Chapter 6: The Basics of Sorcery

Up on the rear seat of the carriage roof, I find myself holding in laughter, such is the pleasure of my station. If my childhood friends could see me now they would understand. For we used to

jump on the back of carriages (less elegant than this one) until some guard or servant would notice and then chase us off sometimes with the

flick of a whip.

Be quick, Crow, or that fierce leather cord will draw welts upon your skin.

Now I am raised in a seat of authority. No need to hide,

crouched low near the rear wheels.

No, indeed, here I am happy at my conveyance through the wood. True, it is very damp in this mist and a little cold too. Yet I would not swap my position for the seats inside. Not for a while at any rate. There is too much enjoyment to be had from

watching the trees go by; inhaling the scents of the wood; feeling the motion of the vehicle beneath my feet, my hands on the rail around the roof that keeps our baggage secure.

As my thoughts settle from an intense observation of all that is new to a child of the streets and my mind accepts my strange environment as normal, I reconsider my skills. Pick Lock is overdue an advance, but perhaps I should change my afk choice? To open locks no longer seems so urgent. Cooking appeals, for the sake of all my companions. Listen, Spot Hidden, Read Magic Runes and Dagger might all help when we reach our first challenge. Perhaps Animal Friend would help were we to be

hunted by wolves or bears?

Of these, it seems that the skill I will call upon most often and the one most likely to have significant outcomes should it succeed is Spot Hidden. I therefore change my afk levelling skill according to my decision: Spot Hidden.

After an hour of swaying in the roof seat of the carriage a wonderful change takes place. Our path rises and the close-confined world of mist and trees comes to an end. Abruptly, I am above the mist and the trees have thinned out so that rather than but a few metres my horizon is now about ten kilometres in every direction. To my right are

the grey-walls and the towers of Nekis. It is surprising how distant my home city seems already; small in its surroundings of mist-clung fields. To my left is

a youthful river, small and lively, flowing southwards into grey rainclouds and towards the coast that is hidden from my view. Could I set eyes on the sea from here? I would wish to, having never yet seen it. Ahead are hills, mostly small and rounded, but in the distance some of the light blue ridges have sharp peaks.

On and on we go. The parallel dirt tracks we follow become thinner; the grass between them thicker; the jolts from uneven ground more frequent. And on until the sun has overtaken us and my shadow hurries along the ground behind me (and a little to the side), not ahead.

‘Woa. Ease up there Valiant. Ease up there Lamrial.’ The coach slows and comes to a stop, for, as far as I can tell, no particular reason. There are hills in every direction and no sign of a village or even a single lonely cottage.

The carriage door opens and Belle leaps out. ‘Oh, I’m glad to get a stretch. How was the ride up there Crow?’

‘If my friends could have seen me, they would have been impressed. And with no roof above my head, I have no urge for a stretch.’

‘Right. It might not be so bad up there. A bit lonely perhaps. You missed out. Lisandra was telling us about her life in the castle. She’s very funny.’

I climb down intending to join my runaway friend but am distracted by the complex sequence of tasks by which Gerard – soon joined by Arax – unharnesses the horses.

‘They need a drink and a rest,’ the elder man explains to me.

‘So do we all,’ says the sorceress, leaving the carriage with a heavy step to the ground. ‘Let’s eat some bread, while it is fresh.’

A loaf is passed around and, careful not to tear off my than my share, I enjoy the scent of the bread and my mouth appreciates the texture of both crust and soft interior. Once the horses are browsing the ground with their long noses and finding tufts of grass to their taste, we settle with rocks as seats. I gather from the conversation that we are

about two hours away from our destination. The quest is some kind of challenge beneath a stone column. Unless we are delayed we will not need to camp in the somewhat dangerous, dark, and wild lands of these hills, but should be able to reach the fishing village of Biddlecove. The sea then. And perhaps a fine sunset under which to enjoy it. Assuming all goes well under the column.

‘What do you know about the challenge?’ asks Belle.

Lisandra nods, as if approving on the question. ‘I don’t personally know anyone who has been there, but I’ve read that it’s a chamber with a huge playing board and dangerous pieces that attack you.’

‘Can you say, what game we must play?’ The board games of my early years included Last One Out; Hunters; Chess; Capture the Rogue; Three-in-a-Row; and Asārte’s Throne. I was good at them all.

‘Apparently, it is a bit like Hunters,’ Lisandra shrugs.

Hunters. Four pieces try to pin down one on a grid. If you know what you’re about, the hunters always win. I am

interested. Expectant. Hopeful.

After our rest, Belle insists on taking a turn on the roof seat, while, with surprising confidence and an air of maturity, though he is hardly a year older then me, Aarax settles in the driver’s seat with the reins. There is little conversation as I sit inside the carriage with Gerard and Lisandra. The older man seems shy; the sorceress tired.

There comes a time when Lisandra’s blue eyes are

open and regarding me like a cat might: indifferent, but not without an amused affection.

I meet her gaze. ‘It might help our quest go well, were you to tell me about your spells.’

‘My spells is it? Do you know how arcane magic works?’

I shake my head: although have some idea, I’ve never heard a sorcerer speak about this. Gerard shakes his head too, when she looks across at him.

‘An arcane caster channels magic from the cosmic realm – don’t ask, or we’ll end up talking philosophy, not magic – via symbols, gestures and sounds. The number of spells we can cast depends on our level, the range of spells we can draw from depends on our Spellcasting skill and only if you’ve had the opportunity to study the arcane symbol of any particular spell. I am a Level Three Sorceress with my Spellcasting skill at eight. I get two second level spells and three first as a result of my level and eight choices of spell thanks to my skill. With the Necromancer’s library containing fourteen arcane symbols I am set to progress for some years.

‘I hold the spells in my head,’ her eyes become distant for a moment, before returning to mine, ‘and if I want to change my spells I have to mediate on a different arcane symbol. Still with me?’

‘If you don’t mind, can you say a little more about that?’ Gerard is polite in tone as well as in word.

‘Which?’

‘The symbol.’

‘I see.’ With a momentary impatience, Lisandra pushes herself up, steadies her body with a hand against the polished panels of the carriage interior (leaving a print, how long until the glory of the Necromancer’s carriage becomes worn and tattered?) and unties a bag from a peg. From it, she finds a small book, which she opens and displays to us. In vivid colours, one per page, are complex symbols, like letters or numbers, but twisting and with curls and intertwining parts. There’s something of my

dreams in each and I feel vertigo looking at them.

‘If I don’t have this book, I could draw a crude version of a symbol on paper, or even in the dirt. But with this book my meditations are quicker. It takes me about twenty minutes to change a first level spell.’

I am curious. ‘You are carrying five spells in your thoughts? When cast, what outcome will be wrought?’

‘Detect Magic, Sorcerer’s Defence, and Flare are my first level spells. Flare causes a streak of fire to emerge from my hand, strong enough to kill an unprotected level zero person. You’d probably live but Gerard would burn up.’

‘Might be handy for starting a fire though?’ Our coachman is unperturbed by the image of his violent death and Lisandra laughs. She laughs easily.

‘Blade Cloud and Shapechange – Humanoid are my second.’ She holds up her right hand as though we were about to interrupt her. ‘Before you get carried away, the blade cloud is stationary and only fills a cube that is three metres in length. You wouldn’t want to run through it though.’

‘And the spells you did not select? Which three did you neglect?’

‘See Invisible at second; Read Magic and Protection from Snakes at first. I could swap to those if we need them, given time to meditate, but as they are very situational, I favour the others as my readied spells.’

What must it be like to be able to wield magic? If I could, I would use magic to fly. Crow by nature as well as name. The wish was not an impossible one. Rogues of level seven – of whom, according to rumour, there was only one, an inferni – were said to be able to memorise arcane symbols and cast a spell.

‘And since we are sharing our class information,’ says Lisandra, ‘what are your rogue skills?’

‘With Cooking, Find Traps, Set Traps and Listen I begin. Then Climb, Swim, Read Magic Runes and Spot Hidden. Knowledge Streets, Knowledge Religion, Wield Dagger and Animal Friend: of my one-point skills, that is the end. Pick Lock I have at level two. And Stealth five is only new.’

‘Stealth five!’ Lisandra blinks then looks to see if Gerard is equally impressed.

‘Fair play lad,’ the grey-bearded man pats my leather shoulder armour. ‘You must have worked day and night to get your increases. That might come in very useful.’

The approval of this steady man is a pleasure and to have given Lisandra such a welcome surprise matters too. It is with a glow of satisfaction that I lean back and, since the conversation does not continue, I close my eyes.

Cathaldus is teaching me to fly. We both have large, black wings attached to our shoulders. His are authentic. Mine, I know, are a contrivance because I don’t have real parents. I’m anxious my wings might fail but it’s exhilarating to be soaring through the air. And, after all, Cathaldus understands me. He wouldn’t let me use the wings unless he was sure I was safe.

A call and a change in my body’s motion bring an end to the dream. The carriage has stopped.

‘This is as close as the path goes,’ says Aarax from up front.

Lisandra pats my knee and I open my eyes to her always-honest smile. ‘Wake up Crow. We’re here.’

Here is a hill to the north, not too high nor too steep but rocky. And on the top of the rocks is a dark, round tower, from which flies a ragged black flag. My sense of excitement and pleasure – that I am out of the city and questing on behalf of our people – is given an extra lift by the notification that came while I dozed. My Spot Hidden has increased to 2.

***

I’m still evolving the narrative voice. Thanks to feedback from a subscriber and my own unease with it, I’m trying something new in this chapter. Instead of intermittent rhyming thoughts from Crow, he only rhymes when he puts thoughts into words to speak aloud. To get a sense of his bird-like mind, I’m now trying broken paragraphs. I like the effect and will probably backtrack to make all the narration like this (i.e. remove the unspoken rhymes but fracture the usual grammatical form of some paragraphs). Feedback on this is very welcome!