Chapter Three The Shard Of Irionite -4

The massive bulk of Boval castle loomed ahead on the road East, high

on a promontory that gave it command of the surrounding vale, as we

hurried along on horseback. I was no stranger to military fortifications, and

this one was unusual: a castle large enough for a prosperous Baron or

Count, perched on a prominent hill in a mountainous valley.

That elaborate pile of gray stone represented a tremendous expense of

resources. Yet Boval Vale had no natural enemies here in the mountains.

Even goblin raids were a rarity. So how was so great an expense justified?

And, more importantly, where did Sire Koucey find the treasury to have it

built? Not by taxing the cheese trade, which was certain. While it was

definitely a strong part of the lord's income, it would have taken five

centuries of merciless cheese taxes to raise enough to build Boval Castle.

My apprentice's initial excitement about the trip wore off by noon,

though he continued to be interested in seeing the scenery and being seen

on horseback by farm girls. Tyndal had been born on a dirt farm a few miles

south of the castle, so he wasn't yet in unfamiliar territory, but he had any

kid's interest in the countryside.

After peppering me with questions for fifteen minutes I decided to use

the time for something a little more constructive, instructing him in Magical

Theory, specifically Enchantment – a subject vital to developing beyond the

hedge-mage level. He settled down when I began lecturing, eager to pick up

a new skill or two.

That afternoon, as Tyndal and I crossed the ford at the Ro, I could tell

my apprentice's head was buzzing with questions that his mouth didn't have

the courage to ask. I let him stew for a while, to see how long it would take,

and I was rewarded when we halted to let our clothes dry in the quickly

fading sun. It gets dark a lot faster here than in my native land.

"Make a fire," I commanded, as I unloaded the horses. "And I don't

want to see a tinderbox in your hand, either."

He grinned, and went to gather wood. He hadn't used a tinderbox to

start a fire since he learned that simple cantrip, one of the very first he was

taught. When he returned and started laying the fire, the dam broke and the

questions started coming.

"Master, why have the goblins attacked us?"

"Tyndal, they are the Mountain Folk or the gurvani. Only the ignorant

and superstitious call them goblins."

"Master, why have the gurvani attacked us?" he repeated.

Good question. I wished I knew.

"Well, I think it has something to do with that green stone the shaman

was using. I think he found it somewhere, and then he used it to influence a

whole tribe to attack the village. With that kind of power it would be easy to

influence the weak-minded."

"Do you think there will be more attacks?"

"It's hard to say," I admitted. "The gurvani aren't exactly peaceful, but

they aren't usually so aggressive. I think it will depend on whether or not

they get their hands on more Irionite." Man for man, a gurvan cannot stand

up to a well-armed human. It is only in large groups under a fearsome

leader that they can have an effect. "From what Sire Koucey says, they do

make raids every few years, and I guess it's about time for them to do so

again. Who knows what enmity they hold for humans?"

My apprentice looked thoughtful. "It is said that they inhabited this

valley, once, and that Sire Koucey's great-grandsire finally drove them back

up into the hills," he mentioned. "Perhaps they want it back."

"They want it . . . back?" Tyndal shuddered, pulling his light mantle

around him. The night attack had left a mark on him, I could see. Of course,

no one likes hearing that his home is coveted by another. He built up the

firewood into a stack while he thought. With effort he then ignited the wood

with his cantrip, using dry leaves he had found for tinder. As the fire

belched smoke into the air, I noticed a sudden change in his expression.

"It's a possibility. And you know, that's probably not too far from

wrong," I admitted.

"Well, then, perhaps you should teach me how to fight," he said, trying

to hide his eagerness and fear.

I kept my face stern, but inside I couldn't help but laugh. It seems every

boy imagines himself as a great warrior. If they only knew the truth about

war . . . .

"Perhaps," I finally murmured. "Swordplay, however, is difficult to

master. You should learn the rudiments with a staff. But the easiest weapon

for a mage to learn is the warwand. I will teach you how to make one, I

think, and we'll leave more . . . robust arms for a later time. It is hardly

more difficult than a cantrip, and you have mastered each of the requisite

techniques. First, fetch a willow branch, as straight as you can find it, the

length of your arm from wrist to elbow."

He dug around in the firewood he had gathered first, and finding no

such stick he trotted back into the copse to search. While he did so I began

preparing dinner by toasting sausages over sticks and slicing cheese. He

returned a few moments later with a stick that I examined very carefully,

while I explained how vital it was to check the wood for flaws.

I then made him use magesight – a spell he had only recently learned –

to discover any hidden weaknesses in the wood. He spotted the one I had

seen toward one end, which pleased me, and it took him little time to

whittle it away and re-inspect the wand.

"Good," I said, when he finished. "Now, dry the wand in front of the

fire after you have stripped off the bark. While it is drying, I want you to

build up power, as much as you can, and hold it. When you can hold no

more, construct in your mind the kaba form and fill it."

The kaba is a thought-form, a psychological construct that most

Imperial Tradition wizards use to contain raw magical power. Depending

upon the mage's skill, a kaba can contain a tremendous amount of pent-up

power and it is often the starting point for powerful spells. Tyndal had

successfully constructed a few of them over the last month, and he'd been

practicing.

Using magesight, I could see the blue cube he was building spinning

slowly in front of him. Without magesight it merely looked like he had a

bad case of indigestion. Perfecting the kaba is one of the hardest, yet most

essential, techniques a mage must master. His progress was adequate, even

advanced, for his age and experience, and I was proud of him.

After twenty minutes of filling the cube, he looked up at me, sweat

beading on his forehead, and nodded that he had finished. I checked it, and

it was indeed full.

"Now, take up the wand in your hand, and take your second knife out.

Inscribe the glyph for 'holding,' the ygra, about an inch from the base of

the wand." I waited for him to do so. "Now inscribe the directional marker

pointing from the ygra to the operational end of the wand. Then, inscribe

the selan rune, the Rune of Release, as the old sages called it, at the end of

the directional marker.

"Good, good, now carefully transmit the power of the kaba into the

ygra." I watched him struggle to do this. Tyndal had only learned how to

transfer power recently, and this was a difficult step – kind of like directing

the course of a river by using just your hands. It took another twenty

minutes for him to manage, and at the end of it he was out of breath and

sweating profusely.

"Now inscribe a binding rune – make it a simple one, like bela or jagth.

Those are the best when dealing with raw power. You can use goromon or

one of the other complex ones if you wanted the power to convert to, say,

fire or frost or something. The basic warwand is just pure power."

I watched proudly as my apprentice finished, and then I took the wand

from him and examined it carefully. It was actually better than my first

warwand, which bode well. It was brimming with power, and tightly

contained. I handed it back to him.

"Excellent work," I praised. "Now, every time we stop for the night, I

want you to put another charge on it. The wood is strong enough to handle

four or five without burning out, unless I miss my guess. Each time you add

another, simply inscribe another ygra and add a point to the bela.

Understand?"

"Yes, Master. Shouldn't we test it?" he asked, eagerly.

"In due time, Apprentice. I have passed it. One does not discharge a

warwand lightly, especially when there might be foes about – or friends, for

that matter. They are dangerous to those unshielded."

"Yes, Master," he said, his eyes focused on his creation. "You will teach

me how to shield, then?"

"In due time, boy. You've done very well, here. Now eat up, I know

you're tired. I'm going to set the wards for the evening. I'll tell you what,

though, we'll stick around long enough in the morning to both add a charge

to our wands before we continue our journey." He looked more secure

about that. Heck, I'm sure I did too.

As we settled into sleep, safe within the wards, I felt a twinge of

sympathy for the boy. Had someone attacked my home village, I would

have been eager to strike back, myself, at his age. Even though I hadn't

grown up here, it was still my home, and I still felt a sense of violation as I

recalled the attack – and the number of dead neighbors it left behind.