The Mage's Tale (3 page)

“Strong,” she whispered.

“Good,” said the Old Man. “Come along. There is still daylight to use…and I have much to teach.”

###

For the next two years, Morigna visited the Old Man’s cottage on a regular basis, and he taught her many things.

He explained how to use magic to cleanse her blood of poison, to wield greater power over animals. He also taught her to command plants, to make wood and leaf bend to her will. She thought that a useless skill, until he explained how the spell could also control dead wood…such as the wood in the shafts of spears and swords. Using his teaching, she carved herself a staff and enchanted it to augment and enhance her power over plants, but he confiscated it, claiming it was too dangerous.

Morigna doubted that.  

More and more, she knew enough to realize he was avoiding specific areas of magic, no doubt ones that would allow her to threaten him. Not that she wished to kill him. She did not like him, but why kill him? Would she kill him and rule over his filthy cottage and his rocky hill?

Hardly.

Did he intend her as a weapon against his enemies? Given how he complained endlessly about the Magistri, the church, and the nobles of Andomhaim, she suspected that he had many enemies, that he had been forced to flee Andomhaim into exile. 

And the Old Man had the sort of personality that won enemies. 

Still, her magic grew stronger under his instruction, strong enough that she doubted he could force her to do anything against her will. If he tried to use her as a weapon against men she had never met, she would simply vanish into the Wilderland. 

He taught her several times a week for two years, until the day she went hunting shortly after her eighteenth birthday. 

###

Morigna was in a mood for turkey stew, and lean, tough turkeys wandered the hills in large numbers. The townsmen captured many and raised them as livestock, but it was easy to track the birds and shoot them. The biggest danger was drawing the attention of another predator. 

She found a pack of turkeys at the bottom of a ravine, pecking at the grass. Morigna sighted upon the biggest male and raised her bow, taking time to aim. She could have used her magic to command the bird to remain still, but that took all the challenge out of it, and Morigna liked challenges. 

She took a deep breath, drew back her bow…and before she could release, another arrow blurred from the far side of the ravine slammed into the turkey. The bird dropped dead, and the rest of the turkeys scattered in all directions. 

Morigna encountered other hunters from time to time, most of them men from the town of Moraime. They knew well enough to leave the witch of the hills alone, though from time to time she bartered with a few of the bolder ones. Sometimes she met groups of pagan orcs hurrying on business of their own, or renegades from Andomhaim. A few of those wanderers had seen her as easy prey. 

They knew better, now. Those she had left alive, anyway.

Morigna loosed a shaft, pinning one of the smaller male turkeys, and descended the rocky hillside. She wanted turkey stew, and she would not return without a kill.

The other hunter came into sight as she reached the bottom of the ravine.

He was about twenty-five, dressed in brown and green, a short bow in his hand, a quiver and a sheathed longsword at his belt. He was broad and strong, with wide shoulders and a thick shock of brown hair over a weathered face.

He stopped, looked at her, and blinked several times. 

Morigna fingered her bow, wondering what he would do. 

“I am sorry,” he said at last. “Were these your turkeys?”

“No,” said Morigna. “They were wild. You shot the largest one first, it is yours. The smaller one is mine. I do not require much food.” 

He inclined his head. “That is gracious of you, my lady.”

Morigna laughed. “My lady? Why do you call me that? I am no noblewoman.” 

“I didn’t know that,” said the man. “So instead of my lady, what shall I call you? A lowborn churl, perhaps? If so, I command you to clean my bird, cook it for me, and fetch me a cup of beer while you’re at it.”

She laughed again at his audacity. His boldness amused her, and she did not laugh often. The Old Man was not one for wit. “If you do, you shall regret it sorely.” 

“Aye, I suppose I would,” said the man. “If that shot with the bow was no fluke.”

“It was not,” said Morigna.

“And I suppose you have other powers, aye?” said the hunter. “If I speak disrespectfully, you’ll turn me into a frog? Or use your magic to put a curse on my member and keep it forever limp?”

“I neither possess nor desire any knowledge of your member,” said Morigna, “and how did you know I have magic?”

She rebuked herself. Perhaps he had been guessing. If so, she had just admitted it to him, which was foolish. The Old Man had taught her many things, but how to talk to a handsome man was not one of them. 

Did she think the hunter handsome?

“A woman traveling alone in the hills with a bow,” said the hunter. “Clearly, you must be the famed witch of the hills about whom I have heard so much. Though I did not expect someone like you.”

“Oh,” said Morigna. “What did you expect, then?”

“Some bent old crone with warts larger than her teeth, if she had any left,” said the hunter. “Or some great quivering fat woman, like the town’s midwife. I swear the woman has folds so deep she could lose an infant in them and not notice until the child starts wailing.”

Despite herself, Morigna laughed at the sheer absurdity of the image. “How…colorful. Well, you know who I am, so who the devil are you?”

The hunter sketched a courtly bow. “Sir Nathan Vorinus of Moraime, my lady witch.”

She knew the name, or at least his family name. A knight named Sir Michael Vorinus was the praefectus of Moraime, and he was a dour, humorless man. Once or twice he had questioned Morigna when she came to the town to barter, but she never made trouble, so he had let her alone. 

“I’ve met your brother,” said Morigna.

“You have? Pity,” said Nathan. “You must be prejudiced against me already.”

“You are nothing like your brother,” said Morigna.

Nathan grinned. “Why, that is the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me, my lady witch.”

“Stop calling me that,” said Morigna. “I have a name, you know.”

“Well, what am I to call you, then?” said Nathan. “Naming you the ‘witch of the hills’ seems dreadfully impolite, and a knight strives to be courteous to a lady. Especially one who is neither a bent old crone nor the size of an ox.”

“How very flattering,” said Morigna. “If you must know, my name is Morigna.”

“Morigna,” said Nathan. “A lovely name.” He stepped closer, and Morigna started to draw back. But he took her left hand, bowed over it, and kissed her fingers. “A lovely name, indeed.”

“Thank you,” said Morigna, tugging her hand out of his grasp. Part of her was annoyed at his effrontery. Another part of her wanted to keep her hand in his. “I think.” 

“You are welcome,” he said. He walked over to his turkey and slung it over his shoulders. “This ought to shut up my brothers – they complain less when I come back with a kill or two.” He turned back and grinned at her. “Perhaps I shall see you here again.”

“But…” started Morigna.

Nathan was already walking away.

She stared after him for a moment, at a loss for words for one of the very first times in her life. 

Then she picked up her bird and left, thinking over every word of their conversation.

“What is this?” said the Old Man, looking up from his scroll as she entered his cottage. “A turkey?” His eyes narrowed. “Is it diseased?”

“I wanted turkey soup for dinner,” said Morigna.

“Really,” said the Old Man. His frown deepened. “Why are you smiling?”

“I,” said Morigna, “most certainly am not smiling.”

She grinned to herself and set to work.

###

Six days later she saw Nathan again in the hills. 

“You,” she told him, “are quite elusive.”

He smiled. “So you were looking for me, then?”

Morigna opened her mouth, closed it again. “One likes to be aware of one’s surroundings.” 

She tried not to wince at how trite that sounded. 

“Truly,” said Nathan. “You ought to come hunting with me. Four eyes are better than two. Maybe we’ll bag a wyvern and take home a trophy. A necklace of wyvern fangs would suit you well.”

“I am not sure if that is a compliment,” said Morigna. “And why would you want to go hunting with the witch of the hills anyway?”

His smile faded a little. “Because you are not boring. And living in Moraime is nothing but boredom, save for when a warband of pagan orcs comes too close to the walls.” 

She thought of listening to the Old Man, of his endless lectures against the church and the nobles and the Magistri. She would recite most of them from memory by now.

“I think,” said Morigna, “that I can understand that.” 

“Come,” he said, “let us find some supper.”

###

They felt into a ritual, hunting together twice a week, and Morigna learned more about him.

And he, she suspected, learned more about her. 

His mother had died when he was young, and his father had died about six years ago, not long after a Swordbearer had passed through Moraime on his way to Urd Morlemoch. The abbot of the monastery of St. Cassian had appointed Michael the new praefectus of the town, and Michael and Nathan’s other brother Jonas had busied themselves with the business of the town ever since.

“Not that there is much to do,” said Nathan. “The people of Moraime more or less look after themselves. The occasional brawl, to be sure, or moved boundary stone, and someone needs to drill the militia every month. But beyond that, Moraime hardly needs a praefectus…and Nathan and Jonas do not need my help.” 

She gathered his brothers had little time for him, and so he had been left to his own devices, learning to hunt and trap in the hills and the marshes. 

And slowly she told him more about herself, about her training with the Old Man. She showed him her cave, in case he ever needed to shelter there.

Finally, she told him about her parents, and took him to the ruined foundations of the cottage. 

“I am sorry,” Nathan said, all trace of his usual joking manner gone.

“I…thank you,” said Morigna, her eyes stinging. No one had ever said that to her. Certainly the Old Man had never bothered. 

The months wore on, and Morigna began skipping her lessons with the Old Man, much to his annoyance. But she did not care. 

Toward the end of the summer, they spent two days tracking a white stag, one whose pelt would fetch a fine price with the merchants that sometimes came up from the city of Coldinium. Towards the end of the hunt, Morigna lured out the beast, driving it into Nathan’s path.

And he put a single arrow into the stag’s heart from forty yards away.

It was a magnificent shot, and Morigna whooped and laughed. Nathan walked over to join her, grinning. 

“Thought I’d missed it,” he said. 

“No,” said Morigna. “It was a good shot. I don’t think I could have made it, and I’m the better archer.”

“Are you?” said Nathan, stepping closer.

“I am,” said Morigna. 

“Care to prove it?” said Nathan.

She laughed. “I can…”

Before she finished, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her long and hard upon the lips. She went rigid at first, and then a wave of heat washed through her, and she felt herself melt against him, kissing him back. 

“Well,” said Morigna, when they broke apart, breathing hard. “It was a very good shot.” 

They carried the stag back to her cave, and then cleaned and skinned it, preparing the meat. After, they washed off in the pond near the hillside, and Morigna did not bother to conceal herself from him. 

And when they finished, she pulled him to her sleeping furs in her cave, and they made love for the first time.

But not the last. 

After that, she stared spending every day with him, and she forgot about her lessons with the Old Man entirely.

###

“You should,” said Nathan, six weeks later, “come away with me.”

Morigna lifted her head from his chest and opened one eye. “Oh?”

They lay together in her furs in her cave. She had spent six years living there, and had improved it considerably in that time. Wooden shelves lined the walls, storing her possessions, and beneath a small opening she had constructed a hearth that kept the cave warm in winter. Her bed had gotten larger as she added furs and planks to it, which was just as well, since she now shared it with Nathan on a regular basis.

“We should go away together,” said Nathan.

Morigna blinked. “Where?”

“Anywhere we want,” he said, running a hand down her back. 

“You mean…leave here?” said Morigna. “The cave is hardly a palace, I shall admit, but it is warm and dry…”

Nathan laughed. “No. I mean leave Moraime and the Wilderland entirely. How far have you been from Moraime?”

She thought for a moment. “Perhaps seventy-five miles. I have visited the orcish villages in the foothills. I’ve traveled through the marshes and the woods west of here.”

“I have been up and down the length of Vhaluusk,” said Nathan. “And I’ve traveled to the edge of the Torn Hills. Saw some undead and a few spirits, and I knew not to go any further. The say the Warden of Urd Morlemoch sits on a throne of skulls, attended by the spirits of those he slew.”

“Even the Old Man is frightened of the Warden,” said Morigna. 

“Well, let’s not go northwest, then,” said Nathan. “But it’s a big world, Morigna. And between the two of us, we’ve only seen a little of it. Do you want to spend the rest of your life here?”

Morigna remembered the ruined foundations of the cottage, the Old Man’s harsh lessons, the cold, suspicious glares from the townsfolk of Moraime as they accepted her barter. 

“No,” said Morigna, her voice soft as she settled her head back against his chest. “I don’t. I’ve read about so many places in the Old Man’s books. The High King’s citadel in Tarlion. The cities of Cintarra and Coldinium. The Three Kingdoms of the dwarves. Cathair Solas and the Isle of Kordain. I want to see them all.”