A Touch of Magic (6 page)

“Drink your beer boy, and get that blush off your face,” Earl chuckled.

“I can drink the beer?” Randall asked, incredulously.

“’Course you can, boy,” Earl snorted. “You’re not a child any more. You’re apprenticed. First step to manhood and all that. Besides, this’ll probably be the last beer you’re gonna want for a long time,” he said.

Randall took a sip of his beer and pulled a face. It wasn’t good at all. He couldn’t understand how the men at the inn could down it with such gusto. Then he leaned forward and lowered his voice a little. “I don’t get it, Master. Why didn’t Melinda’s Pa come give me a thrashing?”

Earl grinned. “Consider it a lesson in the ways of the world, son. This inn ain’t the only place to have a beer in this town during the job fair. If that barkeep was really interested in saving his daughter’s virtue, he’d put her up in the kitchen, snug and safe and out of sight. And you can bet that three-fourths of the patrons in the place would be getting drunk somewhere else. No, he knows he’s got a good lookin’ daughter, and he puts her to good use. Probably woulda went out of business a long time ago, otherwise. This town ain’t really big enough for an inn at all. A pinch here and there’s a small price to pay to keep a roof over your family’s head.” Earl looked introspective. “Now, when the girl ends up pregnant and has to marry some soldier and leave the inn, he’ll be in dire straits. He probably hasn’t thought that far ahead, though.”

Randall took another drink, and made another face. Earl lost his thoughtful look and chuckled again.

“It’s an acquired taste,” he said. “You have to drink a lot of it before you like it. It grows on you,” Earl explained in response to Randall’s puzzled look. Randall didn’t think he could ever drink enough of the nasty stuff to ever grow to like it.

Throughout the evening Earl encouraged him to drink up, to ‘act the part’. By the time he’d downed his third beer, he’d stopped caring about the nasty looks Melinda shot him every time she checked on their table. After his fourth, he had forgotten about how terrible it tasted. He completely lost count of how many beers he’d drunk shortly after that. Earl himself was quaffing large pints of stout with gusto. Soon, Randall’s head was swimming, and after standing up to make another trip to relieve his bladder he found himself clutching the back of his chair, his stomach doing flip-flops. He looked up at Earl in desperation before most of his dinner came up and covered the table they’d been sitting at.

“Uh oh,” Earl said and quickly steered Randall outside. The cold night air hit Randall in the face like a slap, and the rest of his dinner immediately came up, spewing all over the ground.
Been throwin’ up all day,
he thought drunkenly. He retched a few more times and then had one of those rare milliseconds of clarity that you can only truly appreciate when you’re falling down drunk. He swiveled his head sideways and fixed a bleary eye on Earl.

“Why ainchoo drunk?” he slurred.

“Well, I’ll be!” Earl exclaimed, playing the mock innocent. “I must be drinking the wrong stuff! Now, if you’re all done wasting a good meal, we should get you upstairs and put to bed.”

A few minutes later, Randall was tucked away in a nice warm bed, though the room was still spinning dizzily.

“Gon-be sick ‘gain” Randall gulped.

“Shh, boy. Just sleep.” Earl whispered. And then he said something else that Randall didn’t hear because he was fast asleep.

The next morning, it sounded like an entire cavalry was holding maneuvers in Randall’s room. He moaned and pulled a pillow over his head to try and block out the noise. It didn’t help any, and the racket continued unabated until Randall couldn’t stand it any longer. He peeked out from under the pillow, and saw Earl packing their gear.

Earl noticed Randall’s glance and smiled brightly. “Good morning young squire!” he said, with entirely too much enthusiasm, and entirely too loudly. “I see that you’re up bright and early! I trust your sleep was sound, and that you dreamt of the serving girl’s rounded posterior?”

Every word was like a hammer blow to Randall’s pounding head. He groaned and tried to burrow back down beneath his pillow.

“Ah, headache?” Earl asked, bright and cheery. Randall only moaned in response. “That’d be called a ‘hangover’, lad. Happens when you drink ‘til you’re falling down. Nature’s way of punishing the stupid, I think. You remember that next time you’re in a pub and have the urge to get hammered.”

He snatched the pillow off of Randall’s head and gave him a wicked grin. “Now rise and shine, boy. It’s time we were off.”

Randall helped Earl carry their traveling gear downstairs, trying to shake some of the cobwebs from his head. His tongue felt coated and his teeth gritty. The sunlight stabbed directly into the center of his brain, even through closed lids.
If this is what drinking does to you, I’m never touching another drop,
Randall thought miserably. He weakly loaded the cart while Earl settled up with Frank.

Before long, they were back on the road and heading away from Geldorn. The bumpy dirt road didn’t help Randall’s head, or his mood. Still feeling miserable, Randall barely took note of the fact that he was further away from home than he had ever been before. They rode for a couple of hours in silence, until the pounding in Randall’s head diminished to a more bearable level.

“Why don’t you have a hangover?” Randall asked accusingly, when he felt up for conversation.

“Didn’t get drunk,” Earl replied, matter-of-factly. Now that they had left civilization behind them, Earl had dropped the smiles and boisterous tones. Randall realized that they must have just been part of Earl’s disguise.

“But, I saw Melinda bring you more drink than I had!” Randall protested.

“Sure she did. But I’m bigger than you, lad. I can drink more. Besides, how much of it did you actually see me
drink
?” Earl asked.

Randall thought about it. He could form a clear picture in his mind of Earl bringing the tankard to his lips and taking a swallow while rowdily telling a story. But he couldn’t really get a clear idea of how many times he’d actually seen Earl do it. He had been much more focused on his own drinking, and simply assumed that because he saw Earl drinking, and because he had seen Melinda bring him a lot of drinks, that Earl had drunk them all. But he was forced to admit that he couldn’t be sure of how many pints Earl had actually downed in the course of the evening. “I dunno,” he concluded.

“Exactly so,” Earl said, as if that settled things. “Now since your curiosity seems to be returning to normal, you must be ready for the morning’s lessons. Let’s go over yesterday’s lessons first, so we can see what you’ve learned.”

“But we didn’t have any lessons yesterday!” Randall said.

“We didn’t?” Earl asked. “You mean to tell me you didn’t learn
anything
yesterday?”

“Well,” Randall started, thinking. “I learned that I don’t like the taste of beer, that and you say King Priess has Mages in Court. And….Melinda’s butt isn’t as soft as I imagined.”

Earl smirked at that last comment. “Ah, sounds like you learned that there’s still a lot you don’t know. It would serve you well to keep that in mind. I’m getting to be an old man, and there’s still a lot
I
don’t know. Anything else?”

Randall thought some more. “I probably shouldn’t say,” he started.

“Out with it boy,” Earl demanded.

“Well, you’re an awfully good liar,” Randall said meekly, unconsciously shying away from the Mage. Where he grew up, calling someone a liar was a fighting offense.

Earl laughed out loud before fixing Randall with a look. “True enough. But I want to be crystal clear about something. I’m serious about having you as an apprentice. You need to trust me if I’m going to teach you properly. I’m promising here and now that I’m not going to lie to you boy. You won’t always want to hear the truth, or want to believe it, but the truth is what I owe to you if I’m going to make a Mage out of you. Got it?”

Randall nodded, but wasn’t entirely sure he believed.

“Good. Now, let’s talk about my ruse as a caravan master. We both know what the folks in your town would have done if I had come in as Mage Erliand Kestorn. They’d have been beside themselves with apoplexy, and a very frosty reception I’d have received.”

“Your real name is Erliand?” Randall asked, interrupting.

“Right as rain, it is. That name’s got a fair reputation in some parts of the world, too. Not that it should matter to you, lad. For the next few years, only thing you’ll be calling me is Master,” the Mage replied.

“Now, where was I? Oh yes,” Erliand continued. “Geldorn’s a fairly small and backward village. Don’t cut your eyes at me…it’s the truth. Practicing magic is illegal in Tallia anyway, but even on the big continent the uneducated are superstitious about us, especially when there are no Mages in the community to help set a good example. Your people wouldn’t have accepted me as a Mage, that’s for sure. Probably would have called out the militia on me. So, it was much easier to be Earl, the caravan master. It’s a part I’ve played before.”

“But what do we learn from it, boy? Two things, really. First, magic isn’t always the easiest way to get things done. I could have whisked you away from your family in the dark of night, using magic to prevent your parents from stopping me. And the next day there’d have been a hue and cry, and the entire village would eventually tear up the countryside looking for you. That wouldn’t do at all, all that noise and fuss wrecking my peace and quiet. If they found us, they’d probably try to string me up for kidnapping, and then I’d have had to kill a few of your friends and neighbors just to get them to leave me alone. And then the law would have to get involved, and eventually, knights from the palace. Pretty soon, I’d be calling all sorts of attention to myself killing off the King’s own Mages. And that just wouldn’t do at all.”

Randall looked closely at Erliand for a wink or a grin, but there was nothing whatsoever to indicate that the man was joking. He shuddered, but didn’t interrupt.

Earl continued, “As it is, just about everyone’s happy. I got what I want, and your parents saw their boy off to a respectable profession, and got heavier purses because of it. And nobody’s going to raise a fuss and come looking for you later. Only one who seems unhappy is you, lad. But I’m not to blame for that. I didn’t force you to
become
a Mage. Being a
Mage isn’t something you learn. It’s something you
are
. You’d begin using your power soon enough, with or without my help. But without it, you and your family would have been in grave danger.”

Randall just looked down at his feet, glum, and Erliand continued. “The second thing to learn is that people are going to see what they want to see, boy. Most people are generally easy to fool, because they don’t like anything to upset their little apple carts. Your father wanted to believe I was a caravaner, because I seemed like a nice man, and I dangled money in front of his eyes. Remember that if you ever need to disguise yourself or hide. Even with the help of magic, it’s a lot easier to fool people if you fit in with their expectations and play to their vices. Nobody expects a balding, slightly chubby old man named Earl to be a Mage,” he chuckled.

Erliand’s words echoed almost exactly what Bobby had said. Randall realized how easily Bobby had been fooled by Erliand’s outward appearance, because Erliand had shown people exactly what they expected. Randall would probably have been fooled himself if ‘Earl’ had not revealed himself at the first opportunity. “You can’t judge a situation at first glance.” Randall summarized.

“See? I knew I’d picked the right lad,” Erliand said. “Appearances can be deceiving. You remember that if you ever face
real
evil. So, let’s talk about what you’ve learned today so far.”

“The only thing I’ve learned today is that my head hurts!” Randall complained.

“I imagine so, lad” Erliand said. “But why does it hurt?”

“Because I drank too much?” Randall said, half answer, half accusation.

“Right. Actions have consequences. And just because you may be having fun doing what you’re doing doesn’t mean you won’t pay for it later.” Erliand lectured.

Randall nodded, and lapsed into thought. His mind wandered from yesterday’s events to his possible future. The more he thought about it, the more Randall realized that since he had no choice in the matter, being a Mage wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He pictured himself snapping his fingers and conjuring up gold coins on command, or making people do whatever he wanted by his will alone. His mind conjured up all kinds of fun and interesting things that he could do if he knew how to work magic.

“Master,” he said.

“What is it?” Erliand asked.

“When do I learn about magic?” Randall asked.

“What do you think you’ve been learning about, boy?” Erliand asked, his voice rising. “Everything we’ve talked about relates to magic in some way! I’m not just going to give you the keys to power without some kind of ethical framework for using it, boy! You think I’m daft?”

“No sir…uh…Master,” Randall quickly said, taken aback.

“Good thing,” Erliand said. “Men have died making that mistake.”

Randall shuddered. When he wasn’t being ‘Earl the Caravan Master’, it was impossible to tell whether Erliand was joking or not. He lapsed into silence as they drove on.