Published: 16 May 2019

Ancient Magic

“It appears the weather will be dry for at least a couple of weeks,” Patrick said. “We should depart within a day.”

“I didn’t know you could predict weather, too,” Alan said.

“In truth, I got that from Albert, who got it from the corn on his left foot,” Patrick answered. “So far, it’s been the most reliable predictor of the weather I’ve seen.”

“Walk or ride?” Alan asked. It’ll be warm enough for the horses, but we’d have to retrace our steps back to that entrance, and we might not want to do that.”

“We’ve plenty of time. I think we should walk,” Patrick said, looking to the others for confirmation.

“We’ll shop for supplies, today and depart tomorrow,” Patrick concluded.

The walk to the fortress was a lark for the companions. They’d been cooped up during the winter, and had no reason to leave Fortmain. To keep up their cover, they’d spent a lot of time helping Durber at his warehouse. It was good to get out of doors, again.

Spring rains had altered the landscape: deciduous trees—oaks, maples, chestnut, birch, elm, and others—were leafing; and stream beds that had been dry in the winter were roiling with water from the spring rains. As the companions neared a stream, Alan called a halt. “Looks like the road’s washed away, again,” he said.

“I thought the Army was supposed to maintain the road,” Kenneth said. This was the third time they’d encountered a washed-out section.

“They are,” Patrick replied, “and they’ll likely get to this, soon. No wonder there haven’t been any caravans recently.”

“They’ll probably do the main road, first,” James added. “The one that bypasses Fortmain.”

“I think we should follow this stream,” Alan said. “It’s flowing in the direction we want to go, and we’ll have plenty of water for bathing, too.”

At Patrick’s nod, Alan stepped off the road and into the forest, making his way confidently through the low underbrush that, like the trees, was beginning to show leaves of innocent green.

As soon as they reached the entrance to the fortress, Alan wriggled through the hole, followed by James and then Thom, with Kenneth on his heels. Patrick brought up the rear. As he entered, he lifted his quarterstaff with the mage-lit ring, lighting the room.

“What’s that?” Kenneth asked, pointing to the wall opposite the hole through which they’d crawled.

Thom shivered in excitement. “I don’t see anything.”

“It’s a door, I think,” Kenneth said. “James? Don’t you see it?”

James looked at the blank wall and realized that Kenneth was seeing something with his mage sight. Focusing, he stared at the wall. “No, still nothing. Patrick? Do you see anything?”

Patrick focused, but saw nothing. “No, but Kenneth is much more sensitive to magic than I am. What do you see?”

“It looks like a door outlined in silver light. It opens toward us—I can see the hinges. There’s a handle recessed in a hole about six inches in diameter. The handle is silver, too. It’s a regular-sized door,” the boy said.

“Without touching the wall, show us where the corners and hinges and handle are, please,” Patrick said.

Kenneth gestured, keeping his hands a few inches from the wall. “Top, right side, hinges, left side, handle—”

A spark leaped from the wall to the boy’s left hand. To Kenneth, the spark appeared to come from the handle in the hole; to the others, it seemed to come from the blank wall. Kenneth flew backwards. He bowled over James, who had been standing behind him, and knocked the mage-lit quarterstaff from Patrick’s hand.

Thom grabbed the quarterstaff and held it high. Alan helped James to his feet, while Patrick reached down to help Kenneth up. When Patrick’s hand was an inch from Kenneth’s hand, a spark, not as bright or as potent as the spark from the wall, leapt from Kenneth to Patrick’s fingers.

“Ow!” Kenneth exclaimed. “That hurt!”

A careful examination of Kenneth, Patrick, and James determined that none of the boys was injured, and the spark had not altered their auras.

“Has anyone else noticed the door is open?” Thom asked.

The door, now visible to all, was open about an inch.

“Kenneth, do you see energy anywhere near the door?” Patrick asked.

The boy concentrated, and then replied, “No. It looks exactly the same to mage sight as to mundane sight. Whatever energy that was concealing it is gone.”

“Amazing it lasted as long as it did. How old did you say this place was?” James asked.

“The door may have been sealed more than 5,000 years ago,” Patrick said. “I don’t know of any way to make magic last that long. It must have been a wonderful spell…”

At Patrick’s request, Alan carefully and slowly pulled the door. The stone door swung easily to reveal a room, about the same size as the rooms Patrick and Alan had explored earlier. When the light from Patrick’s quarterstaff reached the far end of the room, it revealed a stone bench on which was some sort of apparatus.

After examining the apparatus, Patrick said. “We are agreed that it’s too fragile to move. It’s probably best that we leave it alone for now, re-seal the door, and continue our exploration.”

Patrick, assisted by James and Kenneth, completed the spell to seal and conceal the door. “That’s not nearly as good as the original spell,” Patrick said, “but it should hold for at least a couple of months. Long enough to get a message to Cadfael, and learn what he wants us to do. Everyone ready for some exploring?”

“Kenneth, please keep your eyes open,” James said.

“Yes,” Patrick added. “What you found in that hidden room was better than anything we found before.”

Alan led the party into the inner fortress. He pointed out the rooms they had explored. “This one, I think, was an audience room. I’ve seen Prince Auric’s, and this looks like his except without the furniture.”

The boys stepped into a room about eight times the size of the others. The doorway, too, was larger. “It probably had a double door,” Patrick said.

A dais, about a foot higher than the rest of the floor, and about ten feet wide, stretched across the end of the room opposite the door. Brackets that might once have held lamps were spaced every few feet along the walls, and just above eye level. “Any secret doors here, Kenneth?” Alan asked.

Kenneth’s reply was drowned by Thom’s cry. The boys turned to see men pouring into the room. The companions were outnumbered seven-to-five, but their opponents were undisciplined, poorly trained, lacking in magical talent, and perhaps a little drunk. James killed the first two with quick sword-work. A long fight is a lost fight, something his first teacher had often said, flashed through his mind. Patrick had been standing on the dais, holding the mage-lit quarterstaff. Before an attacker could reach him, he gathered magic and hurled it at one of the men. The spell disrupted the electrochemical processes of the man’s body and brain. He was dead before he fell. One of the men singled out Thom. The boy fought with furious energy. Thom recognized the brigand, although the reverse was not true. The man was much stronger than the boy. His quarterstaff crashed against Thom’s, splintering it. The man raised his staff for a killing blow when Alan’s sword found first his right arm and then his chest. Patrick’s spell found another man. The last of the brigands turned to flee, but James and Kenneth were between them and the door. The odds were now five-to-two. And then, five-to zero.

It was mid-afternoon when the companions staggered into the common room of the Wooden Troll, tossing packs in a corner. Since Thom and his father had become less estranged, if not entirely reconciled, the relationship between Albert and all the companions had improved considerably, and they felt more at home, now.

“Albert?” Alan called, “Marty? Who’s in the kitchen?”

Albert peered through the door. “Marty’s at the market. Have you had lunch?”

“We’ve not had lunch, or breakfast, or supper last night. Is there any food?” Alan asked.

“Of course,” Albert said. He ducked in the kitchen and returned immediately with a basket of bread and a new wheel of cheese. “Here, start with this. Ale all around?” Without waiting for an answer, he drew mugs—pints for the tweens, half-pints for the boys. As he set down Thom’s mug, he saw the quarterstaff the boy had leaned against the wall next to his chair.

Albert stood as if stunned. His eyes and mouth were wide open. “Where did you get that?” he whispered.

All eyes turned to Albert. “A brigand dropped it,” Thom answered. “Mine had been broken, so I took it.”

Patrick spoke. “Albert, do you know something about the quarterstaff?”

Albert stuttered, “It was my father’s, and it would have been mine, and then Thom’s had my father not gone missing with it on a journey to Agium some 200 years ago. It’s been in the family for five thousand years, and it’s the reason this inn is the Wooden Troll…”

Alan walked to the bar and drew a pint of ale. Handing it to Albert, he said, “Perhaps you’d better sit down and tell us the story from the beginning.”

Albert obliged willingly. “Sometime during the Great Wars, so the family legend goes, Sir Thomas of Fortmain was a knight in the service of the Prince of Arcadia. During a battle, he stepped between the prince and a troll whose hammer would otherwise surely have killed the prince. Thomas killed the troll. As a reward, the prince gave Thomas a magical quarterstaff that was charmed to kill trolls.

“The story goes that any troll struck by the quarterstaff would freeze, like a knight whose metal armor had rusted after he stood in the rain. The troll would be petrified.

“After the wars, Sir Thomas came back to Fortmain and opened this inn. The quarterstaff hung over the fireplace … on those hooks, there … for thousands of years.” Albert chuckled. “There wasn’t much call to smite trolls, and we couldn’t prove that the quarterstaff was magical.

“My father used it as a walking stick. He was traveling to Agium to visit a relative when he disappeared. Just disappeared. Had the stick with him, and we never saw it again.

“If you don’t believe me, take a close look at the sign … it’s there.”

The companions trooped outside and examined the sign above the door.

“He’s right,” Patrick said. “I’ve never looked at the sign hard enough before, but that is a quarterstaff, with metal end-caps, and it looks as if it has just struck that frozen troll. There’s another way to check, though. Thom, may I handle your quarterstaff?”

Thom handed the quarterstaff to Patrick who put it on the hooks over the fireplace where Albert said the quarterstaff had rested for nearly five thousand years. Patrick gestured gently, gathering magic into his hands. Then he blew across the palm of his hands as if he held a handful of dust. Indeed, it appeared so, and even the non-magic-users in the room saw what appeared to be golden, sparkling dust fly from Patrick’s hands toward the mantle. The dust flowed, enveloping the staff and the hooks, clearly outlining them both.

“It’s the same staff that rested there for many, many years,” Patrick said. “It’s not that we doubted your story, Albert,” he added. “But we didn’t know for sure this was the same quarterstaff. Now we do. There’s no question it belongs to Thom.” Patrick looked at Albert as he spoke, hoping to forestall any claim the man might make.

Albert surprised them all. “Of course it’s Thom’s, and if he’s going to be adventuring with you, he’ll need it. He’ll need it a lot more than this place needs decorating!”

Patrick prepared a lengthy letter to Cadfael, to be sent on Durber’s next caravan. It was impossible to disguise the contents, so Patrick relied on a magical seal. He also used magic to make the ink. After grinding candle-black, rather than binding it with gelatin, he mixed it with water, binding it to the paper with magic. Should someone cast a spell to break the magical seal, the magic holding the ink to the paper would also dissipate, destroying the message. Of course, Patrick thought, if the message doesn’t get to Cadfael in a couple of tendays or so, the magic will wear off, and the same thing will happen!

After the greeting, Patrick wrote of their discoveries in the fortress.

Kenneth saw the outline of a door, magically sealed and concealed in the wall of the first room of the fortress … immediately across from the hole through which we crawl to enter. I am embarrassed I did not see it, myself, but Kenneth has a gift that I do not have. In the room, on a stone table, on an axle supported to allow it to turn, was a wheel-shaped cage in which a child might keep a mouse, but slightly larger, being about two feet in diameter, and made of ivory sticks. The sticks were joined by ivory beads into which holes had been drilled. The sticks on the circumference of the wheel were engraved with runes unknown to me; they were neither Elvish nor Old Elvish. I have copied them on a separate page, enclosed and sealed.

There were at least ten ivory sticks missing from the frame. I believe, based on the pattern of the wheel’s construction and empty holes in beads, that the gaps were intended to be occupied by sticks, now missing. Whether they were never there or were removed cannot, of course be determined. There are no spare sticks in the vicinity.

We re-sealed the room and brushed debris near the entrance to conceal it further.

Thom recently told us about a magic mill that used wind power to grind magic. I think this wheel might be a similar contraption – something to gather magic mechanically, but I have no proof, nor do I know how the magic might be used. The device has no residual aura, but it is likely thousands of years old, and any aura would have been lost.

It appeared to be extremely fragile, so we left it where we found it; but Durber has the map, as we were instructed.

As we proceeded farther, we encountered brigands, likely those who we’d earlier met at the western entrance, and were forced to defend ourselves.

One of the brigands was armed with a metal-shod quarterstaff of a particularly dense wood. He dropped the quarterstaff when Alan skewered him. In the same battle, Thom’s quarterstaff was splintered. When Thom picked up the dead brigand’s quarterstaff, Kenneth felt a pulse in the magical field. Thom seems to have activated some magical residue in the quarterstaff.

The brigands were soundly defeated, and the animi of seven men now wait their turn for another chance at Life and Light.

Thom’s father averred that the quarterstaff had once belonged to Thom’s family. This was positively confirmed by a magical investigation. Based on this, and since Thom seems to be the only one able to activate the residue of its magical power, we have determined that he should keep the quarterstaff. I hope this meets your approval.

Patrick sealed the letter. I think we’ve done all we can, here. What will Cadfael’s reply have for us?

We hope that you enjoyed this tale of World. The author appreciates all comments to his stories. David dot Mcleod at CastleRoland dot Net.

Translators’ Notes This story is followed immediately by “Fortress of the Troll Mage,” and later by “Sword of the MacLachlan.”