[This story begins about a year after Ben acquires Grarnihorn's library, and about four years after the rogues arrived in Uslar.]
“Where is Pondalon?” asked Grand Duke Hussgardo of Meruno. “You said he was coming with you today.”
“He is, Your Highness,” replied Count Bartillio of Martilla, “but he will join us later. His horse is young, spirited, and hasn’t been ridden in a week. He was giving Pondalon a great deal of trouble, bucking and trying to run off. Pondalon finally decided to run him hard and wear him out. He said he’d gallop him back toward home for a couple of miles to tire him. He’ll be here when his horse is more tractable.”
“No matter, he can find us when he gets here,” allowed Hussgardo as they walked into the vast ruins of a long-gone city. “He knows how much I like coming to these ruins. They fascinate me, the skeleton of a great city, its bones picked clean of everything that made it a real city. They affect you, too. Your poem The Ruined City is my favorite of all your poetry. You were attracted to the lost glamour of this place, the lovely homes, the marvelous Temples, the fine clothes of rich people, the happy lives of ordinary people. All gone.
“I miss all that as well, but I also regret what made that loveliness disappear. The Big War destroyed this place, as it did so much else. Meruno was not devastated as much as the Great Wasteland was, but look at this once great city. The ruins have become a quarry for already cut stones and costly marbles and other fine stones. See these stubs of columns. My grandfather took the porphyry columns to build his great hall. They are beautiful there, but they should have still stood here, admired by the people of this city. Seeing this city, and thinking about what destroyed it, helps me to quell my ambitions.
“I’ve told you that I’m ambitious. I want to be a prince, not just a grand duke. It’s a silly thing to want, a idle vanity. I’d get no more affection from my people with a different title, and no greater wealth. Less, probably, since I’d have to spend more lavishly to look princely. But the Kingdom of Taril lies to the south of Meruno, the Principality of Harith to the west, the Principalities of Wilu and Radalis to the east. So many proud, highly titled rulers as neighbors, and I am just a grand duke. ‘Just’ a grand duke! Ha! How many dukes, or counts, must dream of my glory and yearn for it?
“It’s true that they are all larger than Meruno, but not so very much larger. I want that touch of glory I would have with the title of prince. How vain of me. How foolish. I remember when my new chef arrived with his family three years ago. His young son wanted to join the other boys at court in some game they were playing, but he didn’t know the rules. He tried and played badly. They all laughed at him for failing. I don’t want to be like that young boy, becoming the laughing stock of the other princes.
“If Meruno were larger, I could claim a larger title, but I can’t make it larger without war. I could easily conquer the County of Oco to the north, or invade one of my larger neighbors. But I come here and see what war has done in the past. My ambition isn’t worth the destruction of any city. That’s why I like this place, it keeps me from doing something stupid out of vanity.”
***
Pondalon had pushed his horse hard for two miles, up a steep slope and back down it again, then raced back toward his father. Finally the horse slowed to a walk by itself, satisfied with its hard exercise. Pondalon rode it from the road to a small stream and gave it a rest. As the horse drank from the stream, Pondalon removed its saddle and blanket, and wiped its sweat off with his hands.
He sat under a tree and rested himself to give his horse a longer break. As he did so, he became aware of sounds nearby. He looked around and saw no one, but noticed a tight cluster of trees not far away on the bank. He heard voices.
“Leave the horses here and we’ll come back for ’em when we’ve grabbed our prey. The duke and the count go wandering about in the ruins for a long time, and their guards always stay out on the main road that goes past the ruins. We go in the back way, grab ’em, bring them here, and we’re gone. The ransoms will be huge.
“Can we be sure of taking ’em?” added a second voice.
“Six of us against two of ’em? Of course we can take ’em. I said the guards won’t be there. Now, let’s go.”
Pondalon jumped up in distress as he heard the men moving off. Men planning to kidnap the duke and father! I need to warn them immediately! Damn! It’s going to take time to saddle my horse and ride there. Still, I can ride there faster than they can walk. I shouldn’t take chances though. Father hates it when I do this, but he needs to know now that he and Hussgardo are in danger.
***
Father, this is Pondalon. I know you don’t want me to do this anymore, but this is urgent. There are six men coming into the ruins to kidnap the duke and you. Get back to your guards immediately! Please! I beg you!
The words in his head irritated and alarmed Bartillio to equal degrees. I’ve spent years trying to break him of this scandalous habit of speaking into my mind. He knows I hate it. He knows his mother hates it. What would people say about him, or us, if they knew he could do something like this?
Kidnap? Kidnap Hussgardo and me? Guards? Yes, they’re over there, half a mile off, out of range of our shouts. We must run to them for protection. I don’t know how I’ll explain this to the duke...
“We must run away, Your Highness,” he urged Hussgardo. “Six men are coming to kidnap us. We must run back to our guards, quickly, now!”
“What are you talking about, Bartillio?” asked Hussgardo as he was pulled along by his sleeve. “What men? Where? How do you know this? Is this some new game of yours?”
They reached the road, and their guards, just as Pondalon arrived, leading several horses.
“Thank the Gods that you’re both all right!” he shouted as he dismounted. “Guards, there are six men entering the ruins from the east side, brigands or some such lawbreakers. They plan to kidnap His Highness and my father. Capture them!”
“How do you know this?” asked Hussgardo.
“After running my horse hard, I gave him a rest by the stream that runs near the east side of these ruins. I overheard these men just before they entered the ruins. I had to re-saddle my horse, or I’d have been here sooner. I brought their horses so they couldn’t get away if I was too late.”
“But how did you know this, Bartillio?”
“Your Highness, this is embarrassing for me. It’s a family secret we’ve hidden successfully for years. Pondalon, my son, my dear son, has the ability to speak without using his mouth, directly into my mind. Or someone else’s mind. His mother thinks there is something wrong with him. It scares her. I’ve told him to stop doing this. Ordered him to stop. I’m glad he disobeyed me this time. Look, Your Highness.”
They looked where he was pointing and saw six closely guarded men being forced their way. The guards were not gentle in prodding their captives forward.
“Take them back to the castle,” ordered Hussgardo. “I’ll try them in the morning and we can hang them in the afternoon. Thank you, very sincerely and deeply, Pondalon. Without your warning, we might be their captives now, instead of the other way around.
“Come back to my castle with me, both of you. This has given me an idea I’d like to discuss with you.”
***
Hussgardo’s father had opened the back wall of the round keep tower, the side away from any attackers. Here he had built a large terrace, the outer edges lined with rose trees, the paved floor strewn with tables, benches, and seats for his guests. Hussgardo was fond of this outdoor lounge, partly because it was beautiful and peaceful, and partly because it was his father’s creation.
“This is a rare vintage wine from Ithenu, away off in the west. You deserve it for saving us today, Pondalon,” said Hussgardo.
“My goodness!” exclaimed Pondalon, “this is the best wine I’ve ever tasted!”
“One of the perquisites of power is the ability to afford and obtain almost anything. I had a sample once years ago and now I buy it by the tun. Expensive, but it’s the best I’ve ever had, too.
“I want to ask you something, Pondalon, and you too, indirectly, Bartillio. I’ve spoken to you about my pointless ambition to become a prince. Promoting myself without going to war is difficult. I’ve encouraged trade to make my realm more prosperous. I’ve financed new shipyards in my ports, new roads across the whole realm. This is all good, but no one becomes a prince because his lands prosper.
“I need something more. Something to make me stand out among my fellow rulers. A larger territory would do that, but I refuse to bring the destruction of war to my neighbors. A more populous realm might be enough, but it is hard for me to get my people to produce more children.
“But there is you, Pondalon. You can talk to your father without using speech, without even being near him. Is that right?”
“Yes, Your Highness, that’s true,” Pondalon admitted with embarrassment.
“Then maybe you have some magical ability. I was a student of the past, especially the Big War, when I was young. I still visit the Temple of Knowledge regularly to talk with the scholars. I recently gave them the money to buy a set of books on magic. They thought it might be a good addition to their library, and I agreed. I tried to read the lessons on magic in those books, but couldn’t do anything. But the books did mention that some people could have magical skills that weren’t in the books.
“I want you to take a look at these books, Pondalon. The first one tells how to build your mind up to be a powerful tool for working magical feats. The others have instructions on how to perform these feats. See if you can do any of them. If you can, I’ll pay for you to go to the school this wizard is running. If I had a court wizard, I could legitimately claim to be a prince, couldn’t I?”
“Ha ha ha ha. Oh, yes, Your Highness, prince at least!” laughed Pondalon. “Forgive my laughter, please. I don’t think of myself as a wizard. I’m just a young man with a strange ability. But I will do as you wish and read these books and try to do some bit of magic for you.”
“Think, too, of your father,” advised Hussgardo. “He is happy to be my friend and companion. Think how much happier he would be to be the friend and companion of a prince. He doesn’t talk of his ambition, but I know he would like to be more important, too.”
“Since this will please you, I will do it,” agreed Pondalon. “I only hope I do not disappoint you too much.”
***
And so it happened that a well-dressed nobleman came to the Temple of Humoparmia. The painters were still at work on the murals in the Temple proper, but the classrooms were open and ready for students. Ben’s new library, with its original door from Grarnihorn’s castle, was full of his already trained wizards reading the new volumes of lore.
Pondalon had arrived in Uslar the previous evening and took quarters in the Leaping Hart, which seemed to be the most prominent inn in town. He dressed carefully in the morning and his servant Quincy had taken considerable pains to tilt his master’s hat at just the right angle. Pondalon might not care, but Quincy was horrified at the thought his master might not look sufficiently elegant.
Tyler was a balding, elderly man who had long been a porter and carter in Uslar. Age had sapped his strength and he now worked as Ben’s gatekeeper. He was sitting on a bench in the shade of the gateway, as usual, carving an intricate pattern into a piece of wood. He rose when the strangers approached, and bowed courteously.
“May I help you, good sirs?” he asked.
“Yes, if you please,” replied Pondalon. “I wish to speak to the wizard, if I may. Is he at home today, and receiving guests?”
“Yes, certainly,” Tyler answered, pulling a short cord hanging from a board on the wall next to him. “This will call the attendant on duty, who’ll take you across to the Temple to see Ben. It’s a nifty little bit of magic, this. The cord ends right here, as you can see, but magic connects it to a bell inside the Temple. Another works for the mansion. Very clever of the master, I must say. Saves me a lot of walking, this does.
“Emmet, these gentle folk wish to speak to the master,” Tyler told the man who came out from the Temple.
“Greetings, my name is Emmet, I am attending the Temple door today. May I please ask who is wishing to visit with my master?”
“I am Viscount Pondalon, eldest son of Count Bartillio, count of Martilla in Meruno. This is my servant Quincy. I wish to study wizardry under your master, if that is possible.”
“Well, please come with me, Noble Lord,” directed Emmet, as they crossed the road. “I’m sure my master will be pleased to meet you.”
Ben was in his private study at the back of the Temple. Unlike many Temples, this Temple to Humoparmia had a rather small area for worship. The altar and statue from Grarnihorn’s castle formed the central feature of the sanctuary, but this was only a part of the much larger school. Rooms for instruction and experimentation filled most of the building. Living quarters and a dining room for the students took up the rest of the space.
“Ben, you have a visitor. Viscount Pondalon, eldest son of Count Bartillio, count of Martilla in Meruno, and his servant Quincy,” announced Emmet before bowing out.
Pondalon was nervous as he was led into the Temple. This Temple is obviously connected to that mansion across the road. The man leading me is also obviously an important servant in this Temple. He’s dressed as well as my higher servants, and seems quite comfortable around people of rank. Is this wizard a nobleman too? Should I treat him as one even if he’s not? What will he say to me? Can I convince him I really wish to learn magic?
He addressed him as just ‘Ben’ without any title or honorific. Such a short name, like a commoner. How should I address him? I want to be his student, so I should show respect for his knowledge and skills. I’m lost.
“Please, Master Ben, I, uh, I would like to learn, be trained, um, could I please become a wizard?”
Ben refrained from laughing at the stumbling diffidence of the well dressed nobleman standing before him. “Be at ease,” Ben comforted him, “I’ll be happy to help you develop any magical talent you have, and teach you all you want to learn. Who are you, and why did you come here? I presume you believe you have some talent or you wouldn’t have come. What can you do?”
“My name is Pondalon, Viscount Pondalon. My father is Count Bartillio, Count of Martilla in Meruno. He is a close friend of our Grand Duke Hussgardo and wants to help him become a prince. Hussgardo is envious of his neighbors: Taril is a Kingdom, Harith, Wilu, and Radalis are all Principalities. Meruno is also a large realm, but he is only a grand duke.
“But he is sensible. My father’s castle is near the city of Rethem, on the coast. A few miles away on the coast are the ruins of a large city, the nicest, they say, in all the land in the old days. It was totally destroyed in the Big War, and was never rebuilt. Hussgardo stops at the ruins every time he visits my father, and thinks about that great loss. Thinking about that loss, he won’t go to war to build a bigger realm.
“Instead he wants to make Meruno richer, and more important in other ways than size. He and my father think I can help with that, by becoming his court wizard. Hussgardo thinks having a wizard will boost his fame and let him claim his title as prince. My father thinks this will help him as well, since he is Hussgardo’s friend, and me in my turn.
“Well, that explains why you’re here,” admitted Ben. “But what makes you think you have talent? I can train talent, but I cannot create it in you.”
“This is what I can do. Talk in your head. My father thinks it is weird, and embarrassing, but I used it recently to warn him of an ambush, and he tolerates it now. And now he and Hussgardo think it might be magic. Is it? Can you train me?”
Ben heard Pondalon’s voice in his head and his eyes widened in surprise. He saw no movement of Pondalon’s lips, and realized he was looking at a very special talent. Another feat the grimoires did not mention. I must search Grarnihorn’s books to see if he knew this feat. What a happy day! Wait. Is this one way, or can he read minds as well? Pondalon, what am I thinking now? Say something if you understand what I’m thinking. Nothing. Just as well, actually. One must have privacy somewhere.
“Yes, if you can do that, you do have talent. I’ve never heard of such a skill, and I want to learn how you do it. You’ll join the school and we’ll work you hard. You’ll learn all we can teach you, and you’ll teach us your skill.”
***
Ben’s school was a success, at least locally. Polly, Duncan, Tania, and Joan were all effective wizards now. Their skills varied although they were equally proficient in the basic magical feats. The more complicated magic was easier for some than others, but they all managed to learn all of the techniques to some degree. Constant practice made even the harder feats achievable for all of them.
Grarnihorn’s library was intimidating in its size. Forty books giving complete details on feats of all sorts. Some of the feats were given in several versions, different ways to achieve the same effect. Some had variations, additional things which could be accomplished with the same basic feat. One was the use of the “air walls” to make a small see-through shutter for windows as well as the original protective enclosures for travelers.
Ben was surprised on reading the first volume closely that Grarnihorn had died before the Big War. This made his preservation feat even longer lasting than Ben had thought. Ben was fascinated by this feat and studied it intensely. Grarnihorn had written extensively about the feat, how to work it, what problems might arise from using it casually, what drawbacks it had.
Grarnihorn described his first attempt to protect his castle with this feat. He had finished the construction, with all the doors and windows in place, furniture arranged in all the rooms, his bed made up and ready for him to sleep in. The feat took a lot of effort to accomplish, making sure that it covered every part of such a large building. By evening, he was finished and went to eat some food his servants had placed out for him.
The food was hard as rock. The stopper in the wine decanter was immobile. He tried to take a nap, and he couldn’t turn down the covers on his bed. He tried to open a door, and the hinges were fixed in place and wouldn’t move. He couldn’t move a chair to sit down, its legs were frozen to the floor. He had preserved the castle perfectly, and it could not change, in any way at all. He spent another hour dismissing the feat, had a very late dinner, and went to bed extremely tired and very discouraged.
His notes explained his error. The feat did indeed preserve the castle perfectly, but he had not thought about the necessity for some parts to be flexible, and the need to keep food edible. He had his servants remove everything from the castle, including the doors. He then reworked the feat on the empty castle.
He removed the hinges from the doors and preserved the doors by themselves He had the hinges taken apart and separately preserved each piece. Reassembled and reattached to the doors, the hinges once again worked properly.
All the furniture had to be preserved separately, and then put in place in the rooms. His decanter and its stopper had to be preserved as two pieces. His bedding could not be preserved without becoming too stiff to use. His clothing also became too rigid to wear if he preserved it.
Grarnihorn tried to make invincible armor and found similar problems. Boiled leather armor was stiff, but preserved leather was even stiffer. It couldn’t be bent so the wearer could put it on. Metal scales could be preserved and attached to an untreated leather base, but the underlying leather was a weakness to the armor. The rings of chain armor froze to each other and refused to allow any flexibility.
Grarnihorn made one last effort to make perfect armor, by using the preservation feat on his own body. He would then be impervious to any attacks and harm, he reasoned. When he had finished, he discovered he was petrified. He couldn’t move his limbs at all. They were stuck in the positions they had been in when he worked the feat. He even found breathing difficult – his chest did not want to move to let air in. He quickly dismissed the feat and gave up his armoring project.
Ben found an additional note, written in the same hand, but less steadily, next to this account. In his old age, Grarnihorn had outlived his last servants. He had managed to use magic to bury them in a vault, but he had no one to take care of his remains. He sent letters to nearby friends and nobles, asking them to bury him properly when he died. These men came and found he hadn’t died immediately. They came back, but less and less often, and eventually forgot his request.
So he decided to preserve his body until they should come back again. He wrote how he would work the preservation feat on his body when he felt he was about to die. He would leave instructions for some other wizard to dismiss the feat so they could bury him. Ben realized, reading this, how Grarnihorn had thought of everything except the forgetfulness of his friends.
***
Pondalon had, with great difficulty, managed to write down how he was able to speak into someone’s head. It was hard to learn, but the others worked at it and added that skill to their repertoires. Ben had found the version of the skill that Grarnihorn used, and worked with Pondalon to combine the two methods into a skill that was easier to master.
Duncan’s distant vision was the hardest skill to master. He had an innate talent for re-focusing his eyes to see things at a great distance. With practice and instruction he had increased his range to ten miles when standing at the top of the castle. The others could only manage to see something a mile or so away as if it were in front of them.
Tania and the others had become as good as Ben at healing all sorts of wounds and injuries. Because of her magical skill, Tania was in great demand at the Temple of Lesopatia. She even discovered that Blaise, despite his age, had a trace of talent at magic. She worked with him to develop it enough to heal cuts and simple fractures. His ability ended with medicine, but he was grateful to be that much more useful to his Goddess.
A great many outsiders had showed up to learn magic, not the flood of students he had hoped for, but in constantly growing numbers. He accepted that knowledge of his school was spreading more slowly than he expected. Just because I always dreamed of being a wizard doesn’t mean that others share that dream. Maybe people don’t see it as a real occupation.
Some of those who came did not stay. The intense mental training was too hard for some, and too boring for others. Some could do the mental exercises and benefit from them, but still had no real talent for magic. Lighting a flame on a finger was a nice trick, but if they couldn’t do more after a few months, they left. Some learned to heal cuts and other injuries, but could not progress farther. They were often content with that, as it meant they could work as healers.
Some had talent, but no patience. They wanted to be wizards right now, not when they had finished reading all the books that Ben was putting in front of them. Ben, seeing their ability, tried to persuade them to do the work of learning magic as a prelude to doing magic. The patient ones followed his directions, the impatient ones walked away.
Ben charged his students, but only he understood how much he was going to charge any particular student. Scholars from Temples of Grasilos, and the few noblemen who came, were charged a large amount. Ben knew that rich Temples and nobles could afford to pay for their instruction. Poorer students were charged smaller amounts, sometimes trading work in the Temple for learning. Ben never turned away a student because he agreed with Grarnihorn that magic should be accessible to anyone who wanted to do it, that every would-be wizard should have the chance to become one.
After Pondalon’s arrival more scholars came from Temples of Knowledge around Orilon. Their Temples had bought Ben’s Treatise; they had read it and realized they had some talent for magic. They all worked hard on the mental exercises Ben gave them and on learning the feats in the grimoires. As they learned more about how to do magical feats, they helped Ben and the other experienced wizards with experiments based on Grarnihorn’s books.
There was also another nobleman, Count Otolengu, son of Duke Forodenu, ruler of Ithenu, a land in the far west of Orilon. He appeared on foot at the gate of the mansion one day, accompanied by one servant, named Melvin. They were dressed in sturdy but well-made traveling clothes of soft leather, with large capes hanging behind down their backs.
Tyler, the balding, elderly gatekeeper at the mansion, was sighing deeply after taking a long drink of beer. Ben is a good master and always supplies me with the best beer. Who could ever want a better job? He was sitting on a bench in the shade of the gateway, as usual, and rose when the strangers approached, and bowed courteously.
“Good morrow,” Otolengu began. “I’ve traveled far to learn the mysteries of wizardry. Is the wizard at home? Would it be possible to see him today?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Tyler said, fiddling with a short cord. “Just a moment, my lord, and someone will take you to him.”
A young man came out of the Temple across the road and led Otolengu and Melvin into the Temple. He led them toward the back where they found Ben reading in his study.
“Ben, you have a visitor. His Excellency, Count Otolengu, from Ithenu, and his servant Melvin,” Emmet announced before bowing out.
“Welcome, Your Excellency,” greeted Ben. “It’s rather a long trip from Ithenu, I believe. I hope you’re not too worn out from your travels.”
“No, we traveled by ship from Ithenu, and then by boat up the rivers of Taril to get here. I notice that your attendant referred to you as master outside, but as just ‘Ben’ in here. A strange familiarity, isn’t it?”
“I was born a peasant, as my servants were. I can’t get used to having an honorific title. They can’t get used to not using an honorific title. We compromise. I let them say what they want when they’re away from me, and insist on informality in my presence. You, as a nobleman, may find this highly abnormal, but it works for us.”
“Abnormal? Yes, somewhat. But Melvin calls me Otolengu in private, too. He’s been with me for half my life, and too much ceremony is awkward when we’re always together. I’m glad to hear your view on this; it helps me avoid an embarrassment. I would like you and the others here to call me by my name, and ignore my title. I want to be your student, doing what you tell me to do. It would be rude and awkward to pretend that my title gives me precedence over my teacher.”
“Well said, Otolengu,” remarked Ben. “And you must call me Ben, and not master. If you do well, at some point in your studies you’ll know as much about magic as I do, and then who will be the master? Some of my students have had skills that I did not have, that aren’t in the grimoires. So I find myself constantly learning from my students. We respect each others’ skills and abilities. That respect means more to us than empty titles. Now, why specifically are you here?”
“My father is Duke Forodenu, ruler of Ithenu. He is still youngish, in his forties, and of a long-lived family. He is duke now only because his father died in a hunting accident five years ago. I’m twenty and have trained in all the combat arts, including archery, even cudgel. I’ve studied at the Temple of Knowledge, learning some history, poetry, a smattering of other subjects.
“My father wants me to learn things, to learn how to rule when he is gone, to help him rule now, to be useful to the duchy. My training in combat is useful, but we don’t have much more than border skirmishes with our neighbors. I can write fairly good poetry, but that’s not very useful except in courtship. I’ve spent some time with the merchants at the Temple of Commerce, learning how trade works, and listening to their suggestions for improving our trade with others.
“That is certainly useful for the duchy, but not terribly interesting to me. I studied it well to please my father, and because I know that in time I will need to know these things. But I want to study something different, something novel. And then one of the scholars of Grasilos told me they had just received a set of books about magic.
“Magic! I was astonished. I told my father I wanted to study magic. He told me, in no uncertain terms, that there was no such thing as magic, and hadn’t been for hundreds of years. Anyone writing a book claiming to teach magic was a fraud and a charlatan. I was disappointed, to say the least. But I borrowed the books and studied them in private. And I found I could light a flame on my finger, like this, see, the first feat in the grimoire! I was amazed, and decided to learn more.
“I told my father that I wanted to travel abroad to learn about other lands, and how they were governed. He thought this was a wonderful idea, one that would teach me things he himself didn’t know. So he gave me a large sum of money to pay for my expenses and sent me off. And here I am.”
“A remarkable story. Have you managed other feats yet?”
“I’ve been trying to float feathers, but I can’t do it very well yet.”
“Ah, floating feathers. Yes, that gave me a lot of trouble, myself, until I read how in the grimoire. One of my students, Joan, learned it naturally. Some things come easier than others. Don’t let a little difficulty bother you. You said you saw the Treatise. Have you been doing the mental exercises it teaches?”
“Yes, it’s amazing how it strengthens one’s mind. It helps me focus on lighting the flame on my finger, but it also helps me be more strong willed in dealing with non-magical things.”
“Magic is entirely the use of one’s mind to control the world. The stronger your mind the more magic you’ll be able to do, the easier it will be to do, and the more effective it will be. I said I once had trouble learning how to float a feather. Now any of us here can actually fly through the air. We don’t do it much, because it scares the neighbors, but we can do it.
“Come with me and I’ll have Emmet find you a room here. Students from beyond Uslar stay here for convenience. It may not be as grand as your ducal home, but it’s comfortable. You’re not the only noble student I have at present. You’ll find Viscount Pondalon resides here too. He arrived a couple of months ago.”
***
Several months after he arrived at the wizard’s school, Otolengu approached Ben with a request.
“Ben, I’ve been working this last month on healing serious cuts,” stated Otolengu. “I’ve been doing well with it, too. Tania asked me to help her at the Temple of Healing the other day. I was surprised, but honored. I’m finally feeling that I’m learning real magic, and not just party tricks.
“But it’s made me think about my uncle, Count Dumotrino, back home. I told you my grandfather was killed in a hunting accident. He and his sons were hunting wild boars and my grandfather slipped in some wet mud and fell right in front of this charging boar. Its tusks ripped into him and killed him in a flash, and then it went after Dumotrino. My uncle killed the boar, but not before it gave him a large gash in his leg.
“It’s been five years and the wound has never healed properly. The healers can’t say why it doesn’t heal, but it won’t. They clean it out every day, put on poultices, and unguents, and special healing herbs. Nothing helps, not even the most sincere prayers and sacrifices. I was thinking today about his wound. I know you say we can’t heal illness or disease. But what about a wound that won’t heal? It’s just a wound, isn’t it? We can heal wounds. Why not this one?”
“Hmmm. That would be a real challenge, wouldn’t it? I like challenges in magic. Have you talked to Tania about this?”
“I did, and she says she’s never had to deal with such a wound since she learned magic. The healers here don’t see such wounds often, and used to just amputate the limb. My uncle has resisted that, forcefully. She’s in the main schoolroom, if you want to ask her.”
“Tania, Otolengu says he talked to you about his uncle’s leg,” began Ben, entering the large room where Tania was working with some students. “I only know the practical aspects of healing damage. You also know about medicine, disease, and illnesses. Do you think there might be a way to heal this wound? It’s been open, unhealed, for five years. Is that too long for us to do anything?”
“I don’t know, Ben. That sort of open wound is very bad. It can turn to gangrene and kill the patient. I”m surprised it hasn’t in this case. It’s always very painful. That’s why if we can’t heal it, we cut it off. That’s never good for the person’s occupation, but it relieves the pain at least.”
“I’ve never seen such a wound. What is it like?” asked Ben.
“My uncle’s wound is a long opening in his calf,” Otolengu described it. “It’s about five inches long, and won’t close up so it’s about two inches wide. There’s a lot of blood seeping out, not gushing as in a fresh cut, but oozing out. Lots of pus and other gross liquids coming out, too. The healers clean it and put fresh bandages on it, but it stays the same.”
“I saw a wound like this years ago,” added Tania, “but it wasn’t as bad as you’ve described. We kept cleaning it and it finally healed. This sounds as if the tissue of the leg is infected with something that keeps it from healing, even with cleaning.”
“Would you be willing to come with us to treat this wound?” asked Ben. “We may be doing some new magical feat, and creating a new healing technique into the bargain.”
“Yes, of course I’ll come. But how long will it take? Ithenu is a long way off.”
“You’ve become very good at magical travel. I’ll push Otolengu through a crash course to learn this feat. In fact, we’ll spend the month teaching all the students who don’t know it yet. They all need to learn it sooner or later, and it’ll be easier to do all of them at once. In a month he should know it well enough for a long trip.
“It’ll give me a chance to make some things we need for magical travel. Short distances and travel to places we know well are not a problem. But going to some place we aren’t familiar with is difficult. I’ve made a target for us to focus on, something we can sense magically and aim for as we jump. I learned this feat two years ago, and still haven’t made a decent supply of these targets.
“I make a large disk with the magical language symbol for the letter ‘M’ for magic. We all know the symbol, and it doesn’t look like any other thing we might see somewhere. And a name or a number, because I think we’ll want a lot of these disks in the future. The first trip will still be difficult, but we can leave one of these disks wherever we go, and returning will be easy.
“Magical travel to go to Ithenu will be tiring, but not as tiring as normal travel. Maybe Polly will come with us. She needs a break from teaching our students how to find things.”
***
A month later they were ready. Otolengu had been worked hard on moving magically from one place to another. Ben had pushed him hard, building up his range daily with constant practice. Now he was doing the same long jumps the others could do, and with as little effort.
“This is the big test, Otolengu,” warned Ben. They were in the large training room. “You’ve gone with us to Lugau. The scholars tell us that’s about as far away as Schwaigern in Ithenu is from here. Polly and I had been to Lugau in the past, and could imagine a place to move to near the city. We were able to describe it to you and Tania so you could come with us. Part of the feat is ‘sensing’ the place we’re going to, knowing what trees or other obstacles to avoid. You’ll have to provide us with the image of a place near Schwaigern. Describe it as fully as you can.”
“You’ve seen Schwaigern on a map, so you know roughly where it is from Uslar,” explained Otolengu. “I’ll take us to the courtyard of my father’s castle. It’s late at night, and there should be no one about at this hour. There will be a large gateway to our right, then two doors near each other....” He continued describing the space in great detail.
“Let’s hold hands with each other,” directed Ben. “That’ll help us stay together. Otolengu, you must take the lead here, since you know better than we do exactly where we’re going. Ready? Now, let’s go!”
An instant later they were standing on stone pavement under the night sky. A lone guard on the battlements was whistling softly to amuse himself. They could hear no other sounds.
“Thank you, Otolengu,” said Ben. “This is the right castle, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I don’t believe I’ve returned this way, but this is the place. I’ve known it all my life. Come with me this way and up this staircase. It leads to my rooms. We can rest there for the rest of the night.”
In the morning they went down to the great hall of the castle and found the duke eating some rolls and fruit. He looked up in surprise to see his son approaching with some strangers.
“Good morrow, father,” greeted Otolengu cheerfully. “I hope to find you in good health. I’d like to introduce you to my friends. This is Ben and his wife Polly, and a healer, Tania. Ben is a wizard. We are here to try to heal Uncle Dumotrino.”
“What! When did you get here? How did you get into the castle? It’s been locked up since last evening. A wizard? Don’t be silly! There are no wizards. I’ve told you that before. And look at him. Really! Is that the face of a wizard?”
“I assure you, Your Grace, that I am indeed a wizard, despite my goofy face. This is the little trick I usually do to prove it.” He set a finger alight.
“I’ve been teaching your son how to do this, and many other more complex feats, for several months now. He’s a smart student and learns quickly. He said you wanted him to learn something of use to your duchy. Surely having a wizard in the family, and eventually on the throne, would be useful to any realm.”
“How are you doing that? Magic doesn’t exist. Not anymore. It can’t exist because there is no one who can do… what you’re doing. Otolengu, can you do this, too?”
Otolengu lit a handful of fingers, and flung one onto his father’s thumb. Forodenu looked at the flame, burning without hurting him. He moved his thumb to a candle and lit it with the flame. It is real. It’s not an illusion. I’m not dreaming or hallucinating. Magic? How? If it works, does it matter how?
“Why are you here now, then?” asked Forodenu.
“Uncle Dumotrino. I’ve been learning how to heal serious wounds from Ben and Tania. Ben has a friend named Vince whose arm was badly slashed in a fight. Ben healed it perfectly. No loss of use. No scar. No sign of injury. He healed another friend, Jenny….”
“No, please spare my modesty,” begged Ben. “You didn’t believe that story when you first heard it. No one really does, it’s too hard to accept. Just say that I can do wonders, that’s conceited enough.”
“Anyway, I got to thinking about uncle’s leg. I hate to think of the pain he endures, and without complaint. I love him as much as I love you, and for as long. He deserves to have that leg healed, and I’d like to help do it.
“I can’t do that much magic yet, probably. But I think Ben and Tania can do this. Regular healers can’t do anything for him, but moderate his pain. I’m hoping we can find a way to use magic to heal him. Please let them try. For Dumotrino’s sake. Please.”
“Such a generous wish. I’m the wrong one to ask, though. You must ask my brother directly. I can’t imagine him turning you down, he suffers so badly. But it must be his decision. Let’s go up to his room now and you can put it to him.”
Dumotrino had three large rooms on the second floor of the castle, one looking out over the valley behind the walls, a room for him to entertain company. Another room was his bedroom, and one was what he called his ‘medical room.’ It had a large bath for relaxing his leg and cleaning it, and a table where he could get a massage. He was dressed in only a short tunic and two servants were helping him into the bath when his brother and nephew came in.
“Otolengu, what are you doing here?” he asked. “Tired of seeing Sarpala already. Or even our little bit here on Orilon? I thought it would be a year more at least before we saw you again. Who are these others? You know I don’t like strangers seeing me in my misery. You should spare me public humiliation. I am your uncle, after all.”
“I came with the idea of helping you, uncle,” Otolengu apologized. “This is my friend Ben, who is a wizard and is able to heal grievous wounds. His wife Polly and Tania, a healer, both of whom are also wizards. We want to try to heal your wound.”
“Healing a very nasty wound for a friend was one of the first magical feats I ever did,” explained Ben. “I have healed other very bad wounds often. Wizards are described as using wands to cast spells and such nonsense. We don’t; we do ‘feats’ of magic. Deeds, like a warrior using his sword, or a farmer his scythe. We use our minds to do these feats, nothing else. That’s part of what makes it so wondrous to others. They can’t see our minds working on the feat.
“I’ve healed many wounds, some fatal if not healed. I’ve never seen a wound such as Otolengu described to me. I can’t honestly promise you that I can heal you, but I have never failed to heal wounds. Tania is a healer and a wizard. She’s seen such wounds, and hopes we can find a way to heal you. May we examine your leg, please?”
With a grunt and a stifled yell of pain, Dumotrino lifted his right leg from the bath and rested it on the edge. There was a raw, red and black blotch on the outer side of the calf. Ben and Tania stepped to the bath and knelt to look at the great sore.
“I’m sorry, Your Excellency,” confessed Tania, “but this is worse than any I’ve seen in my experience as a healer. Ben, I don’t know if we can do anything about this wound.”
“You know me, Tania. I don’t give up easily. Your Excellency, may I please be allowed to touch your wound? I’ll be as gentle as I can be. But I need to understand the wound. Sight only shows me so much. A touch may aid me to deal with it.”
“I can handle the pain. I’m used to it after so many years. Do what you have to do.”
Ben carefully touched the leg, turning it to the right and to the left. He brought his face down close to the wound and peered intently at it. His fingers hovered over the injury as if he was going to open it, then he pulled them back and focused his mind on it. The edges of the wound pulled lightly back, eliciting a short gasp from the count.
Ben stood up and walked around the room for several minutes, deep in thought. He came back to the bath and looked at the count, Polly, Tania, and Otolengu in turn. He straightened his back, knelt next to Dumotrino and gazed firmly into his eyes.
“I think we, meaning all of us, not just me, we can heal this wound. It’ll not be easy. It may take a long time. I’ve never healed a wound like this, none of us have. I haven’t even seen a technique for such a healing in my grimoires. But I think I know how to go about it. His Grace said it was up to you to decide to let us heal you. Do we have your permission, Your Excellency?”
“Will I be able to walk again when you’ve finished? You won’t just cut the leg off, will you? I couldn’t accept that. I may be a cripple now, but I can sometimes hobble around. Without a leg, I would be lost. Promise me you won’t make it worse.”
“I promise you that easily,” affirmed Ben. “If we are successful, your leg will be as it was before it was first injured. No trace of the wound, no scar, full function. You’ll be able to run, jump, do whatever you wish. And I think we will be successful.”
“How will you do this?” asked Forodenu. “If you have no technique, as you call it, how will you do it? Just make a guess and hope for the best?”
“No, Your Grace, that would be cruel, to offer help I couldn’t produce. This will take an elaborate combination of magical feats. We’ll all work on this in various ways. Even young Otolengu. He’s still learning magic, but he knows some feats that’ll be useful.
“I want to put Dumotrino to sleep with magic. This will keep him from feeling pain as we work on his leg. We have some very sharp knives that can cut through the bad flesh quickly and cleanly. Polly has the most delicate touch for that, I think. Tania and I will help guide her. We have a feat by which we can see things that are far off as is they were close by us. It’ll also let us see into this wound without putting our faces in the way of our cutting.
“Otolengu will lift, float, the cut bits out of the wound by magic. I want to minimize how much we have to touch your wound. Once the bad flesh has been removed from the wound, we’ll wash it out again. Tania is a healer and knows how to do this best. Tania will also search the wound for any trace of poison or infection. If she finds any, we’ll remove that too. Once the wound is clean, I’ll close it up and do the final healing. Or, if you wish, Otolengu can do it. He’s gotten rather good at healing open cuts.”
“No, Ben, I don’t want the responsibility of closing this wound. My uncle has suffered so much pain over the years. I’d hate to do a bad job on it from nervousness, and have him suffer again because of me.”
“You said you didn’t have a method for doing this, and now you give us a detailed account of what you’re going to do,” wondered Forodenu. “Are you making this up as you go along after all?”
“No, Your Grace, I’ve just thought about the different stages we have to go through. Each part is something we know how to do. Even closing the wound is trivial, once one learns how. I merely had to be sure I had thought of all the stages. I think this will be possible, and probably successful. May we proceed, Your Excellency?”
“Yes, you seem confident in your abilities,” agreed Dumotrino. “I like that in a man. Learn this young man’s faith in himself, Otolengu. It will be of more worth to you in your life than any amount of magic.”
“Where did those servants go?” asked Ben. “Ah, here you are. Would you please lift Dumotrino from the bath and carry him over to this table? It’s just the right height for us to work. All right. Are you comfortable now, Your Excellency?”
“I’m rarely comfortable, but the pain is bearable. Go ahead, please.”
“The rest of you should leave the room now. I’m going to use some magic to put Dumotrino to sleep, and it would probably affect you as well. I’ll bring you back in when he is ready for us.”
The others left the room and Ben began his long, slow, soothing speech about the wonders of sleep, how restful it was, how delightful to be free of the cares of the wakeful world. Soon Dumotrino was sound asleep and Ben brought the others back.
“Tania, Polly, are you ready? Fine, increase your vision. Tania, you know these wounds somewhat, tell us how much we should magnify our sight. Four times? All right. Polly, start cutting this area first, it looks like it’s all bad flesh. Otolengu, as she cuts pieces off, float them out. Good, keep cutting Polly. If your hand gets cramped, switch with Tania. My fingers are too fat for this work.”
For half an hour they worked, slowly cutting the dead and sour flesh from the wound. Polly gave the knife to Tania, who gave it back later. At last it looked as if they had removed all the damaged, rotten flesh. Tania took one more close look, increased her magnification, and took the knife again to cut one last tiny bit they had missed.
“Done,” she sighed. “That’s the last of the bad flesh. I see no sign of other infection. Nothing but solid flesh. Pass me that water and I’ll cleanse the wound. We’re tired, Ben. Time for you to finish closing the wound.”
“Don’t look at me again, Ben,” objected Otolengu. “When Dumotrino told me to get your confidence, I was ready to do the closing. But I’m tired from my part, too.”
“That’s all right, Otolengu, more practice will build up your mental powers and strength. Wanting to do it is almost as good as doing it. And a tired wizard can make mistakes the same as any other tired worker. Sit down and rest while I close this up. Forodenu, you might want to watch this. It’s my vanity to show off with this.
“Everything we’ve done so far is just cleaning out the wound very thoroughly. This is the final touch. Closing the wound and healing the damage inside. I bring the two parts of the cut together and let them join to each other. With my mind I will them to become one. I don’t know why this should work, but it does. Magic is more practice than theory. My mind wants this to happen, and it does happen.
“There, all done. Look at that leg and tell me where the wound was! Not so much as a scratch to show the place. I’m inordinately proud of my ability to make nice clean heals of cuts.”
Duke Forodenu looked at his brother’s leg and marveled. He had seen Ben bringing the edges of the cut together and holding them. And somehow, as he watched, the line of the wound began to disappear. Now there was no trace of the ugly blotch that had ruined his brother’s life.
Ben spoke a few quiet words into Dumotrino’s ear and the count opened his eyes. He blinked and looked around the room. Then his eyes went wide open. He looked at his leg, and cried out in joy, “You did it! You healed my leg! I don’t feel any pain! This is so wonderful!”
The two brothers fell upon Ben, hugging him and praising his marvelous skills. Ben called his partners over to get their proper share of the thanks. Dumotrino slid from the table gingerly, and put his full weight on his right leg. It held. He felt no pain. He danced a caper and laughed.
***
The celebratory feast had been magnificent. Boar, beef, goose, salmon, eels, rich wines, fine brandy. When it was finally over, the duke’s family and their guests from Uslar retired to the duke’s private study. Duchess Narditova and Dumotrino’s Countess Pasligato waited on Ben and his friends as if they were royalty.
“I owe you so much, Ben,” declared Dumotrino. “I would gladly give you half my lands. Say the word and they are yours. Pasligato agrees with me on this. I am serious.”
“I cannot possibly accept so generous a reward,” answered Ben. “I was born a peasant and know nothing of how to rule large lands. I have my own mansion I share with my friends. I have my school and Temple of magic. That is responsibility enough for me. And your lands are here in Ithenu, while I live in Taril. A lord who doesn’t live where his lands are can’t properly govern or help his people.”
“But we both owe you some great reward for your help,” interjected Forodenu. “If not lands, wealth, then. I am a duke, with a full treasury. Demand what you wish, and it will be yours. I would have offered half of my lands myself to anyone who could have healed my brother. You did this without asking for anything. Why?”
“Because Otolengu asked me to do it, and I like him,” replied Ben. “He told me how Dumotrino’s suffering affected him. He told me also that you had forbidden his studying magic. He’s an intelligent student, a quick learner of all the feats he’s tried so far. I want to spread the knowledge of magic around Orilon, and he’s a good model for others. I wanted to show you how his wizardry could be useful to you and your realm. This was a good way to do that.
“If you really want to reward me, us, then reward him by permitting him to continue his studies with me. In another year he will be quite proficient and ready to return to you as a full wizard. I hope that he will consider creating his own school of magic here, to spread the knowledge to even more people.
“He’s looked over the list of magical feats we have. He can tell you which ones would be helpful to a ruler. We’re developing new feats ourselves, and he will share in them as well. By honoring him, you will honor us.”
“Your school, at least, should be something we can support for you,” offered Narditova. “Ten thousand moons every month, every year, will make your school famous and great.”
“Too much, Your Grace,” objected Ben. “I charge my students to support the school and some extra money would help me take on more poor students. Even poor people can have the magical talent. As I told you, I was a peasant when I started out. But money won’t make the school famous or great. Only the teaching we do there can do that.
“I understand you. You feel indebted to us. We did something for you no one else could do. A fair trade would be for you to do something for us that no one else can do. But what is that? What can you do for a wizard he can’t do for himself? Money is a good answer, because even wizards need to eat. I will only ask you to pay for Otolengu’s lessons, rather than letting him pay for them himself. Is that fair enough?”
“His lessons plus five thousand moons every month, every year,” countered Forodenu. “We are wealthy nobles. We can afford to buy what we want, without thinking about the cost. We can afford to throw money away if we want. This is not throwing money away. This is a thank you from our hearts for your kindness to my brother.”
“His lessons, plus only one thousand moons per month,” bargained Ben. “I think that is more than generous. I sell copies of books on magic for very large amounts of money. I’m not greedy and would not abuse your generosity. If you must spend more, put it to building a school for Otolengu to manage. We can talk some more about this if you want, but tomorrow. It’s late, and magic drains our energy a lot. We would like to rest for the night. We beg you to let us stay for the next week as well. I want to make certain that Dumotrino’s injury has fully healed, and not been merely hidden.”