XVI – When the cat’s away #2

The young Tobert lifted the wooden and leather case he was carrying and set it upon Kuopio’s lap.

He undid the metal clasps and opened the lid.

With his index finger, he indicated the vials one by one until he found the one he sought.

The vial, made of glass and as large as the palm of his hand, with a wide mouth, he swirled in the air to judge the fluidity of the blue liquid, and handed it to his master.

As he wheeled back toward the case, he found Kuopio’s reddish hair blocking his view.

With a finger upon his forehead, he pushed it aside whilst giving him a stern look, closed the lid and fastened the clasps.

But the redhead remained dumbfounded, for it was not only the contents that caught his attention, but also the cover, the carved runes, the flowers and, in the centre, crowned, the image of a golden lyre that seemed to glow with its own light.

'Try it, if thou wilt,' Salvetja said to Maed after he had stayed his hand just as he was about to bring the serum to Narg’s mouth. 'Only safe is a king when loyal and alert are his warriors.'

Defying, Maed dipped his little finger into the vial and then sucked it.

'It tastes of stale dungeon mead—yet it is no poison.'

He paused ere suffering him to proceed, to ensure he did not expire upon the floor.

'A refined palate thou dost possess. In truth, it is a reduction from the fermentation of divers herbs: lemon balm, pennyroyal, lavender, lime blossom and mint—and, of course, honey from the comb.'

'He seems more a minstrel than a leech,' quoth Celtión derisively.

'Without stories, no memories exist. Without memories—what purpose hath healing?' retorted Salvetja, pressing his ear to the king’s chest.

Celtión was not convinced by his friendly smile nor by the fact that he did not look her in the face.

Determined to mark her territory, she reached across the bed and took hold of her father’s arm, which hung limply by his side.

She sought Maed’s support, but he, far from desiring to mock, beheld the sorcerer with admiration.

'If it can be known,' she said after snorting, 'what is the diagnosis?'

Salvetja paused in his meticulous examination and, as he replied, his smile faded.

'Enemies, all kings have—yet special is this raven. Not at the borders but in the siege of his own mind doth the head lose. The rod of legends stands alongside the stars, yet if to err be a mistake, no right move may reach it.'

Narg uttered a groan and sought to lift his hand unto his head. He was asleep, ay, yet the pain abated not.

Maed roused himself and, together with Tobert, lifted the king’s head by the nape of his neck, so that Salvetja might pour the bluish, viscous potion upon Narg’s lips. Thereafter, a faint orange glow illuminated the sovereign’s throat as he exhaled a sigh of relief.

'The spark serum shall serve—enough to guide the way—but only with company may it bring down the walls.'

'It will not work,' Kuopio stated. 'Owin has already tried that.'

'The same forge and the same metal, in the hands of two blacksmiths, two different swords shall yield,' replied Salvetja.

Tobert cleared his throat to break the silence, and his master, with a subtle, friendly gesture, encouraged him.

'Not all Naamclënt perceive the energy of things in the same manner—hence the different uses of power, and the different results.'

Any man might become a sorcerer—yet the Naamclënt, Children of the Earth in Leighill, are those who possess an innate ability to manipulate magic.

'Spells we may cast without giving aught in return, and upon things we may intervene to change them—for better or for worse.'

The seed of magic was inherited at random and bound them for generations to Alferwen, the firstborn of Ask and Embla, the first humans fashioned by Odín and his brothers.

When the ash and the elm were brought to life, they carried in their sap the Wellspring of Magic that flowed through the earth, which condensed into a seed so that Alferwen might be born.

Esteemed as the first sorceress, she bore several children, though not all received the blessing; yet those who did—the Naamclënt—were charged with passing it on.

Still at Kuopio’s side, Tobert opened the case and drew forth a small bluish stone and a daisy.

'Every thing upon earth, living or lifeless, possesseth energy and emitteth its own vibration.'

The objects in his hand began to glow. Whilst the stone emitted leaden pulses, the flower spun round and round, enveloped in a warm amber light.

'To be a sorcerer is not merely to mix potions and chant—it is the art of transformation.'

He merely had to close his eyes for the rock to turn to dust and form a small but turbulent whirlwind that remained in the air even after he removed his hand.

Satisfied, he closed them again and, as the daisy vanished in his fist, the whirlwind gathered its particles once more and, lifeless, fell to the ground.

'It is not the same,' he said as he picked up the rock. 'Destruction shall ever be easier than healing—yet our duty it is to maintain the balance of the world. Never hath a stone been worth less than a flower, nor the reverse; hence doth power carry with it the responsibility to choose wisely.'

'And with that fairground display, do you think yourselves more suitable than the empire’s royal sorcerer?' quoth Celtión, accompanying her query with the most mocking of gestures.

In response, Tobert, with a small smile, looked at his master. Somewhat embarrassed, he lifted his tunic. In the midst of his belly—and as Salvetja pointed at it with his middle and index fingers—the shape of a snowflake, with three and a half points, appeared.

'All the points currently possible hath my master’s,' he said proudly. 'Four and a half.'

The perfect geometric shape, with eleven points at each star-shaped tip, was the mark that identified them, and the number of stars that formed it was evidence of how close their power was to that of Alferwen.

It had become increasingly rare for a Child of the Earth to be born since they had dedicated their lives to service and knowledge.

Only those who inherited the seed from both parents bore the complete six-pointed seal, which made it all the more unlikely.

It was said that Colquen had been one of them, and that was the reason for his immeasurable power.

'I have never beheld Owin’s,' quoth Kuopio, taking the opportunity to cast another glance within the case even as Tobert replaced the pebble.

'It taketh another Naamclënt to discover it, and it is not seemly to show one’s navel to all and sundry.'

Maed, who in his amazement had not ceased stroking Narg’s damp forehead, shrugged and asked with the utmost innocence:

'So he can make potions that others cannot?'

'Let us proceed and season the verses the troubadours shall compose of this adventure,' quoth Tobert enthusiastically. 'If the king recover before midnight, they owe us the snooper’s red beard.'

Kuopio’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, and as he shook his head, he reached up to tuck away the curly locks hanging from his chin.

'And what if he loses?' asked Maed, having agreed to the terms.

'Slit my throat thou shalt,' said Salvetja. 'Of my diagnosis convinced am I, and if wrong I be found, life—unless it be to serve my king—shall hold no meaning.'

It was a bargain Kuopio never imagined he would be so eager to lose, and the language Maed understood best: the playful one.

Celtión rose and, despite Maed’s endeavours to persuade her to remain and watch over her father, withdrew to perform the evening rite.

'Without the aid of my prayers, he will succumb along with the light.'

There remained two hours ere the moon should prevail over the sun when the five elite warriors, armed and clad in armour, entered the council chamber. Owin and Gwion had barely brushed the dust from themselves and washed their faces. None of them had rested, and it showed.

'Very well, gentlemen—I shall take the floor in Narg’s absence,' said Gwion, closing the door as Cheas lit the eyes of the sentinel raven above the lintel.

'Who put you in charge?' snapped Arwel, his clear eyes screaming just how irate he was.

'No one. I am merely beseeching that we comport ourselves reasonably, lest this assembly end as did the last. Tros is no longer here,' he bowed his head in respect, 'nor is Narg to stay our hands from slaying one another.'

They parted into two companies to recount their several experiences. Owin took the lead and narrated all, including the encounter with Tregor and how they had survived the ambush. Cheas, a worthy son of a light sorcerer, smote the table with his fist, but Gregor soothed him.

'He has confessed to being the author of the manuscript,' Owin continued.

The leader of the troop drew a deep breath and pondered. It struck him as passing strange that the scribe had kept that ability concealed, especially when he recalled, with his extraordinary memory, the awe and devotion he had shown upon hearing about Gwion and Tower.

'I swear. I had practised the spell, yes, but it did not work until I was in danger,' insisted Owin, defending himself against the accusing glances.

'How do you explain the magical plasma, the ruin, and the bonfire in the wood where you spent the night?' Arwel snapped.

Even as he addressed Owin, who sat to one side with one hand upon the hilt and the other upon the table whilst playing with the ring of the kingdom, he did not take his eyes from Gwion.

'You forsook your sword; a warrior ne’er doth that,' quoth Gregor, justifying the commander’s harshness.

'I do not recall precisely. I beheld a fire in the forest glade despite the storm. As I drew near, a hand seized my shoulder and I lost consciousness. I awoke at dawn and, lest I be tardy, I ran and forgot my sword.'

Arwel twisted his mouth, Cheas and Gregor exchanging quick glances. None of the three fully trusted him.