Book of Heroes: George of Sedona I - 27. The College of Magic

Chapter 27: The College of Magic

“I’ve missed the ocean,” George said. He and the others had moved off the road while the Rom with whom they’d traveled for so long, rode past. The boys had said their goodbyes, and their eyes were on the city and the sea.

“I’ve never seen the ocean,” Gary said. “It’s really big.” he looked at Arthur, who smiled, and took the boy’s hand.

“It’s awesome,” Larry said. “But, it’s a little, uh, flat, isn’t it?”

“You are a doofus,” George said.

“Is that like a dickhead?” Larry asked.

When the banter subsided, Arthur asked, “What do you see? No pings.”

George and Larry clasped hands, melded their talents, and sensed through each other’s eyes and ears.

“Sweet sounds,” Larry said.

“Bright lines,” George added.

“It’s the nicest place we’ve found…”

“…in a long time.”

Gary, still holding Arthur’s hand, said, “There’s a bright glow—the building with the cupola—it’s the same color as the mithral ring on the cleric’s staff.”

“That was in Albion,” George explained to Larry. “In the dwarves’ cavern.”

George turned to Arthur and asked the question that was on all the boys’ minds. “What does destiny say?”

“Destiny seems to have taken the day off,” Arthur said. “We’re on our own—for now, at least. I think, however, we should check out the building with the cupola and the glow of mithral.” He nudged Aurorus’ flanks, and led the boys down the hill toward the city.

“The cupola? That’s the College of Magic,” the sembler at the gate said. “You’ll be going there?”

“Would they welcome guests?” Arthur asked.

“Oh, yes,” the tween said. “You wouldn’t even have to be magic users. We have a long tradition of collecting travelers’ stories. A good story will buy supper and a bed. I’m Ethan, an apprentice. I’ll be off duty at dusk. Please don’t start until I get there.”

*****

The boy seated at the desk and the silver-haired man standing behind him looked up when the door opened. The man held his finger to mark his place in a scroll. The boy spoke. “Welcome to the College of Magic. I am Apprentice Jeremy. What do you seek?”

“My name is Arthur. Thank you for your welcome. An apprentice—Ethan—at the gate said you would welcome magic users and people with stories to tell. We are both.”

The man squinted at Arthur and then the others. In his surprise, he lifted his finger from the scroll. The scroll whirred as it rolled up. A ring of blue smoke puffed from the end. Jeremy giggled.

“Was that magic?” George asked. “I didn’t hear—” He abruptly stopped speaking.

“No, merely blue chalk and a scroll that has been wound too tightly for too long,” the man said. “I am Master Criticus, Headmaster of the College. I see that you are, indeed, magic users, and of the Light. Are you here to enroll?”

Arthur replied, “Perhaps we could visit, talk, and get to know one another before deciding. If our stories are not sufficient payment, we have silver.”

Master Criticus dispatched Jeremy to show the boys to the stable. Arthur and Criticus sat at a table. The door to the room was open so that Criticus could monitor the hallway.

“What brought you to Barrone?” he asked.

The boys believe this is a Good place. There’s been no one following us for a while, Arthur thought. And I am so tired… Aloud, he said, “Destiny. The Call. A Quest. Fate. At least, that is what brought us as far as this morning and the hill overlooking the city. We seem to be on our own, now. For a while…”

“You use old words, uncommon words,” Criticus said. “Do you truly know their meaning?”

“I am no tween with the wanderlust,” Arthur said. “I have been driven—or led—all my conscious life, and perhaps before that. During the past score years, I have dragged three boys with me—as flotsam in the wake of a ship. They—we…Someone is leading us to something. And someone is opposing us. I don’t know who they are, but I am afraid of them. I’m afraid for the boys. I’ve tried to prepare them. I’ve done everything I can in magic and in arms. I’m afraid it’s not going to be enough…I’m so afraid for them…”

Neither Arthur nor Criticus realized that George had turned back and re-entered the college. Neither Arthur nor Criticus knew that George had heard what Arthur said. Neither saw the look of pain on his face. Both heard him fall heavily to the floor.

Some minutes later, George lay on a bed in one of the dormitory rooms. Arthur sat on the bed beside him. The bump on George’s head responded to Larry’s healing, and no longer hurt. “There’s nothing else physically wrong with him,” Larry said. “At least, there’s nothing that I can see. I don’t know why he fainted.”

“I think I do,” Arthur said. “Would you give us some time alone, please?”

“You heard what I told Master Criticus,” Arthur said when the others had left the room.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m so sorry,” George said. George had not cried in a long time. He sat up and wrapped his arms around Arthur. Arthur hugged the boy to him and stroked his hair.

“George, I’m not upset…”

“But…you’ve done nothing…nothing for the past twenty years except take care of me…of us, and teach us, and protect us…you’ve never done anything for yourself…and I’ve never said ‘thank you’ …and now you’re afraid…you’re afraid you haven’t done enough. Oh, Arthur no one could do more than you did…”

George stopped crying, but still Arthur held the boy close. He felt George’s heartbeat slow. He’ll probably fall asleep, Arthur thought. This has taken so much out of him. Arthur was surprised when George spoke.

“When was the last time you’re sure you or one of us boys was the target?” George asked.

Arthur was taken aback. Before he could answer, George continued.

“The brigands who attacked the Rom caravan? They were after the horses, not us. You said we were hidden in the noise of the Rom magic. You showed me that there were no disturbances in the field.

“We weren’t under attack at Lollypine, but we were able to right a wrong, and we met someone—Alvie—who helped us.

“We were attacked at Algoropolis, but we set ourselves up for that while righting a wrong. You said our enemies weren’t omniscient. I can’t believe they planned Harry’s kidnapping in order to entrap us.

“The last attack against us was the elemental in that village…whatever its name was…and before that, the—and even that’s not certain—was the Zwillnicks. The avalanche might have been intended for us, but we don’t know that. Sure, they—whoever they are—can guess we’ve taken the Southern Mountain Road to Barrone, but we could as easily have turned north to Brody, or Amber. We could be in Calill. We could be back in Elvenhold by now. Well, maybe not that far.

“When we stood on the hill today? The college—the whole town—is so bright.

“I think,” George concluded. “I think that we’re safe. At least for now.”

Both Arthur and George had wiped tears from their eyes and washed their faces. They were ready to face the others. “Thank you, George,” Arthur said. “Thank you for your caring and thank you for your love. Thank you for helping me see what was…I guess, too close for me to see.”

*****

A ripple in the field—smaller than the fall of a leaf on a windless pond—woke the gnome. Was it real, or was it my desperation? My master— The gnome cut off that thought. His master was very sensitive, especially to thoughts of himself. The gnome sat up, and wiped his arms across the table, pushing aside the moldering remains of several past meals.

He felt the ripple again, and cursed. It’s the human. What hour is it? The gnome’s perception was confirmed and his question answered when the door opened to reveal a tall human and the light of the morning sun. “Do you have it?” the gnome asked.

“Thirteen months and two crossings of the Iron Mountains and all you can say be ‘do you have it?’ ” The man flung a satchel onto the table, scattering crumbs and breaking an earthenware bowl. “It’s in there.”

The relief the gnome had felt at the man’s announcement was stifled when he saw what was in the satchel. “A flower?”

“More than a flower,” the man said. He sat in the gnome’s chair and put his boots on the table.

“Oh, yes, I see,” the gnome said. “It’s a broach. A broach in the shape of a flower. Look, it has a pin.” He sneered. “Thirteen months and four hundred crowns, and you bring me a broach?”

“Don’t forget the horse,” the man said. “That were 40 crowns. Now, stop being a ass, and look at it. You’re the mage around here.”

The gnome stared at the broach. He squinted. He sucked in his breath through blackened teeth. “Mithral,” he said. “It is mithral. But are you sure it’s the same as in the sword?”

“Sure? No,” the man said. He picked through the crusts on the table, stuffing those without mold into his mouth. “The boys—twins—who made this was pretty proud of their work, but they was mighty secret about the mithral. Asked where they got it. Claimed Smith Guild secrets.

“That were what made me sure. Making something from mithral? That be a secret. But anyone with enough money can buy the stuff. They was hiding something. Besides, it makes a lot of sense—even to your slimy brain.”

The gnome was convinced. His dagger slid deftly past the vertebrae in the back of the man’s neck and into his brain. The gnome did not remove the dagger. He stuffed the broach into a deep pocket and pulled his cloak around his stocky body. Leaving everything else in the room, he began his journey to Arcadia.

*****

Arthur had decided. “We will remain here, for a while, at least. They have much to offer.”

“We have no alchemist,” Master Criticus said. Gary’s face brightened when the master added, “We do, however, have a spagyricum—an alchemic laboratory. Perhaps you and Petrus could explore it together. Under supervision, of course.”

Master Criticus turned to Larry. “Nor do we have a healer. Except Arthur, of course. But, Arthur has asked that you have a chance to study with other healers, to get a different perspective on the art and science behind healing.

“I know the senior at the temple,” Master Criticus continued. “Tomorrow, if it suits you, we will visit him and arrange for you to study there for part of each day.”

Larry nodded. “I’ll still get to study with Arthur, won’t I?”

“Of course,” Arthur and Criticus said in the same breath. Arthur added, “And I hope to study at the temple, too.”

“George, there are many things you can do with magic using your innate talent and the force of your will. That’s what you’ve been doing so far, isn’t it?”

George nodded, and Criticus continued. “Arthur has said you have a very extensive knowledge of Old Elvish, as well. I invite you to join the classes I teach to Jeremy and Petrus and the other apprentices. It would help me if you would share your knowledge of Old Elvish with the other boys. It might help you to learn some of the spells that the boys study, too.”

“I’ll be a teacher?” George asked. “Neat! Yes!”

*****

The College of Magic was wedged between two warehouses. The front door opened to a narrow hallway. Beyond the hallway, the college occupied nearly an acre, including a stable and a large courtyard. Some of the mostly three-story buildings were capped with a fourth, dormered level. Knowledge that part of the college extended more than 500 feet below the ground was held only by one living person who was not, at the moment, among the current faculty, students, or servants.

Arthur and his companions fit well into the routine of the school. Arthur checked the matrix daily, but found nothing. Two months passed, and then six.

In addition to magic and healing, Arthur ensured that the boys’ weapon practice was not neglected. Master Criticus was pleased that his students might learn, as well, and for the first time in many years, the courtyard rang with the sounds of weapons. On this day, George and Ethan spared with quarterstaffs. Arthur and Gary practiced the movements of 4^th level sword drill while Petrus beat time on a tambour. Before the second sequence began, Arthur called a halt.

“Gary, that sword is too short for you,” he said. “You’ve grown at least four inches. You need a new sword.”

“But—” Gary looked at his feet. “Father and the twins—and Davy—they made this for me.”

“And you don’t want to part with it, hmm?”

Gary shook his head. “I know—I know I’ll have to. It will have to be traded in—Oh, Arthur—can you afford a new sword for me, even if we sell this one?”

“Gary, do you love Petrus?”

Surprised by this non sequitur, Gary simply nodded.

“Enough to swear brotherhood?”

Gary nodded again. “How did you know? Would it be all right? With you? And George and Larry? I mean…I won’t love you or George or Larry any less, and I’ll never leave you, but—”

“Of course,” Arthur said. “Offering love and brotherhood to Petrus does not diminish the love and friendship you have for us.”

“How did you know?” Gary asked again.

“The same way you and George and Larry knew those men in Algoropolis were going to ambush us,” Arthur said. “When you look at Petrus, we all feel it.

“Usually, an oath of brotherhood includes exchanging daggers. Would you be willing to give Petrus your sword, instead? That way—”

Gary interrupted, “—it would still be part of me!” He hugged Arthur with his free arm. “I’m so glad you’re my best friend.”

“Hey, are you guys going to practice, or what?” Petrus called from the sidelines.

*****

The gnome had replaced his dagger. He’d killed a boy, and taken his. It was of poor quality—pot metal. The gnome used it to slit—somewhat messily because of the poor edge on the dagger—the throat of a man, and had taken his dagger. It was acceptable.

A few gold coins bought a place in a caravan going in the right direction. It wasn’t a comfortable place. During the day, he rode perched upon wooden crates; at night, he slept under a wagon. The food was pottage in the morning and beans cooked with onions at night. Every other day there was bread. Still, it was much better than what the gnome’s master had threatened should he fail again.

*****

Petrus shivered with excitement and a little fear the first time he stepped into the courtyard with his sword. My sword, he thought. And my friend, my brother. He’s only a little taller than I am, he’s not yet a tween, but he is beautiful, and I love him. He watched as Gary cast the Sword Mark spell, but still gasped when Gary ran the blade of his new sword across his hand.

“See? It won’t cut, and the spell also helps keep the sword from getting nicked.”

“Why don’t we use wooden swords?” Petrus asked, still a little uncertain.

Gary looked at Arthur, who answered, “Weapon training is based on muscle memory. We train the muscles, and the mind, in movements. Single movements are followed by movements in combinations. You practice with the weapon you will use in combat so that its weight and momentum, which is a function of weight (Arthur didn’t see George roll his eyes) will become a part of that memory. We will do free form, later.”

*****

Arthur and Larry walked from the temple back to the college. Arthur took Larry’s hand, and smiled when the boy looked at him. “You did very well today. I was pleased when you asked Senior Healer Earmon if there weren’t another possible diagnosis, rather than telling him he was wrong—which, by the way, he was.”

“I remember what you said,” Larry said. “Not everyone has the benefit of your talent. I also knew…well, that Senior Healer Earmon didn’t have you for a teacher, either.” Larry squeezed Arthur’s hand.

*****

The gnome looked at the mountains that rose behind Kassel. He’d heard that there was a pass, and a road—a smuggler’s route—that led to Arcadia. From where he stood, it was not obvious. I’ll have to find the Thieves Guild, he thought, and kill one or two before I find one who knows the route. The thought neither excited nor depressed him.

*****

Gary and Petrus dashed up the stairs, barely outrunning a stinking, orange cloud. They burst into Arthur’s workroom where he and Jeremy were reviewing an old scroll.

“We did it!” Gary said.

“Mithral and hydrargyrum,” Petrus added.

“…mercury,” Gary clarified. “It’s a solid, but it takes Mage Light like…like…”

“…like the sun!” Petrus concluded.

The cloud had reached the top of the stairs and sent tendrils into Arthur’s workroom. He sniffed. “Sulfur, lithium, and what else? And who was supervising?”

Gary managed to look abashed. “George.”

“And where is he?” Arthur asked.

“Here,” George answered from the doorway. “I’ve opened all the windows…”

The cloud and the smell had dissipated. Arthur and Gary sat, alone, and across a table from one another. “Gary, I’m very proud of you. You and Petrus did something that no one has ever done before. I’m also very disappointed in you. You know—you knew when you came with the news—that ‘supervision’ didn’t mean George.”

Gary looked at the table and his hands, clasped before him. “You’re going to punish us—George and me—aren’t you?”

“No, Gary. I have never punished you boys, and I never will. On your oath to me, do not work in the spagyricum without Master Criticus or me present.”

“Is that all?” Gary asked. “Master Criticus has restricted Petrus to the college for a month. He’ll miss the festival…”

“That is Master Criticus’ decision,” Arthur said. “Now, come give me a kiss, and tell me that you still love me.”

Arthur repeated the scene with George. “George?” Arthur said.

“I messed up bad, huh?” the boy replied.

“Actually,” Arthur said. “Actually, you did. Gary, Petrus—you, too, for that matter—could have been hurt, even killed. Do you know that?”

“Uh huh,” George said. “That’s all I could think about when the alembic exploded. I was so afraid.

“Gary said you didn’t punish him…that you wouldn’t punish us.”

“That’s right,” Arthur said.

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t set expectations clearly. My guess is that none of you realized that you, George, didn’t constitute supervision until after the alembic exploded. Is that right?”

“Um, I guess so.”

“When Gary asked you to supervise, and you agreed, did you consciously think you were doing something wrong?”

George thought hard for several minutes. “No, no I didn’t.”

“There,” Arthur said, “you have it.”

*****

The donkey lay on the frozen ground. Its sides heaved as it struggled for breath. Its eyes began to film. The gnome slit its throat. Not from mercy, however. The blood flowed into a wooden bowl. The gnome drank all he could, and then tossed the bowl aside. The donkey had lasted through the hardest part of the journey across the Iron Mountains; it was all downhill, now.

*****

Paul lay on the workbench. He wore only a fundoshi. Larry stood beside the workbench and pointed to one muscle after another, naming each as he went. Paul was a temple acolyte and Larry’s study partner. Larry paused, his finger on Paul’s tummy. “External oblique?”

“Yes,” Paul said. “Below and behind it?”

“Quadratus lumborum,” Larry said, more sure, now. He limned his fingertips with magic, and dragged then lightly across Paul’s tummy. “Rectus abdominus.”

Paul’s tummy muscles rippled, and his fundoshi became uncomfortably tight. “No magic!” he said. “You’re less than a quarter of the way through.”

Larry grinned. “No reason you should have all the fun,” he said, before starting on the muscles of Paul’s leg.

*****

George discovered the door. “It feels different,” he said after summoning Arthur. Many of their companions had followed. “I mean, there’s so much magic noise around here—I have to shut it out—but this, it’s like a different frequency or something. Maybe like AM and FM.”

“What’s aemm and effemm?” Jeremy asked.

“Uh—” George began.

“Secrets,” Arthur said. “I know what George means, though. You know that he hears magic? If I do a spell, and Master Criticus does the same spell, it will sound a little different to George.

“What does this sound like?”

George touched his dagger and his eyes misted. “It sounds like Peter’s magic.” Peter was the dwarven boy with whom George had sworn brotherhood and exchanged daggers. “There’s some dwarven magic in this stone.” The boy’s eyes widened, “…or behind it.”

*****

The gnome had been living on bracket fungus and the occasional fox or squirrel that came within range of his magic. Better them than me, he thought, knowing his fate should he fail.

He had reached the Southern Mountain Road. Dropping the pack, now empty, he opened his cloak and took the broach and its chain from around his neck. Suspending the broach by the chain, he focused magic, and willed the broach to seek the mithral in the sword—George’s sword. The magical field was distorted on this side of the mountains, and he had some difficulty gathering magic. His desperation and fear didn’t help. He rested his arm in his lap until his breathing slowed, and tried again.

Slowly, minutely, the broach began to swing. The gnome added more magic, and the amplitude of the swing increased. The gnome frowned. It’s not in a single plane, he thought. It’s trying to point in two directions. The pattern followed a flattened figure-eight, with one cusp pointing north west and the other pointing nearly east. To the east, the gnome thought. It points more strongly to the east. The sword is there.

*****

Master Criticus had been disappointed, but understood. George’s knowledge of the dwarves’ magic was not something he could share. Even Arthur was not present. George was alone when he wove a spell Peter had taught him. A stone door, closed for centuries, opened to reveal stairs leading down, into the depths.

“Arthur!” George called. “Master Criticus! Come see!”

Magic lit the way. The stairs went down at least 500 feet. At the landings, hallways led to store rooms and workshops. “This is awesome!” Larry said as each door after door opened to reveal storerooms, workshops, and dormitories. “It’s like a whole ’nother college, underground.”

“I have long wondered,” Master Criticus said, “how this college was able to accommodate all the students and instructors our records say were in residence during the last Great War. I’d assumed that we occupied the warehouses on either side of us. But this, this is a more logical explanation.”

*****

“Please tell Master Criticus that Masters Jerome, Cedric, and Servius of Fortmain are here.” Petrus was seated at the desk in the hallway. He stared with unabashed amazement at the three oldest men he’d ever seen.

“Master Jerome! You’re the librarian! From Fortmain!” the boy said. “I’ve read some of the books…Oh, of course. Please…wait here.”

Petrus burst into the library. “They’re here!” he shouted. Arthur and Master Criticus looked up from the scroll they’d been studying…another of those that had been wound too tightly for too long. There were so many scrolls and books that had not been opened in centuries. Arthur was trying to read them all, but even his voracious mind could not do so.

“Who is here?” Master Criticus asked. “And who is watching the door?”

Even the knowledge that he had abandoned his post could not still Petrus’ enthusiasm. “The librarians from Fortmain! Master Jerome!” the boy gasped.

And they’ll have brought more books, Arthur thought, and shook his head.

*****

“Gary and Petrus want to merge mithral and gold,” Arthur told George. “Would you supervise, and make sure they don’t blow up anything this time?”

“Huh? But you said…” George began.

“That was more than a year ago,” Arthur replied. “You have watched them blend mithral and mercury, and separate them; you know the critical parts of the spell; you know how to block the surge that might occur; and Gary knows now to monitor the temperature of the alembic. Tell Gary and Petrus I said it was okay.”

George nodded. I won’t fail you, he thought.

I know you won’t fail me, Arthur thought.

*****

Arthur, Larry, and Paul walked west to the crest of the hill above Barrone before turning south into the forest. “Here’s Johnswart,” Paul said. Larry reached to pick a leaf, but Paul stopped him. “The essence is strongly concentrated in the leaves.” He offered Larry a pair of leather gloves. Paul’s knowledge of herbs plus Larry’s understanding of their auras made it easy for the boys to fill bag after bag with herbs.

“Um, how are we going to get all of this back?” Larry asked. He dragged a bag half his own size to the pile in the clearing.

“Same way we carried Endymion,” Arthur said.

“We didn’t bring the horses, remember?”

“No, but you and Paul are about the same height,” Arthur said. He cut a sapling about 18 feet high, stripped the branches, and tied some of the bags to it. “I’ll carry the largest two over my shoulder.”

“What was that?” Larry asked.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Paul said. “Arthur?”

“There was something,” Arthur said. “Something—unwholesome—I think. It’s gone, now.”

*****

Three miles north of the boys, the gnome stood on the hill above Barrone. Hundreds of miles and a dozen deaths had brought him to this place. The horse on which he rode was not his. The clothes of the horse’s former owner were too long in the sleeves and legs, and too tight in the waist and thighs. They were, however, cleaner and warmer than what the gnome had been wearing before he murdered their owner. He focused magic onto the broach pendulum. It swung strongly in the direction of the city. Somewhere there, he thought. They are there.

It wasn’t an inn, although it had rooms with beds. It wasn’t a public house, although ale and food were served. Had Arthur seen it, he would have compared it to a flop house or—although there was nothing religious about it—to a skid row mission. It suited the gnome’s purposes admirably. He’d sold the horse for 10 crowns—less than its worth, but enough. He had bought a robe that was broad enough for his ample figure, and then tucked the surplus length under and over the belt that held his dagger. Now, he sat on the edge of the bed and suspended the broach from its chain. Nothing! No movement! How can that be?

The gnome shivered with fear, and then collected his thoughts. It was here not six hours ago. It’s still here. It’s in a shielded place, likely the temple. I’ll try again, tomorrow.

*****

The gnome was correct. Rather, he was partly correct. George and his sword were nearly 300 feet below the college. He and Master Jerome were examining the runes Gary had etched on George’s sword. “We have thought for aeons that the Old Elvish runes were more than symbols for words and letters,” he said. “Seeing these four together, in that order, reminded me of a scarab a boy once showed me. It was incised with lines that trapped magic. It was an unpleasant thing, but not inherently Evil. I now believe that the reason it was unpleasant was that the lines trapped magic that had been warped by Evil…magic such as that which exists across the Iron Mountains. I also believe that these four runes, in that order, constitute another kind of magic trap—one that traps magic that exists here,” he waved his hands. “Magic that exists on our side of the mountains. That was what I saw when you were sparring this morning.”

“It still won’t cut me,” George said. “And it seldom needs sharpening.” At Master Jerome’s prompting, George described how the sword had been made. “I don’t remember all of that was happening,” he said. “It was really all six of us.”

*****

“Will we take the herbs to the college or the temple?” Paul asked.

“The college is closer,” Arthur said. He did not mention the steam-distillation apparatus Gary and Petrus had found while exploring one of the ancient underground laboratories. Arthur and the Senior Herbalist at the temple could extract essential oils by magic, alone. However, it was a tedious process. Steam distillation was just as effective, and considerably easier. At least, it was supposed to be. None of the Masters had ever seen that much glassware, before.

After supper, all the boys in the college helped unpack the bags of herbs. For the most part, preparation began with drying, and the boys spread the leaves, flowers, and berries in thin layers on drying racks. “Yes, we could remove the water by magic,” Arthur answered George’s question. I could do it; Larry could do it. However, the dry air in this room will do it with a lot less effort.”

The dust and dirt from the unpacking gave the boys a reason to bathe, again. Under Gary’s watchful eye, George warmed the hot soak. As Larry scrubbed Paul, he whispered, “Will you share boy magic with me?” When Paul nodded, Larry added. “Good. I want to show you something that George taught me.”