The Wizard's Apprentice (The Apprentice) (6 page)

"I can't do magic, I just tricked you." He gave a nervous laugh.

A red flush began on Amelia's cheeks and travelled right up to her hairline. She gave Brock a hurt angry stare. She ran into the house as Clinton and two of the youths laughed rudely. Clinton considered he had a victory over both his sister and Brock. But Orville did not laugh. He regarded Brock suspiciously.

From
a
distance Zebulon watched, his keen eyes focusing on Orville's movements. He noted the arrogant swagger and the disdainful manner as he prodded Brock. Nothing escaped the wizard
’
s notice, and he was troubled.

Just as the argument was set to erupt into physical abuse, Ambrose came around the corner of the house. With a firmness which Zebulon admired, he sent the three troublemakers away and his son inside, promising to deal with him shortly.

"You should not come up to the house. Your place i
s
with the workers," he told Brock. Then more kindly he said. "Are you alright? They didn't hurt you did they?"

"No, they did not hurt me," replied Brock. He turned and ran blindly away, not daring to look right or left.

Brock, not realising that Zebulon had witnessed the event, did not mention the encounter to him.  He was ashamed that he had not heeded Zebulon's counsel. Concerned that Zebulon would discern that something was amiss, Brock avoided his company all evening. When he felt that the wizard had retired for the night he crept into bed. He lay awake many hours, replaying the scene and troubling himself about the repercussions of his reckless behaviour.

After drifting into a troubled sleep he was awoken by a sound within the hut. He lay still, listening. Then he saw them, three figures, advancing towards the wizard's bed. Brock did not know what to do as he lay huddled under his blanket, shivering. He wanted to cry out a warning but feared for his life. He was sure Zebulon would awake shortly. But Zebulon was snoring. Brock had never heard him snore before. As the three intruders stood over his bed, Brock began feeling for something he could use as a weapon.

Shortly the tallest of the three motioned for the others to move away and indicated the bag which rested on the floor at the foot of the bed. As he grabbed the bag, a shock passed through him, driving him across the room and slamming him into the wall. He made a winded sound, halfway between a yelp and a moan. As the others stood in shocked silence they sensed someone standing behind them. They looked from the bed to the tall wizard in
dis
belief. Although it was dark, each youth was to swear later that
the wizard’s
eyes blazed and he was twice his original size. They turned and ran.

Zebulon had been aware of their presence before they entered the hut. He conjured an
illusion
of himself sleeping in the bed so he had time to know their intentions but he already had his suspicio
ns
, w
hich
were confirmed.  Zebulon came to Brock's bed.

"We must leave at once. We ca
n
not stay here."

Brock looked back sadly as he and Zebulon left the farm behind. He had not expected to have regret at leaving. Much of the
sadness
came from leaving Amelia behind, especially under the circumstances. He had hated to lie to her and hated that Clinton had been able to use it against her. He was troubled.

Zebulon was silent, lost in thought regarding the robbers who had entered their hut. It concerned him that they had some knowledge of his activities. He felt sure that at least the big youth was being guided by someone with
knowledge of
magic
.
He considered the youth to be intelligent enough, though probably more cunning than clever, but he definitely did not have the ability himself to feel any current from magic use. Zebulon kept all his senses tuned for any presence near them.

Brock, mistaking Zebulon's silence for displeasure felt decidedly uncomfortable. He needed to relieve himself of his guilt.

“It's all my fault. I'm sorry.”

There was silence, and in the dark he could not tell what Zebulon's reaction was or even if he understood what he was saying.

Finally Zebulon spoke. “So, why do you think it is your fault?”

“Because...” Brock found it hard to express his guilty secret. “Because I showed Amelia my magic. You told me not to let anyone know, and I disobeyed you. I'm sorry. Are you going to punish me?”

“Do you think I should?” asked Zebulon.

“Probably...though I'd rather you didn't.”

Zebulon gave a quiet, amused laugh. “I am displeased that you disobeyed me but I knew you possibly would.”

“You knew already?” Brock's voice was high pitched with surprise and indignation. “How could you know and not say anything
?
”

“It was for you to tell me. And now that you have I'm satisfied.”

“But how?”

"A lad often has little better to do than try to impress a girl who has flattered him. It was a reasonable assumption that once you achieved some success you would want to boast to her.”

“But I didn't tell you that I had been successful?”

“Here's lesson number two for you. Another magic user is sensitive to any magic close by, even weak magic. The more powerful the magician, the more perceptive he is.”

“So someone knew I was using magic,” asked Brock.

“Only me.”

They walked in silence for some time. Brock thought hard about what had been said and he had a revelation. “It was the use of your magic when we got the diamond!”

“Possibly,” said Zebulon, “but it still may have been your indiscretion and a chance meeting that caused the problem. Folly is never rewarded with pleasing results. The thing to remember now is that we must be very careful. When one reaches the heights of one
’
s skills there are always enemies.”

Zebulon's words gave Brock little comfort and he spent the rest of their trip to the next village trying to peer through the darkness for an unseen, unknown foe.

While Brock's fears made him move faster, Zebulon was slowing down. The use of his magic had made him tired. He had wanted to collect their final pay and buy horses before leaving but now that their position was known by another he could not afford the delay even a day.

The coming of the first light of day was a welcome sight for both travellers. It had not been pleasant walking over the rough road in the dark. Nor did it help their nerves to think that someone could be ready to ambush them. Zebulon regained some of his energy, believing that the next village was not too far away.

He had expected Brock to be more relieved but noticed that he was still downcast and guessing that the reason was a pretty blond girl, Zebulon said. "Don't worry, she's an intelligent girl who will put her brother in his place in a few years time. She will forgive you one day too. You could even write her a letter when this business is done." After a time he continued. "Besides, I have already told her that you were sorry, but you had a very good reason for not letting the others know the truth, and that some day you would explain it to her."

Brock was amazed at this d
is
closure and brightened at the thought that the young girl may not think so badly about him after all. They walked on in a contented silence until they saw the welcome signs of the outskirts of a village. This village was quite different to any they had passed through before. It was bigger and the inhabitants, being mostly miners and not farmers, were of different character and temperament. While buildings suggested some richer occupants, the  atmosphere was rougher.

Although it was very early morning the township gave the appearance that it had not really slept, that some activities had continued through the night. Being used to many strangers arriving or passing through, the two travellers were not given a second glance by those they met along the way.

The first rays of the sun tipped the roof of a building and highlighted its presence to Zebulon and Brock. To their relief, they identified it as an inn.

“Because we are short on money, we will have to take care how we spend it,” Zebulon told Brock.

Remembering the family who took them into their home and the pouch Zebulon had given them, which Brock had assumed were gold coins, Brock had a question for Zebulon, he had wanted to ask for some time.

“Why don't you just make more money with your magic?” he asked.

“That's not how magic works. In the human world it is preferable to use human money, earned by your own labours. There are few exceptions to that principle.”

“The couple who took us in? What did they receive?”

“A promise of receiving what they needed most.” Zebulon answered in a manner that told Brock the conversation was finished.

“Now, as I was saying,” continued Zebulon as they neared the inn, “we have to be careful with our money. But we need rest and we need food. So we will be satisfied with simple things.”

After arranging a room they ordered refreshments. The meal was a simple bowl of hot gruel which Brock ate, not for enjoyment but for nourishment. Brock's time within the human world had for a time cured him of his fascination
with
food. Now he ate only to sustain his physical needs.

By the time they had finished, more men had entered and the noise was disturbing. Zebulon and Brock were grateful to leave the dining area and go to their room for rest.

After several hours of deep sleep they both awoke somewhat refreshed. When they again entered the dining hall of the inn, it was early for the midday meals so they had the room almost to themselves.
A
meal of roasted meat, some sorry looking vegetables and heavy coarse bread
to soak up the thin gravy, thought Brock.
Most of the regulars at the inn considered it a great meal but Brock ate it because of hunger. Zebulon gave no indication of his thoughts of the meal, eating in silence, he consumed it without relish or condemnation.

“I have to buy supplies today so that my journey can commence as early as possible,” said Zebulon at the conclusion of their repast.

Brock immediately made ready to go but Zebulon placed a restraining hand on his arm.

"Don't rush away, young lad. I have a question for you," stated the wizard."The events of yesterday have made my quest more dangerous. You may want to consider returning home."

"But..." began Brock, doubtful he had heard correctly. "The collar and chain, I can't leave you." As he said this, he instinctively reached to his throat to finger the collar. It was no longer there.

Zebulon answered the elf's astonishment with a deep chuckle.

"That collar has been gone for weeks now," he said. "You forgot about it and didn't notice."

"So I could have left before," Brock stated indignantly. Since arriving at the farm he had giv
en
up all thoughts and plans to escape. It had not occured him to keep checking for the collar.

"You could always have left," replied Zebulon.

"I couldn't, you know I couldn't, you had me chained up like a dog!" His face began to redden as he
remembered the
indignation he had suffered that fateful night.

“Interesting that you chose a collar and chain.” The wizard gave a deep chuckle which almost sounded wicked. "Never-the-less, you could have been free if you really had wanted to go," said Zebulon evenly. "The truth is that part of you wanted the adventure and the opportunity, you just didn't know it. My spell simply gave the one side the advantage so that it would win out."

Brock was dumbfounded and still doubtful.

"You can ask Karman if you doubt me," continued Zebulon.

Mention of Karman gave Brock unexpected fond memories of that lady. "Will I ever see her again?"

"Most probably. It was
from
her counsel that I took an assistant. She also approved my choice of you to fill that place."

"You chose me?" asked Brock in amazement. "And Karman approved?"

"Of course, matters of this importance should never be left to chance. I observed you from the time you moved to the tables. I saw you as an indecisive and undisciplined lad who didn't know who he was, one who let his friends lead him on and then complained about it. I also saw potential for greatness in you that neither you, your family, or your friends would dream of. And before you get all puffed with pride, realise that to reach that point will require commitment and effort. Of the latter parts, I am uncertain."

Brock sat in stunned silence, his mouth open. He was having a hard time absorbing the information imparted to him. To Brock and his friends, he was just a simple elf whose purpose was to drift blissfully through life, neither intentionally causing change around him or embracing it.

Finally, the wizard rose. "I must be going. But you have still not answered my question. Before you answer, consider carefully, I have warned you that it could be dangerous, very dangerous."

Brock shook his head to clear his thinking. He found it hard to remember to what question the wizard referred. His mind raced back to the beginning of the conversation and all was clear to him then.

"No," he said with a firmness that seemed alien to him, "I will not leave you. I am not ready to go home yet."

"Good lad," replied Zebulon. Without further hesitation he picked up his bag, paid the innkeeper for their meal, and strode out onto the road with his customary swiftness.

Their first business was to purchase horses and in this they were fortunate. They managed to obtain two sturdy horses at a reasonable price, having arranged with the owner to do a day
’
s work as part payment. The rest of the day took them around the town to buy food, some cooking utensils, water bags and blankets. Their last purchase was at a store that sold mining tools. As they collected picks and spades the friendly store keeper asked if they were going mining, to which question Zebulon grunted a reply in the affirmative. Zebulon was also able to obtain a map of the surrounding area.

On the next day, by the time they had worked off their debt with the horse salesman, night was falling. After a hasty meal, wizard and elf were thankful to go to sleep. Zebulon explained they would need to rise early.

The journey commenced the next morning just as the sun rose. Others were off to mine fields also, but Zebulon chose another route. They passed close by some of the mines but continued on. The land was dry and the heat relentless. The further they travelled the dryer it became and at day
’
s end Zebulon and Brock were dusty and weary. Zebulon had pressed hard all day, putting as much distance between them and the township as was possible.

Having willingly committed to accompany Zebulon on his quest, Brock was embolden
ed
to ask some questions as to the wizard's intended destination. Brock was finally realising that some of Zebulon's solitude was not from displeasure but rather from a strong focus on the tasks he was to perform. From his questioning, Brock understood they would be travelling for many days to reach an abandoned mine where they would be working to extract certain gemstones. They stopped along the way to eat, and sleep. Zebulon used that time to consult the map. Other than that, their days were spent in endless riding through unruly places surrounded by very little else than mullock humps. Considering the long, hot and tiresome days and the uncomfortable nights, Brock wondered what insanity had provoked him to so readily agree to continue accompanying the wizard
on
his quest. But Zebulon was tenacious in his pursuit.

The harsh travelling was leaving its mark on Brock. The soft roundness of childhood was being replaced by taunter muscles of beginning manhood. His cheeks were more hollow
and his features more defined. He was stronger, but still did not have the stamina of the wizard. So focused on his purpose was Zebulon, that he was not mindful of the strain and extra hardships on Brock.

It was not only in physical appearance that Brock was changing. His mental abilities were sharpened, his emotions maturing. Though his thoughts may have been darkened at times, not one complaint left his lips. Many times in the long hours of riding, he would think of Amelia and the delights they enjoyed together on the grassy slopes of the farm, with the pretty river that wound down from the lofty mountain.