Book of Heroes: George of Sedona I - 13. The Constable of Bowling Green

Chapter13: The Constable of Bowling Green

The sole foundation for belief in the natural sciences is this idea,
that the general laws directing the phenomena of the universe,
known or unknown, are necessarily constant.
—Marquis de Condorcet, The Future Progress of the Human Mind
(published posthumously, Earth-analogue, 1795 C.E.)

There was a new constable in Bowling Green, and notice had been read in the town square and the temple that all persons not citizens of the town were to register with him. Gary rode beside Arthur. George followed. They planned to take the horses for a ride through the countryside afterwards, and so were armed and equipped with packs of food and water.

There were already two horses tied at the rail in front of the constable’s house when they arrived; they weren’t the only visitors. The door was opened by a boy with black hair and gray eyes. “Father, more visitors,” the boy called.

From within came a tween’s tenor voice. Ask them in, Cooper.”

The boy, now Cooper, led the Arthur, George, and Gary into a large room. The room and the hallway leading to the rest of the house were cluttered with furniture, baskets, and wooden crates.

“Please excuse the mess,” said a tween. His hair matched the boy’s but his eyes were black. “We’ve just moved here and things are a little…well, you can see. You’ve come to see Father?”

“Yes, please,” replied Arthur, “but if this is a bad time…we’re just here to register as visitors…except Gary, who lives here.”

“Hi, Gary,” Cooper interrupted. “You’re the first boy I’ve met here. Where do you live? Do you like to play Knights and Trolls? I used to play with Erin, he’s my friend in Tipsy Green…”

“Cooper!” the tween said. “Please go get Father.”

When the boy left, Arthur introduced himself and George, explaining that they were living with Gary’s father, the smith, and were engaged in weapons training.

“I’m James,” the tween said. “I’d like to spar with you, if you please. Father has taught me a lot, and I spent three ten-years at the temple in Tipsy Green. I’ll be attending the temple school here…as soon as we get settled. They teach arms and healing…I’m going to be a Warrior-Cleric. What are you going to be?”

“We’re not quite…Oh, good morning, Constable,” Arthur said as the man entered the room.

“Good morning,” the man replied. “I see you’ve met two of my sons. Cooper said that one of you lived here, and that two were visitors who wished to register. In truth, I haven’t talked to the Guild Masters about procedures, so let me just take your names, and where you’ll be staying. If we can find something to write on …”

As the man looked about, Arthur pulled a small square of parchment from his belt pouch, and produced a writing stick and ink charger. “May I?” he asked.

When the constable nodded, Arthur wrote, Arthur of Elvenhold, and George of Sedona, sojourners, living with Mastersmith Edgar.

“Thank you, Master Arthur,” the constable said as he glanced at the note. “I don’t know Sedona …” The question in his voice was obvious.

“George is from the Northern Continent, and arrived not long ago through Elvenhold,” Arthur explained. “We took Sojourners Oath when we crossed from Elvenhold into Arcadia.” As he spoke, he sensed a ping of magic, a sound as if a tiny hammer had struck a tiny bell, and knew that he’d been Truth-Told. James’s nod to his father confirmed that James had been the source of the spell.

“Very good,” the constable said. “Welcome to Bowling Green … although that seems strange for me to say, having just arrived.”

Before leaving, Gary gave James and Cooper directions to his father’s house. “We’re living in the guest quarters in back … but come through the shop. There’ll be someone there to show you the way.”

That night, Arthur and George lay awake, their bodies glowing with shared boy magic. Gary, earlier surfeited, slept next to them, his soft breath warming Arthur’s neck. George continued his habit of using these moments between sex and sleep to ask Arthur some of his toughest questions. Tonight, the whispered conversation began innocently enough.

“Arthur,” George began, when you told James and Cooper’s father that we were from the northern continent, I heard a sound … and it came from James. What was it?”

“What did it sound like?”

“Like a bell … a small, silver bell,” George replied.

“James truth-told me. He cast a spell to help him detect changes in my pulse rate or brain waves, tremors in my diaphragm, perspiration … things that might indicate that I was lying. Remember that sound; and remind me to teach you how to control these indicators in yourself. There are times that even the Light must lie.”

“But lying is a sin, isn’t it?” George asked.

Arthur thought for a moment. “When you say sin, George, do you mean sin in the Jewish-Christian religion of your world?”

“Um, yeah, I guess,” George replied.

“I’m not sure there’s an easy answer, but let me try. Sin is a concept of certain religions—not all religions, by any means. It specifically means disobeying one of the rules of the religion. Sometimes, it means disobeying one of the rules deliberately. Accidentally breaking a rule, or breaking a rule you don’t know about may not be a sin. That’s different in different religions. It’s different in different sects of the same religion, too. The rules can come from the religion’s gods, or from its prophets, priests, or lawyers. There are also unwritten rules. The important things to know are first, that sin is breaking a religion’s rules, and second, that it doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with right and wrong, or with Good and Evil. ” Arthur paused.

“The Jewish and Christian Bibles don’t actually come out and say that all lying is a sin,” he continued. “The … hmmm, seven, eight, nine … the ninth commandment prohibits bearing false witness against a neighbor. But falsely accusing someone of a crime, or giving false testimony in court, is only one kind of lie.”

“Yeah,” George interjected, “there’s little white lies. Like when someone asks to share boy magic, but you don’t want to because they don’t bathe often enough and smell bad, so you say ‘I’m already promised’ instead of ‘you stink.’ So you don’t hurt their feelings.”

“What if they ask you again the next day, and the next, and the day after that, George? Are you going to use the same excuse, or come up with a new one each time? How long before you can’t make up an excuse, and have to say ‘yes’ because you can’t think of a way to say ‘no’? Or before they figure out that you’re lying to them and really have their feelings hurt?”

“But I thought Three Times No meant that if I tell someone three times that I don’t want to share with them, then they’re not supposed to ask again,” George protested.

“True,” Arthur replied. “That is the custom. But, you haven’t said ‘no.’ You’ve said ‘not now,’ which really isn’t the same thing.

“That’s probably the best reason I know not to lie … lying makes things a lot more complicated than they have to be, and can create more trouble than the truth. Shakespeare told us that lying weaves a tangled web—one that can trap us.”

“Yeah,” George said. “I remember that. So, is lying a sin, or not?”

“The Bible does come down quite hard on lying, but it’s usually in the context of false witness or saying bad things—whether true or not—about the Israelites or one of their kings.

“And, there’s a place in the Bible … First Kings, twenty-second chapter … where the Hebrew god sends a lying spirit—an angel—to lure the King of Israel into a battle where the king will be killed. I’m sure the god had a good reason, so perhaps the message is that it’s okay to lie when there is a good reason.

“Anyway,” Arthur concluded, “sin is not a concept that people know in this world. Did you notice that you had to use the English word for it? There’s not even a word for sin in the Common tongue or in Elvish—or any other language I know of, for that matter. On this world we look at right and wrong, Light and Dark—that is, good and evil—, but we also know that there’s not always a clear-cut line between the two.”

“Hmmm,” George said. “I’ll have to think about that.” He kissed Arthur and hugged him tightly. “Tomorrow, though.”

*****

Spring weather came to Bowling Green well before the equinox, brought by winds from the west and north. The west wind came across the mountains from the desert, and was cold and dry. The north wind brought hot, moist air from the rain forest. The two winds collided over Bowling Green, and created great roaring storms with thick, forked lightning and booming thunder that echoed from the mountains. There had been such a storm last night, but the morning had dawned clear, warm, and dry.

James watched as George and Gary performed First Level sword drill. Arthur paced them by tapping a quarterstaff on an upturned wooden bucket. This was James and Cooper’s first visit, and Arthur had asked that James watch the boys drill.

“They’ve been working for two hours, now, and will need a rest, soon. One run-through, and then you and I can spar. Please tell me if you see anything that I may have overlooked,” Arthur had asked.

James’ assessment was thorough. “Gary wants to move his feet, although first level drill requires the feet be planted firmly. He’s shifting his weight a lot. It helps him compensate for the size difference. Gary’s very fast, too. That sword he’s using is just right for him. And George…his long-sword is full sized, but he moves it as if it were an epee! How does he do that?”

George looked to Arthur, who nodded. “It’s lighter … here, feel,” the boy said as he offered the sword hilt to James.

James hefted the sword, and a surprised look flashed across his face. “This is real? It’s not a practice sword?”

“No, it’s part mithral,” George said. “Gary and his father and brothers, and Arthur and I made it. That’s why we came here, actually.”

By early afternoon everyone was thoroughly exhausted, hot, and sweaty from sparring and drilling, when Eddie, Allen, and Davey came from the forge to the exercise yard. They had taken off the leather aprons that were the only thing except sandals they wore while working. “Hey, Father said we could stop work for the day. Anyone for a swim?”

A postern gate in the corner of the exercise yard opened to a path that led to a wide spot in a stream. The pool that formed there made a fine swimming hole. Past the pool, the stream joined the river that flowed past the town. The water was still icy cold from winter, but the boys reveled in it.

“I didn’t realize that your walls were part of the city walls,” James said.

“We have to keep that gate closed and barricaded at night,” Eddie explained, “and would have to defend it if the city were attacked. It’s been tens of hundreds of years, but we know our duty. Your father’s the constable? He should know about the gate … bet the Guildmasters didn’t tell him … bet they don’t even know!”

“You can forge mithral?” James asked, later. The boys were lying on the rocks by the pool, soaking up the last rays of the sun.

“Well, we helped father and Arthur … and we’re learning. Hey, Arthur,” Allen said. “We’ve bound mithral into the bronze … it’s pretty, but not as hard as we thought it would be. We’re going to try with brass as soon as we figure out how to free the mithral from the bronze. Any ideas?”

“Arthur must be a powerful mage,” Cooper said, as he and Gary gathered berries that grew beside the pool.

“Yes …” Gary replied, “He healed me … you know I was a cripple, before … all the boys in town knew it … I guess you’ve heard …”

“That was you they were talking about? Some boys who live near us told me that the smith had a son who was … Oh, I’m sorry … I shouldn’t say …” Cooper hesitated.

“They said I was a monster, didn’t they,” Gary said.

“Yeah,” Cooper replied, reluctantly. “But James said they were full of ca-ca …” The boys giggled.

“He meant that they were full of shit,” Cooper whispered. “But he would never say that word.” The boys giggled again.

“That was me, all right,” Gary said. “None of the boys in town like me … that’s why we’re going to leave, as soon as I can take care of myself … Arthur and George and I are going adventuring …”

That evening, James allowed Cooper to talk him into a game of Knights and Trolls. The little boy’s heart wasn’t in the game, however.

“Cooper? Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” James asked. Cooper put down the game piece he’d been staring at, and moved into James’s lap.

“James, why don’t the boys like Gary? He said he was a cripple … but he doesn’t look different to me.”

James cuddled his little brother and thought carefully before answering. “I heard that Gary was club-footed and that he couldn’t be healed at the temple here. Arthur figured out how to heal him just before we came to Bowling Green. I guess, before that, the boys who saw him were afraid that if they played with him, or shared boy magic with him, they’d get that way, too.”

“Could they of?”

“Could they ‘have,’ Cooper. No. It’s not like catching a cold.” James replied. I’m not really sure what it is like, James thought, and I don’t know Arthur well enough to ask. But someday, I must learn what he did, and how he did it.

Across town, George and Arthur lay awake, having shared boy magic. Gary, Allen, and Eddie were already asleep on the other bed. Davy, still a child, had not participated, and had fallen asleep before it began. Again, George tried to pin down Arthur. “If lying is not a sin, then why is it wrong? And, what is truth, anyway?”

Arthur realized the George was serious, and resisted the impulse to incite the boy’s passions to distract him. “George, I’m not sure I can answer the second question. It’s been asked and debated by people far wiser than I am.”

“Why is it so confusing?” George asked.

“I think, especially on your world, it’s confusing because no one there can agree on what is truth,” Arthur answered. “Every part of your culture had its own version of truth. For the most part, in what you call the civilized world, truth was believed to have been revealed by prophets: Plato, Moses, Buddha, Confucius, Jesus, Mohammad, Eddy, Smith, others. There were enough similarities among these truths, especially the Moses-Jesus-Mohammed-Smith version, to confuse people. There were enough differences to keep the believers killing each other for centuries.

“Outside religion, access to the truth was claimed by various authority figures—the Catholic Church, early Communists in Russia, and Adolph Hitler come to mind. In your country, the truth was often determined by opinion makers—the news media, the entertainment industry—and by majority rule. In almost every case, however, all these truths—religions and secular—were based on selective evidence. Many claimed to have the truth. I do not believe anyone ever had the whole truth.

“All these prophets, and many more, including all the Old Testament prophets, and all the prophets of the Protestant Reformation, starting with Martin Luther; all the politicians and opinion makers, they all had one thing in common. They knew that people were doing something wrong, and they knew what people needed to do to get right with God. They knew the right way—the only right way, in their opinion—for people to live. And many people were so unhappy with their lives that they were willing to believe what a particular prophet said, and to do whatever a particular prophet told them to do.”

“But why didn’t people know … or figure it out … what to do? Why did they want so bad to follow a prophet?” George asked. Before Arthur could answer, George held up his hand. “And why,” he asked, “don’t people on World have prophets … why aren’t there prophets here?”

“George,” Arthur said, “I’m going to have to give you an easy answer, but we’ll talk more, later. The easy answer is this: On this world, magic exists whether you believe in it or not. On your world, God exists only where people believe in him.”

The next day dawned warm, clear, and bright. The morning breeze carried the smell of spring. Arthur realized quickly that lessons—even the activity of weapons training—could not hold George and Gary’s attention. On the other hand, Gary needed more time on horseback. “Let’s ride into the foothills, stay overnight. What do you think about that?” he suggested.

The boys were enthusiastic. Before tierce they were riding out the city gate, across open fields toward the foothills. The deciduous trees—oaks, maples, aspen, and others—were hazy with light green and deep red as leaves erupted in the spring weather. An occasional fruit tree showed blossoms of white or pink. Wildflowers carpeted the fields.

The trio camped by a large river. George had found a site, at the outside of a bend, where a sandbar slowed the water, making a lagoon. Gary shivered as he stood in knee-deep water, while Arthur applied boy magic. “Okay, Gary, you’re as clean as you’re going to get, today,” Arthur said.

“Gary?” Arthur added. “What do you see?” It was apparent that Gary’s attention was not on the bathing, but on something in the bed of the river.

“Wait,” he said, holding the palms of his hands flat. “Let the water get still. I can’t see it for the ripples.”

Arthur gestured, and a circle about three feet in diameter, centered on Gary, became flat. The water was clear and shallow. Gary reached down and retrieved a shiny fleck. After examining it, he declared, “Gold! It’s gold! George, stop! You’re making mud.”

In his excitement at Gary’s announcement, George had walked toward the smaller boy, stirring up the mud under the sandy bottom. In a moment, however, the water cleared again. “Look a little more quickly, please,” Arthur said. “I can’t hold the spell much longer without making a lot of noise.”

Gary picked up another fleck of the shiny material. He pointed to another that George retrieved.

“Why would the spell be noisy?” George asked after the boys had left the river, and were sitting on blankets, dry and enjoying the last of the spring sunshine. “It was just a little spell.”

“Because I didn’t take much care in casting it,” Arthur replied. “The great magic seeks equilibrium—balance—even in something as simple as that spell. A spell changes the flow of magic; magic strives to restore the original flow. That’s why most spells don’t last very long, and why there is a special art to casting long-term spells. Really, though, part of casting any good spell is to ensure that it is in balance. I didn’t do that.”

Gary handed Arthur one of the flecks he’d retrieved from the river bottom. “This is gold, isn’t it?” he asked.

“It’s gold, all right,” Arthur said. “Where might it have come from?”

“A placer deposit,” Gary answered immediately. “Washed down by the river. Where the water slows, like at the sand bar, the gold falls to the bottom.”

“Placer deposit? That’s like in California, in the 1849 Gold Rush, wasn’t it?” George asked.

“I believe that’s correct,” Arthur said. “Gold was discovered in 1848 in the American River, just like Gary found it here. Once people knew to look for it, they found gold in other rivers, too. Later, by following the water upstream, they found the veins from which the gold had washed.”

“Can we get more?” Gary asked.

“You mean, pan for it?” George suggested.

“Huh?” Gary wondered.

“We can do that, I think,” Arthur said, “and I’ll show you a way to use magic, as well.”

Panning for gold had been only moderately successful, and standing in the cold water was unpleasant. The boys were anxious to try Arthur’s method.

“Gary, put one of the purest flakes on that rock, there, please,” Arthur asked. “Okay, now focus on the magical field. Watch. I’m going to weave a net, a seine. I’ll use the gold flake not to determine the size of the holes in the mesh, but the nature of the holes. This seine will be specific to gold and its atomic structure, weight, and valence electrons. I’ll explain more, later.”

Arthur wove the net; the boys followed the process up to the point that the flake of gold was used to establish the matrix, but were unable to follow it further.

“Now, help me,” Arthur asked, anchoring the net to himself and the two boys. “Help me sweep the net through the water and barely skim the top inch or so of the sandy bottom.”

“Whoops!” Gary cried as he fell. George and Arthur held the net together, and waited until Gary got back on his feet. “Sorry,” he said, abashed, “I forgot to brace myself.” The magical net, just as a real one might, had tugged on the three fishermen when they dragged it across the bottom of the river.

Several minutes later, when they emptied the net at their feet, they found perhaps three ounces of relatively pure gold. Gary and George examined the booty, exclaiming at the quantity and purity. Arthur sat back against a rock, and watched.

“Arthur, why aren’t all magic users wealthy?” George asked. “We must have gotten 10 crowns worth of gold—” The boy’s stopped suddenly. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice reflecting the anxiety on his face.

“I’m okay,” Arthur said. “Pretty much exhausted, though. That’s a difficult spell, and keeping it quiet is especially hard. That’s part of the answer to your question. It’s almost as easy to pan for gold, or to mine it, if you’re a dwarf. And, we probably got all there was in a couple of hundred yards of river. We’d never get wealthy this way.”

“Why do you want to be wealthy, George?” Gary asked. “What would you do with gold?”

“Buy stuff …” George started to say. There was a long silence as emotions flickered across George’s face. “There’s not much to buy, really, is there?” He looked helplessly at Arthur.

“Well, you can’t buy land. The prince owns it all. There are horses, but you’ve got one of those,” Arthur began. “You’ve got a sword, a dagger, and a poniard. You might want another dagger, someday. That might cost a few crowns. Clothes wear out, eventually. You’ll want a little money to buy new. In a hundred years or so, you might need a new horse. When we travel, sometimes we have to pay for room and board, but just as often, we end up being someone’s guests. There’s enough need for healing that I can earn more than we need for that, anyway. That’s not quite what you meant, though, is it?”

“No,” George said thoughtfully. “I just never thought of it before now. Everyone…well, just about everybody…has everything they need, and then some. No one seems to work very hard. Gary’s brothers and father almost never work more than a half a day, really. Same with Darryn’s father. He almost never worked more than half a day. Doesn’t anyone have any ambition?”

“Have you met anyone who seemed to want more than they needed? In this case, it was someone who wanted to get it the easy way?” Arthur prompted.

George started. “You mean Yorke and Brownlee.” It was a statement, not a question. “But they were Evil. Does that mean…?” He left the question open.

“It doesn’t mean that wanting more than one needs is necessarily Evil. It doesn’t mean that wanting to get by the easy way is necessarily Evil. It’s just not the way, here. Do you remember a proverb, ‘money is the root of all evil’ ?”

“Yes,” George said, “but that’s not how it goes. It’s ‘the love of money is the root of all evil.’ And, that’s not the only root, either.”

Arthur smiled, “You’re a step ahead of me, George. Remind me, again, not to underestimate you. And, you’re absolutely right. It’s the love of money—or possessions, especially when that becomes a stronger motivation than other things, which can lead to evil. You’re also right that there are other things that can lead to evil. Remember the seven deadly sins?”

Gary interrupted, “What’s sins?”

Arthur laughed. “I’m sorry, Gary. We’re leaving you out, and we don’t mean to. Besides, this conversation is getting a little too serious.”

Later, George asked Arthur, “When you healed Gary…that was a very difficult spell, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, George. It was very complex and it had to be very precise.”

“Then why did the spell to seine for gold make you so much more tired than healing Gary did?”

“Good question, George. I believe you can answer your own question, if you think about it. First, think about what the two spells did, and what their results were.”

George was silent for several minutes, and Arthur thought the boy might have gone to sleep. No, his breathing is too fast.

“Actually,” George said. “Actually, the Gary spell gave you information; the seine spell gave you gold. And, the Gary spell only looked at things; the one today touched stuff—everything on the bottom of the river. Is that right?”

“Exactly, George,” Arthur said. “Both spells worked at the chemical level. The Gary spell, as you called it, looked at the chemistry of Gary’s DNA. The spell today looked for the chemistry of gold. The spell I used on Gary was much more complicated, since it looked at something like three and a half billion rungs of the DNA ladder of seven people.”

“The base pairs,” George contributed.

“Yes,” Arthur replied. “The base pairs. But there are only four different base pairs—adenine, guanine, cytosine, and thymine—plus the sugar-phosphate that joins them—the deoxyribose molecule. The spell today only looked for one molecule, gold.”

“So the spell today was simpler, but harder because it...” George paused and Arthur could hear his breathing get faster. “It did work! It moved stuff! Force times distance! That’s energy! It took energy!”

Gary’s sleepy voice came from behind George. “What are you two talking about?”

“You, knucklehead!” George said. “Go back to sleep…Oh! That tickles!”

Thus endeth the lesson, Arthur thought as George and Gary engaged in roughhousing, the outcome of which was foreordained. Arthur closed his eyes and slept.

The next morning, the boys stopped by a small stream to allow the horses to drink and rest after an early gallop down the hills back toward Bowling Green.

“George,” Arthur said. “You did an excellent job of explaining to Gary the two spells we talked about last night. Do you remember the last thing you said to me?”

“Actually, yes,” George said, “actually. It was that the seine spell did work and required energy. That’s why you were tired.”

“How much energy, George?” Arthur asked. “Not exactly, just an estimate.”

“Huh?” George and Gary both said.

“Force times distance?” Arthur prompted. “Pounds times feet?”

George and Gary put their heads together, whispering. George knelt, and scratched in the sand of the stream bank. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you,” he said to Gary.

Finally, George said, “This doesn’t make sense.

“The spell—we dragged it across 200 yards of river, 30 yards wide. I’ve rounded the numbers a little. The force went three inches deep. It was more like two inches in some places and deeper in others, but three’s close enough. The sand and rock in the river bottom was picked up about an inch, and then dropped through the seine. Any gold was caught, and stayed in the seine until we brought it to the shore. So…

“200 times 30 is 6000 square yards. 6000 square yards times three inches…that’s one-twelfth yard…” George scratched numbers in the sand, and mumbled until he said, “…over 100,000 foot-pounds of work. Or energy. I don’t think we did that much work. Or have I missed something?”

“Let’s see, George,” Arthur said, kneeling to scratch in the sand. “Actually, you got it. Using your estimates, and not rounding, I get 112,500 foot-pounds.”

“But…that’s way too much!” George protested. “Even for three people…and especially since you did most of the work.”

“Actually, George,” Arthur said, “Actually, magic did most of the work. Magic would have done more of the work if I’d taken more time to cast the spell.

“Remember always that magic is really energy. It’s energy that can be controlled by the mind, by gestures, by sound…and other ways that you’ll learn, later. A spell directs this energy. If the spell is well constructed, it directs more energy than if it’s casually put together. Of course, it takes more time and more concentration to create a well-constructed spell than a sloppy one. So, there’s a trade-off. I could have spent more time and made the spell work harder. I could have focused more on the spell, but that would have taken my attention away from you two, and from the world around us. I might have missed some danger. So, I compromised. Most spells are compromises of that kind.”

“And the Gary spell? It did work didn’t it? On his DNA?” George asked.

Gary cuffed George on his arm, “Don’t call it the Gary spell, unless the one that Arthur uses to make hot chocolate for you is the George spell!” Gary’s reference was to George’s love of chocolate, and the smile on the boy’s face took any sting from his words.

“Yes,” Arthur replied, “and on something like 10 to the 15^th cells. The genes that it operated on don’t weigh much, individually. Even when you multiply by 10 with 15 zeroes, it didn’t take much energy. A lot less, in fact, than it would take to move Gary a fraction of an inch. And besides, I prepared that spell a lot more carefully.”

*****

James and Cooper became frequent visitors at the training yard behind the smithy. It did not take long for them to be invited to share boy magic. Shortly thereafter, it became customary for James and Cooper to stay overnight. This afternoon, the boys were forced indoors early by a thunderstorm that brought a sharp chill to the air.

After washing Arthur’s back, George pressed against the older boy, wrapped his arms around him, nuzzled the back of his neck, and asked, “Arthur?”

“Hmmm?” Arthur replied.

“Would you make hot chocolate?”

Chocolate was rare in Arcadia. It was grown and processed on the tropical islands north of Elvenhold. Chocolate that reached Bowling Green had passed through the hands of at least three caravans as well as warehousemen in as many as four cities. It was, however, George’s favorite treat, and Arthur did not begrudge the boy.

“Will you show me the spell?” George asked as Arthur set out the ingredients: chunks of dark chocolate, milk, and sugar—another import from the islands—and a large ceramic crock.

“And have you selling hot chocolate all over the city, getting rich, and retiring? Not a chance,” Arthur said.

*****

Spring had retreated, if only temporarily. The day was overcast, and it was too cold to swim in the river. Allen extended the customary invitation for James and Cooper to stay overnight. As the boys relaxed in the hot tub, James announced that he would be enrolling in the Temple School.

“I will take vows as an Acolyte. Father still needs my help, so I’ll be a day student. I won’t be able to visit as often.”

“You and Cooper will always be welcome,” Allen said. The others echoed this.

*****

The temple at Bowling Green was a plain building that faced the central square. Inside, it was equally plain: straight lines, narrow clerestory windows, and a large room for public assembly. A monolithic stone altar dominated at one end of the room. Doors led to smaller rooms used for healing, teaching, and study. From a courtyard in the rear could be heard the sound of wood cracking on wood, and a matching cadence called in a man’s bass voice. A hand of novices were at quarterstaff practice.

For all the plainness of the building, James’ induction as Acolyte was as imposing as if it had been held in the grandest temple in Arcadia. Although the family was new to the town, his father was an important official who had quickly become known as competent, fair, and energetic. Master Smith Edgar had let it be known that James’ family was close to his, drawing dozens of other families, including many from the horse farms that ringed the city.

The buzz of conversation grew suddenly quiet, and then considerably louder as Edgar and his family—including Gary—walked into the temple. The boys, especially, stared at Gary. A few had the grace to look guilty; most looked if not annoyed, at least somewhat abashed.

The senior entered, followed by James and his family. Three other clerics entered from another door and joined the senior and James at the altar. The crowd hushed as the clerics intoned a chant that echoed throughout the room.

Let’s see…the room’s about so wide…so long. It narrows a little toward the back. I hadn’t noticed that, Arthur thought. It’s designed to make the chant resonate. Wow! Does it ever!

The room filled with the sound of the chant. The air seemed to become solid, palpable. Arthur could see the lines of magical force being bent and shaped as the clerics drew on its power. Where’s it going? Arthur wondered. Ah, the senior has a baton—what do they call it—ah yes, a bakterion.

The chant stopped abruptly as all the clerics closed their lips, yet the echo seemed to continue, breathing from the stones of the building.

“James, son of Beriah and Alice, do you earnestly desire to be ordained Acolyte in the Service of the Light?” the senior began.

“I do,” James responded, his voice firm.

“Is he acceptable?” the senior asked.

One of the three clerics who had joined James and the senior stepped forward. “He has been examined. He understands the obligation he is about to accept and the challenges he is about to face.”

A second cleric added, “He is of good character, and sincere in his desire to serve the Light.”

Arthur ignored the rest of the words, but watched their effect on the magical power pulsing in the baton. He almost missed the oath.

The senior asked, “James, do you swear to serve the Light as Acolyte; to obey your superiors and teachers; to earnestly learn from them; to become an example for your juniors; to renounce the Darkness from this day until the end of your life, and forever after?”

“I do,” James answered.

The senior swept the bakterion through the air and gently tapped it on the boy’s forehead. Arthur saw James fill with the power held within the baton as the oath was etched into his mind. He did not hear the senior’s words, “So might it be.”

Following custom, James faced the crowd and released the power in a Blessing.

*****

Both James and George had black, unruly hair. They were both fit, young, human males. And there, the apparent similarity ended. George had experienced only about 25 years of life, most of it on Earth, and was still a boy. James had long passed the century mark and had been confirmed tween. James’ eyes were black; George’s eyes were indigo. George’s ready smile suggested eagerness and a little impudence. James’ face usually held a serious look. George wanted to know something about everything. James wanted to know all there was to know about two things only: weaponscraft and healing. These constituted the limited set of skills that were pertinent to his vocation as a soldier of the light, a Warrior-Cleric. Perhaps their differences drew them together. Perhaps it was their deep thirst for knowledge. Whatever the cause, James and George had instantly become friends.

James gasped for breath and his body shuddered as George received the older boy’s magic. When James could control his body once again, he lifted George’s head and kissed him strongly. “George,” James said as he broke the kiss, “you are a wonderful partner.”

“Actually,” George replied, “actually, Arthur’s a wonderful teacher.”

“How long have you known him? How did you meet?” James asked.

“May I answer that, later?” George replied, drawing his fingers lightly across James’ stomach to distract the boy from his question.

 

“I want James to know,” George told Arthur the next morning. “I want him to know who I am, and where I’m from. I like him, a lot, and I trust him. I feel like I’m lying to him.”

“Would it put James in danger if he knew who you were?” Arthur asked.

“I thought you’d worry that it might put me in danger, or you!” George protested.

“No,” Arthur replied. “You said you trusted him.”

“And that’s good enough?” George wondered.

“Yes, George. It’s good enough,” Arthur replied.

“I don’t know,” George said after a thought-filled pause, “if it would put James in danger. I mean, if someone thought he knew, they might try to force him to tell, but why would anyone think he knew?”

“Perhaps just because he knows us,” Arthur said, “and people know he knows us. Especially since Gary and his family are so prominent in the community. People are starting to associate us with Gary’s family and Gary’s family with James’ family.”

“Then, James and Cooper are already in danger!” George protested.

“Yes,” Arthur said, “and I don’t think that telling James would put him in any more danger than he already is. In fact, if he knew, he would know to be on guard. You’re right,” Arthur declared. “It’s time to tell him.”

With the cooperation of Smith Edgar, Arthur had invited James and his father to visit. The constable and the smith sat with James, Arthur, George, and Gary around the forge. As was his custom, the smith served a slightly fermented apple cider to the tweens and men, and unfermented apple juice to George and Gary.

“James, there’s something George would like you to know. It’s important enough that your father, as constable, needs to know, as well, since it may affect the safety of his family and this town,” Arthur began. “I’m not trying to be overly cautious, but—”

Arthur took a breath. “George and I have been attacked by Evil repeatedly in the past few years. At least two of the attacks were specifically targeted at George. Another attack could have been against either or both of us. The others, I don’t know if they were directed or coincidental. But they were real. And where Evil is concerned, I don’t believe in coincidence. And, there’s more. George?”

George looked straight at James as he spoke. “James, you asked me how I met Arthur. I couldn’t answer without lying, and I didn’t want to lie to you. Uh, I’m not from this world. I’m from another world, entirely. A world where, well, things are a lot different. Arthur found me there … rescued me, really … and brought me here. I want you to know, because I like you and I trust you, and I don’t want to have to lie to you when you ask me about where I’m from or how I grew up and stuff.”

When George fell silent, Smith Edgar spoke. “Gary figured this out for himself some time ago, and Arthur explained it to me. I know Arthur and George to be Good people. I’m entrusting the life of my son to them. I just wanted you to know that before you began to judge them.”

The smith looked at the constable as if seeking an answer from him, but the constable looked at his son. “James?” he said, softly.

James stood, and walked toward George, who was sitting on the lid of one of the bins where charcoal was stored. The seat was high enough that when James stood in front of George, their eyes were level. Black eyes stared into indigo. James took George’s hands “George, thank you for your trust. It is the most wonderful gift you could give me.” Turning to his father, James continued, “Father, I know that George is a Good boy. I’ve seen it in him when we’ve shared. I’ve seen it in Arthur, too. It doesn’t matter where they are from. It does not matter what danger they might bring. I would rather be their friend than be safe.”

James father nodded. “So be it. Arthur, is there anything I need to know … anything that would help me protect this town and its people?”

Arthur replied, “I believe that George was brought here—to this world—to serve the Light. So, apparently, do some enemies of the Light.

“We were in Barbicana when an elven mage attacked George from a distance. We didn’t know exactly what was happening, but I helped George shield himself … from some of the attacks, anyway. When he realized he couldn’t kill George by magic, alone, he hired a couple of men to attack me with swords while he attacked George. We were rescued by a member of the City Guard. The mage killed himself before we could question him, and his henchmen—the one that survived, anyway—didn’t know anything.

“On our way through the Gray Mountains, we were nearly killed in an avalanche. The avalanche was almost certainly caused by someone and was almost certainly directed at us.

“South of Berkshire, we were attacked by another elf. He was specifically following George. He’s dead.”

Arthur also described the attempted poisoning by Yorke and his minions. “Was this a coincidence? I don’t think it was. The storm that led us to shelter and blew away the hiring notices; was that a coincidence? That no one else wanted the post; was that a coincidence? No. I think the attack was aimed at us.

“There was another incident involving a giant troll. Others than we were endangered, but oddly enough, George and I were the only ones close enough and with weapons to respond,” Arthur explained.

“Is anyone following you now?” the constable asked. “Anyone you know of, that is.”

“Not as far as I know,” Arthur said. “Nor would I endanger Gary’s family or yours, or this town, by staying here if I knew there were. I have no reason to believe that whatever attracts danger to us would rub off on people with whom we associate. There is always that chance, however, that it would. And the chance that someone close to us might be caught in crossfire.” Arthur sounded hesitant, doubtful, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

The constable nodded, “That I can understand. And, I can accept it. Good attracts Evil; exceptional Good attracts exceptional Evil. We who serve the Light must understand that.”

“That’s a Valarian thing,” Smith Edgar said. “And it’s true. I’ve known it, I guess, but I’ve not thought about it. And I can accept it, as well, for my family and myself.”

The smith reached under the bench and brought out the jug of cider. “We will drink to friendship, to trust, and to the Light. Yes,” seeing the look in Gary’s eyes, “even you, my boy, and George. You’re a long way from becoming tweens, but you are going to face danger and uncertainty.

“Besides,” the smith chuckled, “where you’re going, you won’t always find small beer.”

*****

George and James lay face to face on the rocks above the swimming hole. The other boys were playing in the water. George had just told James a little about his world, about meeting Arthur, and about their journey thus far. “There’s one thing Arthur doesn’t know,” George said. “I don’t know if it’s something you would know, but I kind of hope since you’re a cleric and all—”

George paused, took a deep breath, and asked, “Do I have past lives like people here and will I be reincarnated if I die on this world?”

James looked surprised, “Of course—” He caught his breath.

“Oh. I never thought of it, that way. Did you ask Arthur? What did he say?” James asked. I need time to think! he thought.

“Arthur said he thought so, and that he couldn’t believe in an Evil so great that I’d not be—reincarnated, that is.”

“Hmm,” James said. “That was a pretty good answer, really. The best way to be sure would be to see if you have any memories of past lives—on your world or maybe on this one. I guess that you haven’t remembered any, yet?”

“No,” George’s voice expressed his disappointment, even resignation.

“Oh, George,” James said, reading George’s feelings. “There’s a way to help.” He went on to describe what George realized was hypnotism.

“That’s all a fake, isn’t it? They did it to people on Earth—my world—and some said they remembered past lives, but most people thought it was a trick or a fake.”

“But I know how to find the truth,” James said.

“Yeah,” George said. “The first day we met, when you truth-told Arthur? I heard your spell, and Arthur told me about it. But it doesn’t let you know the absolute truth, does it? It only lets you know if someone believes what they say is true.”

James looked sharply at George. “Did Arthur tell you that?”

“No,” George answered. “I figured it out for myself. But it is right, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” James admitted. “Yes, it is.”

*****

James and Cooper had arrived late in the afternoon, but James was anxious to demonstrate some of the weapons training he’d received at the temple. The workout had left them all tired and sweating when they joined Allen, Eddie, and Davy in the bath.

Allen was washing Davy. “Davy! How long … when …?” he exclaimed.

“Um, just now,” Davy said.

“What’s going on?” Eddie asked.

“Davy’s testicles have descended,” Alan said. “He’s a boy!”

Davy smiled as the others gathered to confirm Allen’s finding, and to congratulate him.

Gary asked the question that was in everyone’s mind. “Who do you want to initiate you?”

Davy didn’t hesitate for an instant. “Arthur!”

“Um, Davy, could we talk?” Arthur said.

The other boys took their cue from the serious tone of Arthur’s voice, and went to the hot soak, leaving Davy and Arthur alone.

After a few minutes, Davy walked to the hot soak and sat on the edge, dangling his feet in the water.

“Um, I’ve changed my mind. I want Allen. If he will…” the boy’s voice drifted off.

Allen hugged his little brother. “Of course I will, Davy.”

*****

“What did you say to Davy,” Gary asked Arthur in the quiet of the night, “that made him change his mind?”

“I told Davy what I’d noticed: that when Eddie washed him, Eddie used a loofa, but when Allen washed him, Allen used his hands and magic, only. I asked Davy what he thought that meant. I saw an old scar, from a burn, on Davy … it’s so faint that only a healer would see it … and asked him who had held him and comforted him when he’d gotten that burn.”

Gary nodded, “It was Allen. I remember.”

“Uh, huh. It was a lucky guess on my part. I asked him what he thought that meant. Davy’s a smart boy … he understood that Allen really loved him, and we agreed that Allen, not me, should be his Companion in the Mysteries.”

Davy’s change spurred related thoughts in Arthur’s mind. The next morning, he broached them. “George, there’s something we should talk about. It’s a decision you will have to make. No, it’s about a decision that you should make deliberately, rather than by accident. It’s the decision whether to serve the Light or the Dark; whether to be Good or Evil.”

“But, I’ve already decided … I want to be a Warrior of the Light, like you,” the boy said. He sounded puzzled.

“George, I’m grateful—even flattered—that you want to be like me,” Arthur said. “But there’s more to it than that. Much more.

“It’s the custom—in Elvenhold and Arcadia, at least—for a child to swear an oath to the Light when he becomes a boy. It’s part of his initiation into the Mysteries. The oath is customarily renewed when a boy becomes a tween, and when a tween becomes a man,” Arthur said.

“I did not ask you to swear to the Light when you swore to be my Squire; I would have been asking you to swear to something that you could not—then—really understand. Some day, when you’re ready, I hope that you will swear to the Light, and that you will become a Warrior of the Light. Until then—”

George interrupted, “Arthur, I’m ready. Truly I am.

*****

The Sext service at the temple of Bowling Green on the third day of the first market of the month was the most widely attended. It was traditionally at this service—witnessed by most of the community—that boys swore their first oath to the Light; that tweens were publicly confirmed; that marriages were announced and blessed; that apprentices were taken by their masters; and that other rites and rituals that called for the blessing and support of the community were conducted.

James was frightened. He was comfortable with the warrior part of being a Warrior-Cleric. He was becoming proficient in the healing part of being a Warrior-Cleric, benefiting from the private tutoring that Arthur gave him. He was comfortable on the sand of the practice ground, wielding a sword and poniard or a quarterstaff. He excelled at providing comfort to the bereaved and to the families of the sick. But he was frightened by his role in the upcoming service.

“I’ll forget!” he said. “I’ll forget the oath. I’ll forget the blessing. I’ll forget … I’ll probably forget Davy, and Gary, and George’s names. Everybody in town is going to be there! I can’t possibly stand in front of that many people. I’ll look like an idiot!”

“And the chant,” the senior said. “You’ll probably forget that, as well.”

Seeing the stricken look in James’ face, the man relented. “I’m sorry, James, that was cruel. But you look so woebegone! Your face is lower than a bloodhound’s!

“You’ve never led a service? I know you haven’t here, but you were in the temple at Tipsy Green for, what, 30 years?”

“Yes, Senior. But I never led services. I read homilies, but I wasn’t good at it. I … I just can’t speak in front of a lot of people.”

“Why?”

James thought for a moment. “I know why I’m afraid. I’m afraid I’ll mess up, and look like an idiot, and people will laugh at me.”

“That’s a very good answer, James, and it’s exactly what we all fear when we stand before people, when we make ourselves the center of attention. And we envy the one who can do that with seeming ease, don’t we?”

James nodded, and the senior continued. “The people who come here don’t come to be entertained. They come to witness and sustain the pledges, agreements, and oaths that will be made. They come to see their friends. They come to catch up on gossip. They’re not interested in how well you say things, or how pleasant is your voice. They’re not interested in you, at all! The boys whose oaths you are going to administer … they will be the center of attention, not you.”

“But what if I get the words wrong?”

“Think clearly, James. What if you do get the words wrong? What if you do get someone’s name wrong? Is it your intention to administer a false oath? Is it your intention to administer an oath to the wrong person? Do you think for a minute that if you say ‘will’ instead of ‘shall,’ it will make a whit of difference?”

The senior stared at James until the boy answered. “It’s not my intent, at all, is it? It’s the boys’ intent. They intend to pledge to the Light, to the prince, to each other. Is the intention so much stronger than the words, then?”

“What is in their hearts and minds is infinitely more important than the words, James,” the senior said kindly. “Don’t worry. I will be listening to what you say. So will Brother Marcus, who will beside you, and Brother Peter, who will be beside the boys. If the words fly from your mind, we’ll be there to help. Trust us; but more, trust yourself.”

*****

The temple was crowded and the noise level was high as people said their farewells until the next Market, or made plans for visits before then. The tolling of the sext bell quieted the crowd except for a few noisy children, who were quickly excused by their parents to play outside.

One of the Acolytes made short work of the homily. The weather was expected to be good; the boll weevils that were a concern last planting season had not made their appearance. Farmers were asked to beware of pigweed if it appeared in pastures. The next month’s First Market would feature the sale and exchange of mares and yearlings, and all were encouraged to diversify their herds. The homily was part of the routine of a prosperous agrarian community.

A man and woman announced that they had formed a union and would be living with his father. They accepted responsibility for rearing their children, asked—and received—the blessing of the community. A boy, somewhat nervously, took oath as apprentice to a horse farmer, who took oath to teach the boy and treat him as his own son.

The senior, standing somewhat apart, announced, “Davy, son of Edgar the Smith, has become a boy, and will pledge himself to the Light.” Now it was James’ turn. His voice was barely audible, at first, but Arthur, George, Gary, Davy, and their friends and family were close enough to hear. They had arranged themselves in front of the altar. The unintended result was that they screened James from the crowd behind them. James caught his breath. I’m just talking to them, he said.

James took Davy’s right hand and looked at the boy. For an instant, they were the only people in the entire temple—in the entire world. “Davy, son of Edgar, Guildmaster Smith of Bowling Green, do you pledge to serve the Light? Do you pledge loyalty and obedience to the Prince Who Serves the Light? Do you make this oath knowing the obligation it places upon you? Do you make this oath for this life and forever more?

Davy’s clear, still-soprano voice echoed in the stillness. “I pledge myself to the Light and to the service of the Prince Who Serves the Light.”

The senior’s voice filled the silence. “George of Sedona, a boy, will pledge himself to the Light.”

James took George’s hand. George winked, and James had to struggle not to laugh.

“George, do you pledge to serve the Light and to fight for the Light for as long as you shall live and forever after? Do you make this oath knowing the obligation it places upon you?”

George’s alto echoed through the temple. “I do.”

The senior continued, “Gary, a boy, son of Edgar the Smith of Bowling Green, will this day be taken into apprenticeship by Arthur of Elvenhold, a healer.”

Arthur and Gary stood together, holding hands. George stood beside them. James took Arthur and Gary’s free hands in his.

“Arthur, do you take Gary to be your apprentice, to teach him, to provide for him, and to cherish him until you shall lawfully be released from this oath?

“I do.”

“George, having sworn fealty with Arthur, will you now accept Gary as companion? Will you protect him and cherish him?”

George answered, “I will.”

“Gary, do you accept Arthur as your master and teacher, to obey him and honor him in all things, until you shall lawfully be released from this oath?”

“I do…and I will cherish him, and George, too,” Gary said.

James began the chant. Others joined in. At its conclusion, he directed the power to the boys facing him, saying, “Let there be nothing within thee that is not of the Light.”

*****

“Why was George’s oath different from Davy’s?” Cooper asked his brother after the service.

“Because Davy was born in Arcadia, and will one day—probably—become a citizen. George was born somewhere else. And, George knows, already, that he’s going to be a Warrior of the Light,” James replied.

“But you are, too,” Cooper said, “aren’t you?”

“Yes,” James answered, “but in my own way…”

*****

Master Smith Edgar and his wife had seen the last of their guests to the door. The boys in whose honor the party had been, had retired. George untangled himself from Gary’s arms, and found Arthur’s

“I’m so glad,” the boy whispered. “I’m so glad that’s settled. Now I know what to do, and how I’m going to spend my life.”

Arthur hugged the boy tightly.

“You’re going to tell me something I don’t want to hear, aren’t you?” George said.

“Um, yes,” Arthur said. “But only this: it is not as easy as that.”

“Huh?” George asked. “But, my oath…I swore to serve and fight for the Light in this life and forever. Sounded pretty clear-cut to me.”

“Not always,” Arthur said. “That would be too simple. No, there are times when you absolutely have to choose among several actions, none of which is entirely Good, and all of which are a little Bad … not necessarily Evil, but bad.

“No person is so good that he does not also contain a seed of evil, and no person is so evil that he does not contain a seed of good. Or so I would like to believe.”

“Yeah,” George said. “I know. But tonight, tonight I want only the Good.” His lips found Arthur’s.

*****

Several months had passed since Cooper had asked James how Arthur had healed Gary, but James had not forgotten the question. Nor had he forgotten his resolve to learn how Arthur had done something that the clerics in the temple could not do. George came from another world, James thought. Arthur spoke as if he were from this world, but he never said so outright. Was he lying by omitting the truth? No! I would have known, even without a spell. At least, I think I would. He’s Good. I know that for sure. He’s from here, but there’s something more. Should I pry? James shut down these thoughts as he and Cooper reached the smith’s home.

The spell that prevented swords from cutting also muffled the ring of sword-on-sword. It was supposed to be a secret of the Smiths Guild, but Edgar did not seem surprised to learn that Arthur knew the spell—and had taught it to Gary. George and Gary were sparring in free form, having spent most of the morning performing the muscle-memory drills that were the foundation of swordsmanship. Arthur and James were watching the boys. So was the crow that was perched on the eves of the smith’s house.

“I would have thought Gary too inexperienced for free form,” James said quietly to Arthur.

“Under normal circumstances, he would be. Under normal circumstances he’d be able to train through seventh level before he ever needed to use a sword in combat,” Arthur replied.

James nodded. He knew that Darkness and danger stalked Arthur and the boys who had become his friends. “Is danger that close?” James asked.

“I have stayed in Bowling Green longer than anywhere in many years,” Arthur said. “I can’t believe that George and I … and now Gary … haven’t been targeted yet.”

Gary deftly parried George’s overhand blow. George’s sword slid along of the length of Gary’s until it was caught in the guard. Had the boys not been so engrossed in their exercise, they might have seen the flash of light that was caught and focused by the exchange of magical energy between the two swords. Had the boys not been so caught up in the heat of their mock battle, they might have heard the clang that sounded when next their swords met. Had the boys not been so focused on the moment, they might have realized that the clang meant that the spell that temporarily dulled the swords had been broken.

George failed to block the sweeping cross-hand blow that Gary aimed at George’s midriff. At the last instant, George turned slightly so that the sword would strike not his stomach but his hip. That’s going to hurt, George thought.

Before Gary’s sword could strike, George was thrown aside. It was Arthur, rather than George, who blocked the blow. Gary’s sword rang on Arthur’s sword. Gary froze in place. “Huh?” he blurted.

George picked himself up from the sand of the courtyard. “What happened? How did—”

James ran across the yard. He stood facing Arthur. “How did you … you were sitting with me and then you were here. There was no time…?”

The crow had seen everything, nor was it the only entity to do so. An intelligence behind the eyes of the crow nodded as the crow flew away. It is they, the entity thought. This time … this time I will not fail.

Arthur sat a bench in the exercise yard. His breathing had slowed. James stood beside him, watching Arthur carefully. “Well?” James asked.

Arthur looked at James. James met the other boy’s eyes. Gary and George crowded in.

“It’s a spell to stop time,” Arthur said.

“Stop time?” James said.

“Yes,” Arthur said. “It makes time stand still, so that even though you go a long way, it’s as if you took no time at all to do so. I can do that, a little, and only around myself. And only for a short distance and a short time. I ran from where we were sitting to where George and Gary were sparring. It seemed like it took several seconds, to me. But the spell made it take no time, at all, for you.”

“You saved George from a terrible injury, perhaps death,” James said.

“That’s the good of it; the darker side is that George and Gary and I must leave Bowling Green immediately,” Arthur said.

He waited until the boys’ babble stilled, and then said, “Not only was that spell incredibly noisy, and likely heard by anyone looking for us, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t an accident that the Sword Mark spell was broken. We are already under attack.”

In the stunned silence that followed, James’ voice seemed unusually loud. “Of course. The spell would not fail that easily. It’s ancient … and I’ve never heard of a failure. I should have seen that…”

“But what would make it fail?” George asked. “Wouldn’t I have heard … oh … oh … I did hear something, I think.”

“What did you hear?” Arthur asked.

“It sounded like awww, awww,” George blushed as he made a raucous cry.

“Sounds like a crow to me,” Gary said. “They sit on the eves.”

“Yeah,” George said. “It was like a crow, but it wasn’t an ear sound. It was a magic sound.”

“It’s possible that a crow carried a small object—an amulet, a ring, even a stone—that had been imbued with Dark magic. The crow may have carried it close enough to George and Gary to twist the magic around the swords and nullify the Sword Mark spell. George may have subconsciously seen the crow, and associated the sound of the Dark magic interacting with the magic around him with the caw of a crow,” Arthur said.

“This only adds urgency. Only a powerful mage could create such an object, nor would the magic last a very long time. This suggests that he is close…” Arthur’s voice trailed off before he continued. “Gary, you must go at once and tell your father.”

“There are several hours of daylight left,” Arthur said when the smith arrived. “We can cover enough distance before dark to confuse our adversary, perhaps confound him.”

Master Smith Edgar nodded. “I knew this day would come. I suspected that it would come suddenly. Still, I was not prepared for it. The more important question, however, is this. Is Gary prepared?” The man’s voice was stern.

“Physically, he is,” Arthur asserted without hesitation. “He rides and fights well enough to defend himself and his companions. Are his heart and mind ready? I think so. There have been several more unpleasant encounters between Gary and the boys of the town; I think he’s ready to meet people who haven’t formed prejudices about him.”