Book of Heroes: George of Sedona I - 5. Good Attracts Evil

Chapter 5: Good Attracts Evil

Experience is a hard school, but it has the best teachers.
—Attributed to Ardrey of Elvenhold

Fifty or so years ago, a human tween woke on a snow-covered meadow. Note to self, Arthur thought, don’t cross the Gray Mountains again during the winter, if it can be avoided. He dug through the snow to reach dry ground. He’d learned the hard way that although he could warm himself with magic, warming himself also melted the snow. He’d managed to soak his blanket and clothes thoroughly before learning that lesson. He had to learn many things. It seemed that everything he did with magic resulted in unintended consequences.

He thought he had become accustomed to being a teenager—strike that, he thought, a tween. However, away from the shelter of king Oberon’s court he had to remind himself constantly that he was taller and thinner than his old adult body. He also had to remind himself that his body was that of a 17-year-old boy, even though he had lived through more than 45 winters before this one. To make matters worse, his body frequently reminded him that he was a 17-year-old boy at his sexual peak.

He knew that the city of Barbicana lay less than a day’s journey ahead; his knowledge of the geography of Elvenhold and of the continent upon which it rested was extensive. He knew the name of the duke, a cousin of King Oberon, who ruled the city; he also knew that he could not allow himself to be seen by the duke or any member of the duke’s family. I’ve attracted enough evil to the king’s family, he thought. Prince Aladil barely escaped the attack by those renegades—and they were after me, not him.

Why, then, did he travel to Barbicana? The Firespear Sept ruled the town. At least a dozen people in the duke’s court had known him when he was prince-consort and would recognize him. Arthur didn’t know the answer. Nevertheless, he felt compelled to take the road he now traveled, even though his original plans had been to go south, to human lands, to Arcadia.

He fed his horse the last of the oats and dried apples. Magic, can be useful, he thought, and gathered the faint sunlight of early morning. He concentrated the sunlight on a snow bank and made a puddle of water from which the horse could drink. On the other hand, I probably could have done the same thing with a fire … and with only a little more effort. Arthur’s own breakfast consisted of a bar of pemmican made from dried fruit, nuts, and milled oats. Oh well, it’s better than the field rations we had in Viet Nam.

In the time since he left Elvenhold, Arthur had let his hair grow long, in contrast to the shorter cut that was currently the court fashion. He’d politely rejected the finer horse and barding that had been offered, and selected an intelligent but sturdy horse whose ancestry was less pure than the ones on which he and Prince Aladil had ridden … forget that! Arthur thought. His clothing, too, was plain and woolen, rather than bright and silken. He wore brown boots, rather than the white or black of the nobility; brown tights and green tunic; and a plain brown cloak with a hood to protect his head from the cold. The escutcheon with the oak tree and crown, and his golden coronel were packed carefully in the bottom of his saddlebags. Don’t know why I kept them, except … well, it was good to have been a member of the court. I’ve a lot of happy memories before … forget that!

The spurs that marked him as a knight of Elvenhold were inlayed into the heels of his boots. They were hidden by a clean and simple spell that should fool even a high-level magic user who wasn’t specifically looking for them. He would have removed the spurs except that he was accustomed to controlling elven horses with their gentle nudges, and the horse was accustomed to them. I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Arthur thought, and rode toward the southern gate of Barbicana.

Arthur watched the people ahead of him approach the gate, and following their custom. He dismounted and waited for the guards to deal with a party of travelers who reached the gate before him. When Arthur approached the gate, a tween in uniform with chain mail under a winter-weight tabard, greeted him.

“Welcome to Barbicana, what is your name and home?”

“I am Arthur of Elvenhold,” Arthur replied, using a touch of magic to control the modulation of his voice, the beat of his heart, and the beta waves from his brain. It was likely that the guard was a natural sembler, whose innate magic was attuned to changes in body functions and brain activity that revealed when a person was lying.

Arthur’s reply—and control—were sufficient. “Will you be staying long?” the guard asked.

“Yes,” Arthur said. I hope to find work in the city.”

“Please register with the reeve when you’ve found permanent lodging and work,” the guard said. After looking around he added, “Um, if you don’t think me forward, the Golden Onion is known for clean rooms, good food, and fair prices. It’s on the Ordinary Market Square. Take the first right fork; a bakery is at that corner. Then follow that road until you reach the square.” Arthur asked the guard his name and thanked him for his courtesy before walking into the city leading his horse.

Arthur’s impressed memories told him that the Ordinary Market was the name given to the secondary market of a city. It’s like a flea market compared to an upscale shopping center, Arthur thought. On this winter’s day, late in the afternoon, the Ordinary was nearly deserted. The square was lined with shops, warehouses, inns and taverns … public houses, run by publicans, Arthur thought. The fountain in the center was not operating; the water in its basin was frozen. The doors of the buildings were shut, and the few people in the square hurried quickly to their destinations. Arthur spotted the sign of the Golden Onion. He crossed the square, and tied his horse to a ring set in the wall. Two other horses were similarly hitched to neighboring rings.

He entered the inn, quickly closing the door behind him. His eyes instantly adapted to the dim light of the room. A low hardwood fire burned in a grate; oil lamps set in sconces around the walls provided additional light. A few patrons were seated at a single table near the fire. An old elf sitting behind the bar looked up when Arthur entered.

“A guard at the southern gate, Hayden, recommended the Golden Onion. I’m looking for a place to stay … and for my horse, too.”

“Be especially welcome, then,” the man replied. “Hayden is my sister’s son. He must have liked you … he could find trouble with his decurion if it were known he sent a traveler here. I ask your discretion. I’m Bolyn.”

“Arthur, late of Elvenhold,” Arthur said, taking the offered hand. “Thank you for your welcome.”

The publican sent a boy to show Arthur to the stable, which was reached through the alley beside the inn. With the boy’s help, Arthur made short work of settling the stallion in a stall. The boy showed Arthur how to reenter the inn through the mudroom and then past the kitchen.

“Is there aught else I might do?” the boy asked.

Arthur hesitated. A tip! He wants a tip. Just like a bellboy. “Thank you for helping with Aurorus. But, no, nothing else now,” Arthur said, offering the boy a penny. I hope a penny’s enough.

The boy’s face glowed, and his “thank you” was enthusiastic. Too much, Arthur thought. Should have given him a ha’penny, perhaps a florin.

*****

Arthur cleaned himself and his clothes quickly and stepped into the hot tub. For a few moments, he had it all to himself, but then an elven tween entered. The boy nodded politely to Arthur, and then went about his own business in silence.

As the tween sank into the hot tub, he let out a sigh. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day. It was right cold on the road.”

Arthur replied, “Yes. Yes it was.”

“It’ll be no warmer, tomorrow,” the tween began. “I’ve just arrived from Arcadia, and will be returning tomorrow. Shouldn’t complain, however. The work is good, and easy. Just riding along wearing a sword. No one’s been attacked this season.”

“You’re a caravan guard, then?” Arthur asked.

“For a hundred lifetimes, it seems,” the tween replied. Then, “You’re a sturdy lad … would you share with me?”

Arthur started. Thinking quickly, he replied. “I thank you for your Asking; however, I am too tired for either of us to enjoy … ” his voice drifted off.

“No matter.” The tween stepped from the hot tub and dried off.

After the tween left, Arthur quickly dried and dressed. Why did I feel I had to lie? All I had to say was no, thank you. And why did I not want to share with him? It’s not as if he were unattractive. It’s not as if it hasn’t been several tendays, as my body reminds me constantly. Dismissing these thoughts, Arthur returned to his room. He fiddled with his gear, sorting and arranging the contents of his saddlebags. I can’t avoid him … he thought with some disgust with himself. And I’ve got to have something to eat.

Arthur walked down the hall toward the common room. As he approached, he heard voices raised in excitement—and a little tension. Cautiously, Arthur looked in. Now, three tables were full of men, tweens, and a few boys. The serving boy was running from a table to the bar with both hands full of empty mugs. Bolyn was filling mugs from the tap while a woman and a girl brought plates of food from the kitchen. Men were gesturing, talking loudly. The mercenary guard Arthur had met in the bath was not in the room.

Arthur took a seat at an empty table, keeping his back to the wall. He was at the opposite end of the room from the fire, which perhaps explained why this table was empty while those closer were full. The serving boy—the same one who’d shown Arthur to the stable—gave Arthur a smile and a mug from his tray. Arthur smelled heated wine and spices, and gratefully sipped the warm liquid from the mug. He looked around the room more closely, but still didn’t see the mercenary. Concentrating, he eavesdropped on the conversation at the nearest table.

Oh … oh … no wonder the mercenary isn’t here … he and his companion were thrown out? No! They were taken away by the City Guard! Barratry? What’s that? Arthur riffled through his memories. Gross misconduct by a ship’s crew resulting in harm to the owner? Oh … also applies to mercenaries, hired guards, anyone in a position of responsibility. The merchant who received the caravan inventoried it faster than expected, and found valuables missing. Well—

By this time, the boy had returned with a bowl of vegetable stew and a basket of bread. “There’s cheese under the bread,” he said, “and Mam’s made cobbler. I’ll bring you some, later.” Arthur’s thank you was barely out of his mouth before the boy ran off to collect empty mugs from another table.

The door opened narrowly to admit two figures. A gust of wind brought a flurry of snow that settled on the flagstones and began to melt. The two who had entered pushed hoods from their heads and looked around the room. Arthur recognized Hayden, and another of the guardsmen who had been at the gate. Whether Hayden also saw Arthur, or only that no seats were open closer to the fire, he and the other elven tween walked toward the table.

“Ah, Arthur, am I right?” Hayden asked.

“Yes, and you’re Hayden,” Arthur replied. “I’m happy to see you, again.” He said nothing about Hayden’s recommending the Golden Onion, remembering Bolyn’s request for discretion.

“This is Jon,” Hayden said.

The serving boy came up with Arthur’s cobbler. “Hello, Hayden and Jon,” the boy said. He kissed Hayden before dashing off.

“Hello, Brandy,” Hayden said to the boy’s departing back. Turning to Arthur he added, “Brandy must like you … not everyone gets offered cobbler.”

“I gave him a penny for helping me with my horse … I’m afraid that was too much. Oh … I didn’t mean, that is, I hope that didn’t offend … I don’t want to paint him as a mercenary, I mean, too mercenary … that is …,” Arthur stumbled over words and concepts. Those memories … they’re not as well integrated as I thought. I must have been more protected at the court than I realized.

Hayden laughed. “Sorry,” he said. “Not laughing at you, but at the thought of Brandy being a mercenary or mercenary about cobbler. He’d not sell his mother’s cobbler any more than he’d sell … well, himself. And the cobbler? His sweet tooth is a family joke. Show him, Jon.”

Jon had shrugged off his cloak and draped it over a spare chair. He opened a pouch at his belt and pulled out a packet, wrapped in a broad, waxy leaf. Scarcely had he opened the packet on the table to display colored candy, when Brandy appeared at his shoulder. “For me?” he asked, reaching for the candy.

“For you,” Jon replied.

Hayden added, “I believe he can smell sugar all the way across the room.”

“Not my fault your nose is broken,” Brandy mumbled and sped away, his cheeks stuffed with candy, and more in his fist.

Arthur stayed in the common room talking with Hayden and Jon for the rest of the evening. In fact, Jon did most of the talking. After his initial reticence, he had become quite voluble, moving from topic to topic, with something to say about each, and always with a question to draw Arthur and Hayden into the conversation. For the next several hours, Arthur learned about the city and its inhabitants, their businesses, and trade. What Jon said triggered his implanted memories. Arthur felt links and connections form between those memories and the reality of the town. I was lucky to have met Jon, Arthur thought. What he’s saying is more helpful than all the court gossip of the past few years!

The snow and wind both grew heavier. As each patron departed, a whirl of snow entered the door. At last, Hayden interrupted Jon, “Come on … if we’re going to be at our post tomorrow, we’d better get to the barracks now.” As he spoke, one of the last patrons opened the door, and a gust of cold wind whipped the last few embers of the fire. They burst into life for a brief instant before dying.

Brandy hugged Hayden, and thanked Jon for the candy. Then, the boy turned to Arthur. “Would you share boy magic with me tonight?”

Before Arthur could reply, the boy added, “Pap said it was okay to ask.”

“Yes, Brandy” Arthur said. “I would like that very much.” The first time since I left Elvenhold, and the first person since Prince Aladil and I said goodbye … Forget that!

“I’ll come to your room after I’ve bathed, then,” the boy said, running off toward the kitchen.

Arthur had climbed into bed and was just getting warm when a soft knock at the door caught his attention. “Come in,” he said.

Brandy stood in the doorway, the light from the oil lamp in the hallway shining through the thin tunic he’d put on after his bath. The boy closed the door, and then skipped across the floor to the bed. Despite the cold air and his thin tunic, the boy’s skin was still warm from the bath.

*****

The next morning was bright. Frost had covered the ground when Arthur took Aurorus outside the city for exercise. When he returned to the market square, the fountain had thawed. A thin stream of water splashed into the basin. Still, the day was unpleasantly cold, and Arthur was the only person on the square.

After feeding Aurorus and breaking his own fast with oatmeal, honey, and tea, Arthur left the Golden Onion, intending to wander the city. He had no goal in mind other than tasting the flavor of Barbicana and its people. He was halfway across the market square when a commotion in one corner drew his attention.

A voice raised in anger. The crack of a whip. The smack of the whip hitting flesh. The anguished whinny of a horse. Another smack-whinny. Angry muttering. A piercing tenor voice. “Hold! You have no cause to treat a horse that way!”

Arthur turned—he did not know why—and then began running toward the corner of the square from which the noise came. There, he saw an elf holding the bridle of a horse in one hand and a whip in the other. Fear lit the horse’s eyes; foam flecked its mouth. The man lifted the whip again.

As Arthur watched, a tween grabbed the hand that held the whip. The tween’s identity as the person who had issued challenge earlier was confirmed. The boy spoke, firmly. “I said that you had no cause to treat a horse that way.”

The man holding the horse spat. “Take your hand from me, child, unless you want it cut off!”

“I am not a child,” the tween said levelly. Nevertheless, he released the man’s hand. The boy turned slightly, and Arthur recognized the face that belonged to the voice. It was Brandy’s cousin, Hayden. Had Hayden been in uniform, Arthur might have recognized him earlier, but Hayden was in mufti.

The horse, no longer being beaten, had settled down. The man looped the reins around a ring set into a post and turned to face Hayden. “You’ll not get off that easily, boy,” he said. “You called me out; now follow through.”

Hayden stood, stunned. Arthur’s mind raced through the memories that had been impressed on his brain. There, he thought. It’s an old custom, but Hayden intervened, he touched the man; the man can claim that Hayden has challenged him. This can’t be good. Arthur looked around. Where’s the City Guard? Where is anyone?

The horse-beater’s companion, another elven man, gestured to Hayden, and addressed Arthur. “You’re his second?”

Again, Arthur’s mind flashed through memories. As Hayden turned, surprise lit his face. Arthur replied simply, “Yes.” Arthur felt a sense of calm. This is right, he thought. This was meant to be. He paused. How did I know that?

Hayden and the man squared off. The man had drawn a dagger. Its blade was ten inches of shiny metal. Hayden was constrained by custom to use the same weapon. He dropped his baldric and sword and stood, balanced on the balls of his feet, holding his own dagger. Hmmm, Arthur thought. Hayden’s left-handed. Hadn’t noticed that before. Hadn’t paid attention, rather. Wonder how his opponent feels about that.

Whatever the older elf felt did not slow his attack. The instant Hayden drew his dagger, the man attacked, stabbing rather than slashing. Hayden’s eyes widened slightly when he realized that he was facing an experienced fighter. The tween caught the man’s blade on his own and jerked his arm up, deflecting the blow. The two combatants, having taken the other’s measure, took a step back. The man attacked, again, lunging down and to Hayden’s left, toward the tween’s groin. Hayden parried again, but just barely. The man has fought against left-handers before, Arthur thought. That thrust was much harder for Hayden to deflect.

The two exchanged thrusts and parries. It quickly became obvious that Hayden had the edge. The tween scored a shallow cut on his opponent’s right cheek, and another on the man’s right arm, cutting through the cloth of his tunic sleeve. The sleeve was darkening slowly with blood.

Arthur was caught up in the fight, and almost missed the treachery of the horse-beater’s second. A movement in the corner of his eye drew Arthur’s attention from the battle. He saw a stone, about the size of his fist, sailing toward Hayden’s head. Instantly and without thought Arthur acted. The stone hovered in the air. The combatants were frozen. The man’s second stood with his arm in the position from which he had released the stone. The sound of one dagger ringing on another dropped to a subsonic rumble. Arthur’s hand whipped to his own dagger. He threw it, hilt first, at the stone. Not where the stone’s going to be, he thought, but where the stone is.

The instant Arthur’s dagger left his hand, its hilt struck the stone, turning the stone into an expanding cloud of powder. The sound of the clanging daggers ratcheted into audible range. Arthur’s dagger fell to the ground ten feet away from the combatants. Both fighters had been distracted by the sound of Arthur’s dagger pulverizing the stone. Hayden was the first to recover and took advantage of his opponent’s hesitation. The tween locked his dagger blade into the hilt of the man’s dagger and jerked. The man’s dagger flew into the air and Hayden’s dagger found his throat.

“Yield,” the tween said. “Yield and live.” The man fell to his knees.

The second man drew his sword and approached, anger in his eyes, but Arthur was faster. Arthur’s sword brushed the sword aside. With the point of Arthur’s sword at his breast, the second man yielded, dropping his sword to the pavement.

Within minutes the City Guard arrived, summoned by someone in one of the shops. Hayden identified himself to the decurion. The man listened to Hayden’s story, and then dismissed him and Arthur. The Guard led the two men in one direction, their horses in another.

Hayden picked up his sword and baldric. His hands shook. “Are you all right?” Arthur asked, quietly, not sure whether he should acknowledge Hayden’s reaction.

Hayden smiled briefly; then, his face dropped. “Yes … thank you … I … I’ve never been in a fight where I might have died … please forgive me if I’m a little shaken. I must seem a coward …”

“A coward?” Arthur said softly. “Only a brave person will admit his fear, and only a fool knows none.”

“Thank you,” Hayden said. “And thank you for seconding me. I would have died if you had not.” He paused. “I never saw anyone move so fast. In fact, I didn’t even see you reach for your dagger before it hit the stone.”

Arthur dissembled, “Likely because you were concentrated on your opponent.”

Hayden put his hand on Arthur’s arm. “Arthur, I owe you my life twice over, but I am a sembler. I cannot help but see the lie in what you say.”

The tween dropped his hand and looked Arthur directly in the eye. “I want only truth between us.”

Arthur returned Hayden’s stare and saw Light in the boy’s eyes. Arthur spoke softly. “Hayden, I stopped neither the rock nor the second’s sword in order to lead you into danger—and death. I enjoyed your company last night. I was proud to be your second today. Please do not tell anyone that I used magic to destroy the rock. It would draw danger to me, and to those close to me.”

Hayden nodded, “Thank you for your trust. Your secret is safe with me.” He smiled, and added, “When you are ready to tell me the rest of your secret, it will be safe, too.”

The two boys walked hand-in-hand to the Golden Onion.

*****

Two days after First Market, Arthur found Brandy waiting in the common room. Mid-afternoon custom had been light, and the boy was nodding in the corner by the fire when Arthur’s entry woke him. “Where have you been?” Brandy asked. “I fed Aurorus, of course, but he wants to be ridden. Did you bring me candy?”

Arthur pulled a package from an inner pocket of his cloak. “All the candy vendors had disappeared. I did find some carrots, though.”

Brandy opened the packet to reveal red cinnamon candy. The boy giggled and his eyes lit up. “Thank you, Arthur,” he said, and ran out the door into the square. Arthur accepted the boy’s kiss, and then greeted Bolyn.

After drawing ale for Arthur, Bolyn invited him to sit. Arthur accepted Bolyn’s invitation to play a game that Arthur—after losing consistently—realized was based on the Chinese checkers games of his childhood. With that in mind, Arthur changed his strategy, and was soon giving the man a run for his money. And a good thing, too. I have enough money to last for a while, Arthur thought, but I’d rather not lose any more pennies!

“Your mind is sharp, boy,” Bolyn said after Arthur’s third consecutive win. “Never played this before, you said, but you’re doing well.”

Does he think I’m trying to hustle him? Arthur wondered. Aloud, he added, “Not so sharp, I think. It’s cost me a sixpence to learn the game. It’s not the same, but near enough, to one I played as a child.” Arthur smiled. “This was not as costly a lesson as many I’ve had.”

“There’s truth to that,” Bolyn said. “And more.”

He’s a sembler, too, Arthur thought. I wonder if it’s— Arthur’s curiosity about the genetic basis for the sembler talent was lost when Bolyn, rather than set up the board for the next game—the loser’s customary task—continued speaking.

“It has become public knowledge that a human boy seconded a member of the City Guard in a highly unorthodox duel in the square. It was easy to find out that the legionnaire was Hayden. It wasn’t hard to deduce that the boy who seconded him was you.”

Arthur, caught unaware, did not have time to control his respiration, eye movements, or brain waves. He’s sure to know …

Bolyn continued, “Hayden won’t say, and became very uncomfortable when I pressed him for an answer. I take it you placed him under oath.”

Without waiting for Arthur’s answer, Bolyn continued, “I ask because he is my sister’s son, and because he visits here often. I do not believe that you are anything but Good, but just as Good attracts Evil … ”

Arthur filled in the remainder of the quotation, “ … exceptional Good attracts exceptional Evil.

“I am Good, Bolyn, I have sworn to uphold the Light. I am not, however, exceptionally good. Of that, I am sure. On the other hand, I do know that I attract … perhaps not Evil, but certainly danger. I warned Hayden of this, and did ask him—for that reason—not to reveal that I had aided him. I did not want to attract danger, much less Evil, to him or you.”

Arthur sighed. “I had hoped to remain here longer, but I must go.”

He stood before continuing, “Please give my farewells to Brandy and Hayden … and Jon, as well. I did not place Hayden under oath; I merely warned him of danger, and asked him for his own safety not to tell anyone. Please tell him I release him from that promise and that I ask him to discuss the matter with you. It’s now obvious that his safety, and yours, depend on a greater knowledge.”

“Wait, please,” Bolyn said, putting his hand on Arthur’s arm. “I was for a long time on the City Council. I have access to, uh, certain resources. It is not Right that the Good should flee the Evil—for if you attract danger, then it is certainly Evil.”

City Council, Arthur thought. That’s why some of the men call him Per Bolyn. His service must have been significant for him to have kept that title. Aloud, he said, “You honor me with your trust and your offer of help; however, it cannot be. You know the truth of this: I have had to leave a place where the protection was stronger and in greater depth than even this city can provide. No, it is not Right that Good should flee Evil. Neither is it Right that I should attract danger—Evil—to you and yours. Um, I ask your discretion in this.”

Per Bolyn looked at Arthur. “It will break Brandy’s heart if you do not tell him goodbye, yourself. Please, if you must leave, prepare to do so, but will you wait in the stable until I fetch Brandy?”

Arthur nodded. With no further words, the two turned in different directions. Per Bolyn went toward the door to fetch Brandy from his play; Arthur returned to his room to pack his few belongings in his saddlebags.

*****

“Brandy, I have no treats for you,” Arthur began, “for I must leave Barbicana, and I must leave now. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for your own sweetness that you shared with me. I will remember you.”

Brandy stood on tiptoe; Arthur bent down for a final kiss.

“Thank you for being my friend,” Brandy said. “Thank you for the candy! I’m sorry you must leave, but I will remember you.”

The echo of Sext bells followed Arthur out the gate of Barbicana.