you. I have enjoyed your visit. No doubt we will meet again.”

The king turned and nodded at Symon. The little magician took a pace forward, stopped and frowned at his apprentice, who was still gazing in awe at the young king. Catching Symon’s eye and noting the frown, Karryl suddenly realised what was amiss. Placing his right arm across his stomach he made a respectful bow, as he had when he first came in.

Feeling Symon’s hand on his arm, he straightened up and Symon leaned to murmur in his ear. “Go and wait in the ante-room. On the table you will find two parchments. Read them carefully, then if you agree with what is written, sign them. I have matters to discuss with His Majesty, but I shouldn’t be too long.” A twinkle appeared in his dove grey eyes. “Now you may eat as many pies as you wish.”

Symon ushered him to the back of the room, gestured briefly then pulled aside the heavy curtain. The door stood open and Karryl stepped inside. Hearing the door thump softly behind him, and noticing the parchments lying on the table, he picked up one of the documents and a pie. Settled down in one of the comfortable chairs he began to read.

King Vailin II stood, stretched, and removed his jewelled circlet, dropping it carelessly on the cushioned seat of the throne. “That’s a good lad you have there. Do you think he’ll make it? “

Symon gave an assertive nod. “Oh yes. He’s already exceeded most of my expectations, and I have great hopes for him. He has a good memory, an eye for detail, and is very observant. It’s the latter which brings me to a subject I would like to discuss with you. Now, if you have the time.”

Vailin put a forefinger to his chin in exaggerated thoughtfulness, then smiled. “I always have time to talk with you Symon. It helps to take my mind off being a king for a while.”

Symon made a wry face. “Well I don’t think it will this time.”

Vailin’s expression changed to one of concern. “Then we’ll go to my rooms. My secretary can handle anything that needs my attention. Will Karryl be all right on his own?”

Symon wagged a dismissive hand. “Oh I’m sure he will. As long as he has books and food, he’ll be fine.”

Vailin dismissed the guards, waiting until they had left the room before turning to the heavily curtained wall behind the throne. Holding out both hands palms forward, the young king spoke a short phrase. The wine red curtains shimmered for a moment, then with a loud ‘whoosh’ that made Symon wince visibly, disappeared to reveal a brightly lit stair-case leading upwards.

Turning quickly, and looking rather guilty, Vailin saw the expression on Symon’s face. “I think I need a bit more practice. I seem to be getting rusty.”

“Most definitely.” was Symon’s terse reply as he rescued the discarded crown and followed the king up the stairs.

Symon had been a guest in the royal apartments many times, and it never failed to amaze him how much had changed since young Vailin had come to the throne, after his father King Vailin the First met with an untimely death, caused by a bee sting while walking in his garden.

King Vailin the First was the epitome of everything his subjects thought a king should be. He loved fine clothes, lavish dinners with dozens of guests, and wore his crown and robes of state at every opportunity. Nevertheless, he was a good and wise king, a master of statecraft, the soul of wit, and his people loved him. Aided by Mordas, the King’s Physician-Mage, Symon strove to save him on that fateful day, but all in vain. All that could be said was his passing was mercifully quick. A few days later the state funeral was over and a still stunned and grieving eighteen-year-old Crown Prince found himself being dressed in coronation robes.

That was just over ten years ago, and in that time the young monarch had kept a cool head and grasped the reins of kingship firmly. Despite his tender years and a marked aversion to ceremony and high living, he proved to have inherited all his father’s best attributes, making him equally loved and respected by young and old alike. The charismatic young king had also unwittingly broken many a young woman’s heart, being now the most eligible bachelor in the land. So far he had skilfully avoided the marriage trap. To the relief of his Ministers, he also proved determined to immerse himself in the full-time occupation of being king of an appreciably large country, some of which he had never seen. This situation he enthusiastically set out to rectify whenever a suitable opportunity arose. He had, however, definitely made his mark on the royal apartments, replacing the heavy ornate furniture and lavish décor with his preferred style of a more subdued and tasteful elegance.

As they entered the room, Vailin tugged on a bell pull woven in soft shades of green and brown, complementing the warm, natural colour of the deep piled wool with which the room was carpeted. Seating himself in a comfortable armchair by the window, Vailin indicated that Symon should take the one opposite. At that moment, an attractive young red-haired maid dressed in serviceable grey, with a spotlessly white apron, and carrying a morning tea-tray, entered the room. After placing the tray on a small table, she poured tea, bobbed a curtsey and left through a side door as quietly as she had arrived.

Monarch and magician picked up their tea, sipping appreciatively in companionable silence for a few moments, before Vailin put down his cup. “I gather that your young protégé has noticed something worth bringing to my attention.”

Symon cradled his cup in his hands. “It was a short while ago, and I must admit that it was my idea to mention it to you and not his. He thinks it’s merely a coincidence, but I feel that it may be worth looking in to, although he could well be right. It’s just that my nose twitches whenever Naboria is mentioned.”

Vailin rubbed his chin as he looked long and hard at his court magician. “Would you think it a coincidence if I told you that the Naborians have recently requested a meeting to discuss a new trade agreement?”

The corners of Symon’s mouth edged downwards. “No, I wouldn’t. Karryl has recently taken a fancy to something of Naborian manufacture that he’s seen. He has also informed me that his friend’s older brother seems to have returned from there a short while ago after a long absence. Buying wine, Karryl thinks, but he said he’s not sure.”

Vailin sat bolt upright. “Naborian wine! That would be a first!”

“My thought exactly.” replied Symon. “I don’t know what it is he
has
been dealing in, although his father is a well respected wine merchant, but I doubt that it’s wine. According to Karryl he told his father that he had done ‘the kind of deal that dreams are made of.’ I doubt if anything the Naborians have would make my dreams come true.”

Vailin gave a slow nod of agreement. “I’ll bow to your superior knowledge on all things Naborian. Father told me all about the dreadful time you had over there.”

They sat in contemplative silence for a while, then as if to push unpleasant memories aside, Vailin smiled and leaned forward. “What was it that Karryl had his eye on?”

“A quill knife, in the Scribes’ Guild shop. Exquisite workmanship I’ve been told, very beautiful but seriously over-priced.”

Vailin mused for a couple of moments, the corners of his mouth drawn down, then reached up and tugged on another bell pull partly concealed by the window curtain. The summons of the bell was answered almost immediately by the arrival through the same side door which had admitted the maid, of the tall liveried footman who, judging by the speed of his arrival, must have been very close by.

He made a brief but respectful bow, and Vailin acknowledged him with a warm smile. “Jobling, could you find out if our cruelly under-used spymaster is in the building and send him to me, and if not, locate him as soon as possible. Also, arrange a meeting with the Trade Minister and the Foreign Affairs Minister, perhaps this afternoon?”

Jobling folded his hands almost prayerfully in front of him. “May I make so bold as to inform Your Majesty that the spymaster is currently engaged in an enquiry at the docks. Shall I have him located and returned?”

The young king thought for a moment, then waved a dismissive hand. “No. Just catch him when he gets back.” On an afterthought he leaned forward and looked hard at Jobling. “Any idea why he’s at the docks?”

The footman remained straight-faced. “To the best of my knowledge sire, there’s a problem with a ship from the Gamdonian continent. The captain is apparently intent on doing something the harbour-master doesn’t want him to, and there seems to be a language difficulty. More than that I was unable to discover.”

Brown eyes met grey, as Vailin and Symon exchanged glances. The king gave a brief nod. “Thank you Jobling; that will be all. You’ve been most helpful.”

The unflappable footman bowed. Straightening his shoulders, he then strode out of the room to do the bidding of his king, as he had done for most of his adult life. Monarch and magician finished their tea in thoughtful silence, until Vailin, putting down his cup, slapped the arms of his chair and stood up with a grin on his face. “Well, shall we go and see if Apprentice Royal Magician Karryl has signed his contract and Oath of Allegiance?”

Symon was so amused at Vailin’s mock formality in the use of Karryl’s full title, he inadvertently waived the magic and opened the door by simply turning the handle. Vailin seemed to find this even more amusing, and the two strode along the corridor and scurried down the staircase to the throne room, intermittently chuckling like a couple of school friends at a fair.

As Symon entered through the concealed door, Karryl looked up from the book he was reading. Seeing the magician was accompanied by King Vailin, he jumped to his feet and executed a hasty bow. Picking up the parchments lying on the table, the king studied Karryl’s signature.

“Thank you Karryl.” he said in acknowledgement, then handed the documents to Symon, who also checked the signature before rolling the parchments carefully and tucking them into a pouch concealed inside his robe.

The magician smiled at his apprentice. “Congratulations. You are now officially the Apprentice Royal Magician, owing full allegiance to His Majesty King Vailin the Second of Vellethen.”

Karryl seemed confused. “Don’t I have to take an oath or something...sir?”

Vailin smiled and nodded. “That’s what the first document was. I hope you read it before you signed.”

Karryl gave his lopsided grin.”Yes I did your Majesty. I just thought...”

Vailin stopped him with an upraised finger, and turned to Symon. “Well, I think that’s all satisfactory. There is a guard outside the door, and he will accompany you to the entrance.” He turned to Karryl. “No doubt I will see you again soon.”

Karryl bowed again and Symon inclined his head respectfully as Vailin left them. The door closed with a resounding thump, causing Symon once again to wince at his monarch’s apparent ineptitude.

Karryl frowned as he returned his book to the shelf. “Does he always do that?”

Symon laughed out loud. “Goodness me, no! Our young monarch is quite an accomplished magician, as was his father before him, although it is not common knowledge. I think he does it just because he can.”

Karryl looked puzzled. “Well, if he can use magic, why does he need a court magician?”

Symon gave his apprentice a long-suffering look. “Think about it. You know yourself, magic needs constant study and practice, and is virtually a full-time occupation. Also, there are some narrow-minded ministers and members of the court who still frown on the magical arts, and it would not be in King Vailin’s best interests to use his skills openly.

“Had he not been destined to succeed to the throne, he would almost certainly have made an excellent physician-mage, for it is there that his natural abilities lie. However, it is, as I said, not common knowledge, so I trust you will keep this to yourself.” He looked meaningfully at the depleted table. “Now, I think we’ll be off, if you’ve had enough to eat.”

His expression rueful, Karryl regarded the devastation. “Well, I
was
hungry.”

The little magician patted him on the shoulder. “That’s alright. They weren’t put there to be looked at.”

He crossed the room, made a circular motion with his hand, and the hidden door opened quietly and slowly outwards. Resplendent in maroon and gold, a soldier of the Palace Guard snapped to attention as they stepped out into the corridor. At a slight gesture from Symon, the door closed smoothly and they followed the guard to the Mages’ Entrance without speaking.

Once they were outside Symon turned to Karryl. “I would like you to return to the tower on your own, as there is someone I have to go and see. I’m already halfway there, so it seems a pity to waste the opportunity. You know the way back, don’t you?”

Karryl nodded, looking a little disappointed, but Symon’s next words brightened him up considerably. “Do whatever you wish for the rest of the day, as I expect you will find it hard to concentrate on your studies. I should be back in a couple of hours. The frost has gone, the snow is melting and it promises to be a pleasant afternoon, so perhaps later we can spend an hour or two in the garden.”

Throwing his shoulders back, he drew himself up to his full five feet and took a deep breath. “Yes, some fresh air and relaxation frees the mind. Don’t you agree?”

Karryl grinned at the little magician’s zestfulness, and nodded in agreement. “It will be a change. I am getting a bit tired of studying.”

“Well, don’t forget.” said Symon, as they sauntered along the path, “You have a free day on your birthday next week.”

Karryl’s face lit up. “I’d forgotten about that! Having a free day, I mean.”

Symon held up a finger to put a check on his apprentice’s enthusiasm.”I had thought, that as there is only one day between your birthday and the week’s end, you might like to take that day as an extra little holiday.”

Karryl positively beamed. “Oh! That would be good. Thank you.”

To Symon’s great amusement, his young apprentice gave a little skip. Suddenly realising where he was, he stopped and, still grinning, lifted his hands and shrugged. Inclining his head, Symon smiled as he briefly recalled the impetuousness of his own youth. After walking a little further they arrived at the point where the paths converged, the one to the right leading around the rear of the barracks, the other into the city.

The little magician stopped and gestured to the right. “I will leave you now. There’s your path, and you can see the tower from here. Go straight back and I will see you later.”