A Bad Spell in Yurt Read online

  A Bad Spell in Yurt

  C. Dale Brittain

  A Baen Books Original

  Copyright © 1991 by C. Dale Brittain

  ISBN: 0-671-72075-9

  Cover art by Tom Kidd

  First printing, August 1991

  Content

  Exerpt

  Dedication

  Part One Yurt

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  Part Two The Queen

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  Part Three Carnival

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  Part Four The Duchess

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  Part Five The Stranger

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  Part Six Christmas

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  Part Seven Lady Maria

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  Part Eight The Cellars

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  Exerpt

  A Wizard’s Gotta Do What A Wizard’s Gotta Do

  “So you have a new wizard,” said the young count to the king in a high and rather nasal voice. “I myself would never have one. I’d been hoping that when your old one retired you’d have the sense not to get another.”

  Since I had just finished bowing to him, and my predecessor was standing only a few feet away, this struck me as unusually rude, even for a member of the aristocracy, but he kept on talking about us as though we weren’t there. “My father kept a wizard — or he said he was a wizard, someone I think my father had picked up at a carnival somewhere — but as soon as I inherited, I sent him packing right away, you can be sure.”

  “We’ve always been very happy with our wizards,” said the king stiffly.

  “Is there anything in particular you object to about wizards?” asked my predecessor with a calmness that he was having trouble maintaining.

  “Everything about them is so, well, on the face!” said the young count, waving his beautiful white hands. “Once you’ve seen an illusion or two, you have nothing left but vague talk about the powers of darkness and light, which someone like me sees through at once.”

  “I think you’re underestimating real wizardry,” continued my predecessor, with an evenness of tone I admired.

  “You’re the wizard who used to be here, aren’t you? My father told me about your illusions over dessert, back when he used to visit the king. But really, when you go beyond illusions, what do you have?”

  I turned him into a frog.

  Dedication

  To R.A.B.

  Who made me do it.

  Part One

  Yurt

  I

  I was not a very good wizard. But it was not a very big kingdom. I assumed I was the only person to answer their ad, for in a short time I had a letter back from the king’s constable, saying the job was mine if I still wanted it, and that I should report to take up the post of Royal Wizard in six weeks.

  It took most of the six weeks to grow in my beard, and then I dyed it gray to make myself look older. Two days before leaving for my kingdom, I went down to the emporium to buy a suitable wardrobe.

  Of course at the emporium they knew all about us young wizards from the wizards’ school. They looked at us dubiously, took our money into the next room to make sure it stayed money even when we weren’t there, and tended to count the items on the display racks in a rather conspicuous way. But I knew the manager of the clothing department — he’d even helped me once to pick out a Christmas present for my grandmother, which I think endeared me to him as much as to her.

  He was on the phone when I came in. “What do you mean, you won’t take it back? But our buyer never ordered it!” While waiting for him, I picked out some black velvet trousers; just the thing, I thought, to give me a wizardly flair.

  The manager slammed down the phone. “So what am I supposed to do with this?” he demanded of no one in particular. “This” was a shapeless red velvet pullover, with some rather tattered white fur at the neck. It might have been intended to be part of a Father Noel costume.

  I was entranced. “I’ll take it!”

  “Are you sure? But what will you do with it?”

  “I’m going to be a Royal Wizard. It will help me strike the right note of authority and mystery.”

  “Speaking of mystery, what’s all the fuzzy stuff on your chin?”

  I was proud of my beard, but since he gave me the pullover for almost nothing, I couldn’t be irritated. When I left for my kingdom, I felt resplendent in velvet, red for blood and black for the powers of darkness.

  It was only two hundred miles, and probably most of the young wizards would have flown themselves, but I insisted on the air cart. “I need to make the proper impression of grandeur when I arrive,” I said. Besides — and they all knew it even though I didn’t say it — I wasn’t sure I could fly that far.

  The air cart was the skin of a purple beast that had been born flying. Long after the beast was dead, its skin continued to fly, and it could be guided by magic commands. It brought me steeply up from the wizards’ complex at the center of the City, and I looked back as the white city spires fell away. It had been a good eight years, but I felt ready for new challenges. We soared across plains, forests, and hills all the long afternoon, before finally banking steeply over what I had been calling “my” kingdom for the last six weeks.

  From above, there scarcely seemed to be more to the kingdom than a castle, for beyond the castle walls there was barely room for the royal fields and pastures before thick green woods closed in. A bright garden lay just outside the castle walls, and pennants snapped from all the turrets. The air cart dipped, folded its wings, and set me down with a bump in the courtyard.

  I looked around and loved it at once. It was a perfect child’s toy of a castle, the stone walls freshly whitewashed and the green shutters newly painted. The courtyard was a combination of clean-swept cobbles, manicured flower beds, and tidy gravel paths. On the far side of the courtyard, a well-groomed horse put his head over a white half-door and whinnied at me.

  A man and woman came toward me, both dressed in starched blue and white. “Welcome to the Kingdom of Yurt. I am the king’s constable, and this is my wife.” They both bowed deeply, which flustered me, but I covered it by striking a pose of dignity.

  “Thank you,” I said in my deepest voice. “I’m sure I will find much here to interest me.” The air cart was twitching, eager to be flying again. “If you could just help me with my luggage—”

  The constable helped me unload the boxes, while his wife ran to open the door to my chambers. The door opened directly onto the courtyard. I had somehow expected either a tower or a dungeon and wondered if this was suitably dignified, but at least it meant we didn’t have far to carry the boxes. They were heavy, too, and I had not had enough practice with the spell for lifting more than one heavy thing at a time to want to try it in front of an audience.

  The air cart took off again as soon as it was empty. I watched it soar away, my last direct link with the City, then turned to start unpacking. Both the constable and his wife stayed with me, eager to talk. I was just as eager to have them, because I wanted to find out more about Yurt.

  “The kingdom’s never had a wizard from the wizards’ school before,” said the constable. I was unpacking
my certificate for completing the eight years’ program. Although, naturally, it didn’t say anything about honors or special merit or even areas of distinction, it really was impressive. That was why I had packed it on top. It was a magic certificate, of course, nearly six feet long when unrolled. My name, Daimbert, was written in letters of fire that flickered as you watched. Stars twinkled around the edges, and the deep blue and maroon flourishes turned to gold when you touched them. It came with its own spell to adhere to walls, so I hung it up in the outer of my two chambers, the one I would use as my study.

  “Our old wizard’s just retired,” the constable continued. “He must be well past two hundred years old, and when he was young you had to serve an apprenticeship to become a wizard. They didn’t have all the training you have now.”

  I ostentatiously opened my first box of books.

  “He’s moved down to a little house at the edge of the forest. That’s why we had to hire a new wizard. I’m sure he’d be delighted to meet you if you ever had time to visit him.”

  “Oh, good,” I thought with more relief than was easy to admit, even to myself. “Someone who may actually know some magic if I get into trouble.”

  I took my books out one by one and arranged them on the shelves: the Ancient and Modem Necromancy, all five volumes of Thaumaturgy A to Z, the Index to Spell Key Words, and the rest, most barely thumbed. As I tried to decide whether to put the Elements of Transmogrification next to Basic Metamorphosis, which would make sense thematically but not aesthetically, since they were such different sizes, I thought I should have plenty of quiet evenings here, away from the distractions of the City, and might even get a chance to read them. If I had done more than skim those two volumes, I might have avoided all that embarrassment with the frogs in the practical exam.

  “You’ll meet the king this evening, out he’s authorized me to tell you some of our hopes. We’ve never had a telephone system, but now that you’re here we’re sure we’ll be able to get one.”

  I was flabbergasted. In the City telephones were so common that you tended to forget how complicated was the magic by which they ran. It was new magic, too, not more than forty years old, something that Yurt’s old wizard would never have learned but which was indeed taught at the wizards’ school. How was I going to explain I had managed to avoid that whole sequence of courses?

  He saw my hesitation. “We realize we’re rather remote, and that the magic is not easy. No one is expecting anything for at least a few weeks. But everyone was so excited when you answered our ad! We’d been afraid we might have to settle for a magician, but instead we have a fully trained and qualified wizard!”

  “Don’t worry the boy with his duties so soon,” the constable’s wife said to him, but smiling as she scolded. “He’ll have plenty of time to get started tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow! A few weeks!” I thought, but had the sense not to say anything. I didn’t even have the right books. If I did nothing else, I might be able to derive the proper magic from basic principles in four or five years. I was too upset even to resent being called “the boy”—so much for the gray beard!

  “We’ll leave you alone now,” said the constable. “But dinner’s in an hour, and then you can meet some of the rest.”

  I had seen faces peeping out of windows as we went back and forth with the luggage, but no one else had come to meet me. While I unpacked my clothes, I tried gloomily to think of plausible excuses why Yurt could not possibly have a telephone system. Nearby anti-telephonic demonic influences and the importance of maintaining a rustic, unspoiled lifestyle seemed the most promising.

  II

  Dinner was formal. Freshly washed and brushed but still wearing my red and black velvet, I was led by the constable out across the courtyard and to the castle’s great hall. On the way out, I stopped to put a magic lock on the door to my chambers, a lock that would recognize only my own palm print. It took me only a second, even though it’s fairly complex magic; I had needed it on more than one occasion in the City, living among an unruly group of other wizardry students. The constable was impressed, as I knew he would be; that’s why I had waited to do it until he came back.

  We walked under a tall archway, through studded doors that looked as though they stood permanently open in the summer, into a hall whose high roof was four stories above us. The walls were hung with brightly colored pennants, and a cheerful fire burned in the great fireplace at the opposite end, in spite of the warmth of a summer evening. The room was well-lit by a series of suspended globes. I peeked at them surreptitiously as we advanced across the flagstones, and my opinion of my predecessor went up; I didn’t think I could make magic lamps that burned so well.

  A group of people waited at the far end of the hall, made to seem almost insignificant by the height of the room. Their talking faded away as we approached. My attention went of course to the throne, pulled close to the fire, where a stoop-shouldered, white-haired man watched me coming with surprisingly sharp eyes. The velvet of his ermine-decorated robes was even more brilliantly red than my pullover.

  “His majesty, King Haimeric of Yurt!” announced the constable. “Sire, I wish to present the new Royal Wizard.”

  I did the full bow in the proper stages, first the dipping of the head, then the wide-spreading of the arms, then the drop to both knees with my head still lowered. They had taught us etiquette in the first few weeks after we arrived at the wizards’ school, while I was still attending all classes.

  “Rise, Wizard, and advance to the throne.” The voice was thin and quavery, but the eyes regarded me shrewdly as I lifted my head. I came toward him, holding out my hands palm up. He placed his hands on top of mine; they were dry and so light I almost didn’t feel them. “Welcome to Yurt.”

  This seemed to end the more ceremonial part of the introductions. The constable now came forward and began introducing the rest of the party. There were a number of knights and ladies and two boys. The queen, it turned out, was not there, having gone to visit her parents. “I wonder how old they can be!” I thought.

  The most important person there, after the king, was Dominic, the king’s nephew and, I presumed, the royal heir. He didn’t look like someone you’d want for an enemy. His golden hair had gone sandy with the first streaks of gray, and his doubtless once heavily muscled body was pushing out his tunic in places where muscle didn’t grow. But there was a hard look about the eyes and a twist to the lips that made me glad he didn’t seem to resent me.

  After Dominic came an assortment of other knights, ladies, and more distant royal relatives, none of whose names I caught. The boys, it seemed, were there to be trained in knighthood. I did the formal half-bow to each of the men and the full bow to the ladies. “He looks, so … young!” I heard one of the ladies whispering to another. She was very young herself, but I feared it was not a compliment.

  Last came the chaplain. Even though he was young, probably no older than me, he had a maturity about him that made my own one-inch beard seem rather trivial. He had a gaunt face, enormous black eyes, and a mouth that looked as though it rarely smiled. In short, he looked like a good chaplain should look.

  I wrung his hand with enthusiasm. His was the only hand that was offered for me to shake. His responding squeeze was both stronger than I had expected and much stronger than my own. “I’m delighted to meet you,” I said, and meant it. Calculating quickly, I decided he was the only person in the court I would be able to talk to, really talk to, about interesting topics. I was used to a social life in the City and had no intention of spending every evening with my books if I could help it. Priests and wizards traditionally do not have cordial relationships, but I never let something like that stop me. “I hope we can become closest friends.”

  He looked a little taken aback, which I thought of as a good sign; at least he was paying attention to me. But he only said gravely, “I hope so. I regret that I never enjoyed a particularly amiable friendship with your predecessor.

  While I
was being introduced, servants in blue and white livery had been setting up the two long tables. The king now rose from his throne, leaned on Dominic’s arm, and led the rest of us to dinner. As he reached the table, a brass quartet, on a balcony above us, began to play. I thoroughly approved. Several of the other young wizards had left to take their posts at about the same time as I, and although all of them had bigger kingdoms, I was sure none was as charming.

  The king’s party, consisting of his relatives, the other knights and ladies, the chaplain, and me, sat at one table, with the king at our head, while the constable and his wife took the head and foot of the other table. The brass quartet changed to a different, even livelier, tune, and through the arch at the far end of the hall came more servants in procession, carrying huge steaming platters. They served the king a portion from each, placed the platters on the table, and stood back. He took a bite of the fowl, looked up, and nodded. The music came to a close with an abrupt flourish, the servants all rushed, smiling, to sit down at the constable’s table, and in a moment the trumpeters joined us, laughing and wiping off their instruments. The platters were passed up and down. I took much bigger helpings than anyone else.

  Conversation at our table tended to be rather refined, but at the other table the constable and his wife, the servants, and the trumpeters were talking and joking. I tried to keep my attention both on my neighbors at table and on what the servants were saying. They were talking about the day’s events, work done, fields almost ready for haying, news from the forest, gossip about someone they all knew who had been away but might be back soon. It was insider conversation, where each only had to make a passing reference to something before the others all knew what he or she meant. I wondered how soon it would be before I too knew without even thinking what they were talking about. This was, after all, my kingdom.

  At my own table, of course, everyone was well-schooled in manners and was explaining things for the benefit of the outsider, me. “One becomes so aware of the agricultural cycle out here,” the lady at my right was saying. I dragged my attention back to her from a pretty servant girl at the next table who had given me a saucy look over her shoulder, while chewing enthusiastically on a drumstick. Wizards, like priests, never marry, but unlike priests we’re allowed to look at girls.