A Mage Of None Magic (Book 1) (24 page)

30

Upon leaving the Forest, it became obvious to everyone why the Galiiantha had given them cloaks. In their absence, the outside world had hidden itself beneath a shimmering mantle of snow.

Niel smiled in the sharp, cold Aithician night, tremendously relieved and thankful for the privacy provided by the overcast sky and the hood of his cloak. He’d begun to worry the stone around his neck had caused his sanity to slip. For the moment at least, that appeared not to the case.

Earlier that afternoon Peck returned from scouting ahead with confirmation that they neared Glernny. At Arwin’s direction the group traveled through the night to make town by halfmorn. Despite the long ride, Niel found himself not nearly as tired as he should have been, so the bizarre surges of emotion plaguing him were not the result of fatigue. When his mount stumbled in the darkness, though, and nearly caused them both to fall, there was no need to speculate on the source of the violent rush of fright he felt, nor on his own soundness of mind.

Niel had somehow become attuned to the horse he rode.

The abrupt peaks and valleys of the animal’s emotions immediately captivated him. Each time a branch cracked or an owl screeched in the night, the horse gathered itself with a flick of an ear and a subtle raise of its head, and then after a heartbeat of alarm, recalled its training and settled back down.

The fascinating discovery could have occupied Niel for days, but it hadn’t ended there. Soon after delineating his own emotions from the horse’s, he realized that with effort he could also touch upon those of his companions: Jharal’s gruff irritability, Cally’s guarded poise, and Arwin’s practiced nonchalance. While curious, it had not surprised Niel to perceive no such presence from Peck. His repeated attempts to do so, however, resulted in a sobering reminder of what lay ahead.

From a great distance, Niel sensed a radiance like the sun close enough to touch, and an irrefutable urgency to go toward it, more demanding with each passing hour.

Niel kept his findings to himself. Deducing from where and whom the lure emanated would be no great leap, and the others had been decidedly somber since leaving Chael. He doubted news of his newfound empathy would add much cheer.

Instead, he concentrated on more immediate concerns. Because they had no sound idea of what to expect when they encountered the enigmatic Magistrate Ennalen, Arwin asked Niel to learn a spell or two. And since only one incantation within the spell book could be considered offensively useful—Inducing Sleep—that was the one Niel had chosen.

By all rights, it should have been simple, but learning the spell had proven unexpectedly tedious. At times, even confounding. He grappled to comprehend even elementary syllables and runes. Granted, having to read by the dim, swaying light of his hand-held lantern was not the easiest thing in the world, but something told him even in an ideal environment the process would have been nothing like the effortlessness of learning the Conjuring Light spell. He struggled through it, though.

In the winter quiet, with his book put away and the stubby candle inside the lantern extinguished, Niel sat back in his saddle and smiled again, enjoying the warmth of his cloak and the tranquil plodding of the other horses.

***

Day broke over the far-off line of the Forest behind them with a resplendent palette of lavender and topaz, coaxing a brassy richness from the hilly, snow-capped landscape ahead. Though obscured by a veil of fog, the town of Glernny was easily visible, nestled at the end of the trail that snaked its way into the shallow valley below.

In the brightening dawn, Arwin called a halt for a brief rest and quick meal before the final push. While Peck vaulted gracefully from his saddle, both Cally and Jharal grumbled as they lowered themselves slowly from their mounts. Cally stretched her arms over her head and performed a series of cat-like bends. Jharal disappeared behind a row of trees and brush.

Niel allowed a smug smirk at the others’ fatigue; he still felt fine despite lack of sleep.

As soon as he set foot on the ground and let go of the saddle, however, the world withered away. A sudden weight of exhaustion crashed down and sent Niel stumbling backward.

“And he’s mythically graceful, too,” Peck muttered as he passed by, a battered coffee pot in hand.

Dizzy and breathless, Niel crouched and pushed his fingertips hard against his temples—and noticed his bracelet again. Why had it not helped him as it had on Jorgan’s ship or at Hallen’s stable?

Arwin came to his side. “Niel? You all right?”

For an instant, Niel considered telling the truth.

“Just tired,” he said, standing slowly.

Arwin took his arm. “Tired? Or was that something else?”

Niel brushed the hand away. “I said I’m fine.”

Arwin tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “Well, you look like hell. Make sure you have something to eat. And some coffee.” He gave the back of Niel’s shoulder a quick slap then returned to stacking sticks for a cooking fire.

It occurred to Niel that he not only had spent the better part of the night partaking of his steed’s emotions, but of its stamina as well. It also quickly became evident that absent that stamina, something far more significant was now amiss, namely with the incantation he had memorized.

Rather than resting comfortably in his mind, the spell began writhing. His head buzzed and tingled, as a leg does after having fallen asleep.

A retained spell whose elements have gone afoul manifests itself in myriad ways, which is why College freshmen learned how to dispose of spoiled incantations before learning how to properly memorize one. While elder Members could rid themselves of a spell gone bad as easily as willing away an unpleasant thought, the less-experienced had to deliberately purge their psyches of the offending magic before it festered and became uncontrollable, like a sneeze that simply cannot be held back.

Unfortunately, Niel only knew of the process in theory, and the tension in his mind built rapidly. Putting some quick distance between himself and the others seemed the only thing to do.

He turned to head back up the trail, but another wave of dizziness apprehended him. He collapsed, unsettling the horses not only with his fall, but also with the loud, discordant belch of syllables that rushed from his mouth.

The next instant brought an astounding relief from the spell’s absence, as well as a groan, a rustling thud from somewhere behind him, and his companions racing over to tend to him.

Niel glanced up at his friends, who stared down in mingled shades of concern and annoyance. Once more, Arwin helped him to his feet.

“For someone who’s just tired,” he said, “you seem to be having a rough time of it.”

A sudden realization made Niel look from side to side. “Where’s Jharal?”

Cally thumbed over her shoulder. “He went—”

Niel pushed past before she could finish. The others followed.

Behind the row of trees, embedded in the ankle-deep snow, lay Jharal—face up, trousers bunched at his ankles, naked from the waist down and sleeping soundly with a pleasant smile on his face. Two large, grey squirrels slept draped across his stomach.

The four of them stood in silence until Jharal gave a loud snore, making one of the squirrels twitch its tail.

Cally jabbed Arwin’s arm with a disgusted sigh. “Help me get him up before he actually does freeze his ass off.”

Arwin looked at Niel, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. He shook his head and walked over to where Cally wrestled to get Jharal’s slumbering frame upright.

Niel felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Survive this one,” Peck said with a cheerful grin, “and you really will become a legend.”

***

Contrasted with the complex elegance of Chael, Glernny seemed a model of quaint simplicity. Smooth, rounded stones paved the curved main street that bisected town. Lean, sensible plaster buildings barren of frivolous adornments lined both sides of the avenue. The buildings and houses pressed together in a manner reminiscent of an old-fashioned style of tapestry-making Niel had once seen, where the proportions always looked wrong—people with giant heads and torsos poking out from the tops of tiny castle towers, pointing with melodramatic dread across a finger-wide sea at invading armies of top-heavy knights on the backs of strangely angular warhorses.

A handful of neatly-dressed men and women, out despite the early hour, stopped to watch the group pass. Arwin politely asked directions to Professor Potchkin’s residence from a thin, pinched-faced gentleman whose spectacles rested too far down on his nose to have possibly benefited his eyesight. The gentleman responded by pointing toward the far end of town, then continued to stand that way until he disappeared behind them as they rounded a bend in the road. Niel wondered if the man eventually went about his business, or if he’d still be there when they left.

“They must not get many Apostates down here,” Peck said.

Jharal guffawed. Arwin and Niel exchanged looks.

The big, dark man had been remarkably amiable all morning.

“No offense, Jhar,” Arwin said, raising his voice so all could hear, “but your little nap seems to have done you a world of good.” He glanced over at Niel with a smirk, who forced himself to do nothing more than roll his eyes.

All had agreed that in regard to the sleep spell gone awry, what Jharal didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him—or more to the point, wouldn’t hurt Niel. No need to up-end the manure cart when the crop was doing fine. Clearly, though, Arwin couldn’t resist tipping said cart a little further than Niel thought necessary.

“Well,” Jharal replied, “I gotta say, I don’t remember dozing off back there but I sure am glad I did. You should try it next time.”

“I think that’s excellent advice,” Peck chirped. “We should all squirrel away some time for a snooze whenever possible. What say you, Lord Elder?”

Arwin and Cally chuckled, as did an oblivious Jharal.

Niel kept his eyes forward and gritted his teeth.

The professor’s home stood at the end of the road. The dwelling looked oblong, like a watermelon, with planks nailed every which way. To Niel the house looked a few boards shy of having no shape at all. In contrast, small courtyards in front and to the side were tidy and well maintained in spite of the snow.

The group dismounted. Peck and Cally gathered the horses and stayed behind to watch the street. Arwin, Niel, and Jharal made their way to the unusually wide, rounded front door. The three of them halted in their tracks as the door creaked inward of its own accord.

“We’re expected, it would seem,” Arwin said.

“This professor supposed to be a magician?” Jharal growled, his disposition clearly plummeting back to normal.

Niel shrugged. “Lleryth didn’t say any—”

“Come in! Come in!” came a sing-song greeting so boisterous that Arwin’s hand dropped to his sword and Jharal hefted his axe in front of his chest.

From the dimness of the house’s interior burst the jolly, rotund shape of a person Niel knew must be Professor Ignalius Potchkins.

And the professor was a tahlerig.

Of the numerous races native to the mysterious and generally ill-regarded Outer Kingdoms, the tahlerig were among the more familiar, particularly within the academic community. To Niel’s eye, tahlerig resembled giant slugs, only without all the goo. Their skin was similar to that of a walrus, creased and blubbery, ranging in hue from dark green to brilliant purple, while their bellies and chests remained a uniform buttery color. Although standing a half-head taller than Jharal, from the waist up Professor Potchkins appeared little different than a human. His two chubby arms ended in hands having four fingers instead of five, and his torso was topped by a pleasant, cherubic face above a many-chinned neck.

Impeccable dressers, a tahlerig’s garb of choice normally fell along the lines of a waistcoat with hat and cane. However, the professor wore a rough-woven tunic belted with rope over a cotton shirt. A worker’s cap drooped to one side of his head. From beneath it poked a few sprigs of coarse gray hair. Like the gentleman they had seen earlier, he wore a small set of round-rimmed spectacles at the end of his stubby, pinkish nose.

“Well, don’t just stand there with your mouths open,” the professor scolded, though his warm smile robbed the words of any sting. He waved to everyone in the group. “We’re running late as it is. Come in! Come in all of you! And bring your things!”

Arwin glanced at Niel, then turned and beckoned Cally and Peck into the house. The professor withdrew from the entryway to allow them room. The door remained open until Peck crossed the threshold, then closed behind him of its own accord.

Potchkins made a quick assessment of their concerned looks.

“No, no,” he assured. “Not magic. Never touch the stuff. Just something I threw together to keep me from having to fiddle with the latch when I get back from market with armfuls of gods-know-what.”

Being in such close quarters, Niel readily sensed his companions bristling with wariness. But just as Lleryth had, the tahlerig exuded nothing other than genuine goodwill, and the amusing flamboyance with which he ushered them through the foyer and into the main room quickly helped put everyone at ease.