A Bad Spell in Yurt woy-1 Page 11

  “Dominic said that he thought an evil spell had been cast on the king,” I said. “Did he ever mention it to you, Master? Might this be the supernatural presence?”

  “I don’t know what Dominic’s been telling you,” said the old wizard, sitting down again. “There certainly weren’t any supernatural presences in the castle when I was Royal Wizard.”

  “Then I’d better see if I can find the source,” I said and flew back up the valley without even a proper farewell.

  As soon as I left the wizard’s valley, the rain started again. I was furious with myself as I realized that, if he could create an island of good weather, I ought to have been able to do the same for the king. And the thought kept on nagging that the green of the chicken soup really was the same color as the queen’s eyes.

  I had never flown so fast for so far before, and the concentration required left me no attention for a spell against the rain. I was wet through when I dropped to the ground outside the rose garden.

  Gwen, standing under an umbrella, met me by the gate. “The cook finished the new soup, sir,” she said eagerly, “and the spell didn’t affect it at all. The queen’s giving him some now.”

  “Good,” I said, though I feared it would take more at this point than the cook’s excellent chicken soup to heal the king. Hoping that drier weather might also help, I set to work at once on a weather spell.

  But I realized immediately that I didn’t know the spell against slow and steady rain. The spells I had prepared during the harvest were all against sudden storm. I could go back to my chambers and try to work it out, but I felt a desperate sense of urgency and decided to improvise. If I could turn this rain into a thunderstorm, I could then dissipate it quickly.

  “You’d better go inside, my dear,” I said to Gwen, as she stood, hesitating, beside me. “Don’t get any wetter.”

  She went back into the castle, and it was just as well, because my first attempt to transform the rain into a real storm was so successful that a lightning bolt struck with a blazing flash and an acrid smell within ten feet of me, nearly taking off my eyelashes.

  Peal after peal of thunder rolled around my head, and the air was blinding with repeated lightning flashes. I looked up and saw bolts of lightning dancing from turret to turret, hitting every tower in the castle and the spire on top of the chapel. I seemed to have created what must have been the worst thunderstorm in Yurt in a hundred years. My only hope was to make sure it was also the shortest. Setting my teeth grimly, I proceeded with the spells against thunderstorms, and abruptly the sky was clear. Both the thunder and the clouds rolled back, leaving a square mile of sunshine smiling down on the castle and the rose garden.

  I checked my forehead to be sure I still had my eyebrows. Startled faces were looking at me over the garden gate, but I turned without saying anything and crossed the bridge into the castle. Since I had not in fact actually killed anyone with my lightning, it hardly seemed worth discussing the event at the moment.

  As I crossed the courtyard, shivering in my wet clothes, I started toward my chambers to change, but decided instead to look for Joachim. I had been very rude to him and should probably show Christian tact by apologizing. He had been rude to me as well, but he had had more cause.

  I hadn’t seen him in the rose garden, but I hadn’t actually gone into the garden. To save time, I probed with my mind to see where he might be in the castle. I couldn’t find him.

  Feeling uneasy, I started searching. It should be fairly straightforward for a wizard to touch the mind of someone he knows, as long as that person is not too far away. I went up to the chaplain’s room, but it stood empty. I wandered around the castle aimlessly for a few minutes, not quite ready to go back out to the garden and face the inevitable questions about the thunderstorm, then realized I had not looked in the obvious place, the chapel.

  I went up the stairs without the heart to turn on the lights, keeping my head low. So far I had been able to remove the king, at least temporarily, from whatever supernatural influence in the castle was harming him, and had been able to change the weather so he shouldn’t get very damp out in his rose garden, but in my bones I feared it was too late.

  Candles were burning on the chapel altar. A figure in black and white linen was stretched on his face on the floor in front of the altar, arms outstretched. I started to step forward, started to cry out, terrified that now Joachim had been struck dead-perhaps by lightning.

  I stopped myself in time. He was praying. No wonder, I thought, I hadn’t been able to touch his mind. Magic is, as I kept telling people, a natural force, and he was in company with the saints.

  He was totally still, except for the slight rising and falling of his shoulders as he breathed. I tiptoed back out, though I doubted that even my thunderstorm had disturbed him.

  I returned slowly to my rooms, physically and mentally exhausted, from flying, from working spells, and from fear for the king. I changed my clothes, intending to go back out to the rose garden to see if I could be of any assistance, but first I stretched out on my bed, just for a moment.

  The next thing I knew, I woke up, ravenously hungry, confused at finding myself fully clothed. My magic lamps, which I turned on yesterday afternoon, were still burning, though natural daylight made them seem pale. The angle of the sunlight through my window showed it was long after Gwen usually brought my breakfast.

  I swung my feet to the floor, then remembered. If no one had come, then that meant-

  I didn’t know what it meant. I was afraid to probe for the king’s mind because I might not find it. I brushed a hand across my hair and found my shoes, then opened the door to the courtyard.

  Assembled in the courtyard, in a semicircle around my door, were most of the people from the castle. As my door swung open, a shout went up. “The Wizard! Hail the Royal Wizard! His magic has saved the king!”

  I concentrated on the important point. “The king’s alive?”

  “Yes, and he’s not just better, he’s completely better! He’s stronger than he’s been in months, in years! You saved him! You saved him! Our Royal Wizard saved him!”

  They had clearly been preparing themselves for hours while I slept. I didn’t even begin to know what to say.

  And then I saw King Haimeric himself, coming across the bridge to the courtyard, arm in arm with the queen. I had never seen him so vigorous, or her so beautiful.

  I ran across the cobblestones to greet them. Not even bothering with the formal bow, I dropped to my knees before them.

  The king took me by the shoulders to pull me up. “Let’s not have any of your modesty, Wizard,” he said with a laugh, “when you’ve just saved my life!”

  I was still stronger than he was and remained determinedly kneeling. “I had nothing to do with saving your life.”

  “After your long night’s vigil of magic? They told me your light was never extinguished all night.”

  Even though I knew that my orders that he be moved into the rose garden and be given fresh soup could not have saved him, it hardly seemed worth explaining that I had spent the night not in magic but in sleep.

  “It was the chaplain,” I said. “Even the best magic cannot save human life, when that life is truly draining away, as I fear yours was, sire. Only a miracle can save a man then.”

  “The chaplain?” said the king in some surprise. “I’ve spoken to him, of course, but he said nothing about a miracle.”

  “He’s showing Christian humility,” I responded, “but he spent the night in prayer, and he interceded for you with the saints.”

  The people around heard me and, after a murmur of surprise, seemed to believe me. However, it did not seem to make them feel any less favorably toward me.

  “Then we have both the best Royal Wizard and the best Royal Chaplain a kingdom could have,” said the queen. “We were all just going to go to the chapel for a service of thanksgiving to God. Won’t you join us?”

  “With greatest pleasure,” I said, scrambling to
my feet and brushing off my knees.

  IV

  I was sitting in my chambers, quizzing the Lady Maria on the first points of the Hidden Language, when a knock came at the door.

  She was not doing well on the first-grammar. Her enthusiasm for learning magic was as high as ever, and I think she really wanted to study hard, but she seemed distracted.

  Maybe, I thought, she was the only other person in the castle, besides me, still to be worrying about the king. A month after his recovery, he seemed to be growing even stronger. After a week in the rose garden, he had moved back into the castle, so far without any ill effects. But I still sometimes felt that lurking sense of evil and worried that he might weaken again. Or maybe the Lady Maria was not worrying about anyone else, but only about the three gray hairs I had spotted that morning among the golden curls.

  “Come in!” I called, thinking it might be Gwen with tea. She often brought a pot if I had someone visiting in my chambers, but if she were jealous and checking up on what I and the Lady Maria were doing she certainly gave no sign.

  But it was the constable. I was surprised; he rarely came to my chambers.

  “Excuse me, sir, I hate to interrupt you and the lady, but there’s a — person here who wants to see you at once.”

  Maria jumped up. “I can’t concentrate this afternoon anyway,” she said, before I could tell the constable to have this mysterious person wait a few minutes.

  “Shall I see you later today?” I asked. But she had rushed out already. “Show him in,” I said to the constable.

  “Excuse me, sir, but he wants you to go outside.”

  Shaking my head, I went out, stopping only long enough to put the magic lock on my door, and followed the constable across the courtyard to the main gate and the bridge.

  Waiting on the bridge was an unmistakable figure: tall, lean, with a tall red hat and a long white beard. It was Zahlfast.

  I rushed forward, hands outstretched to greet him, and although he tried to give me a look of stern dignity I could see a smile already lurking at the corner of his lips. That was why I had chosen to write to him.

  “Welcome to Yurt!” I said inanely. “Come in! Did you have a good trip? Are you just stopping by, or can you stay for a while?”

  He returned my handshake vigorously but resisted being drawn into the castle. “It’s such a beautiful day,” he said, “and there won’t be many more this fall. Didn’t I see a little garden over there where we could sit?”

  We proceeded to the rose garden, where only the queen’s rose bush, of all the bushes, was still blooming. I continued to chatter to hide my surprise at his arrival.

  “I was glad to get your letter,” said Zahlfast when we were seated on the bench where the king often sat. “Is your king still sick?”

  “Oh, no. He was cured by a miracle a month ago.”

  Zahlfast shot me a sideways look, then looked away. “Good,” he said and then added, “We never talk much about miracles at the wizards’ school.”

  This of course I already knew. “The chaplain cured him. The chaplain’s my friend,” I added, feeling the same need to justify my friendship that I had felt with the old wizard. I started to say, that is, I think he’s my friend, but decided not to raise doubts.

  But I should have remembered Zahlfast was the sharpest of my teachers. “You sound somewhat dubious about this friendship.”

  “Not dubious. But he had insulted me, and I insulted him, and I tried to apologize but, in a way, he wouldn’t let me-especially since, I’ll admit to you, I’m almost in awe of him after the miracle.”

  “Don’t stand in awe of those who deal with the supernatural,” said Zahlfast as though making a key point at the front of the lecture hall. “Wizards too can deal with forces beyond the natural, indeed have the special training to do it. And always remember, those who can heal with supernatural aid can always sicken.”

  Abruptly he changed the subject. “Anyway, it sounded from your letter as though you might be lonely, so, as I was flying in this direction anyway-” I was surprised to realize he was having almost as much trouble feeling at ease as I was. He was still my teacher, but this was my kingdom, and I was no longer a student. “It really wasn’t time yet for your first checkup-”

  “My first checkup!” I cried, devastated. “You mean you go around checking on us after we leave the wizards’ school? No one ever told me! Or is that just one more thing I missed?”

  “We don’t tell the young wizards,” said Zahlfast with an amused smile he tried to suppress. “In fact, many are checked and never even know it, at least for some years. But I knew you were sharp enough to guess it wasn’t just friendly interest in seeing an old student that brought me here, after I got your letter.”

  The compliment softened what would otherwise have been another devastating blow. And I had even hoped he remembered me fondly! But now I began to wonder what ulterior motive he may have had in passing me in that transformation practical-was this an experiment to see just how badly a young wizard could do?

  “So what are you checking for?”

  “In your case, I was interested in your progress. In general, it’s a continuation of the school’s original purpose, to organize and rationalize the practice of wizardry, to be sure it doesn’t go astray. That’s why I wanted to learn more about your study of herbal magic and who has been teaching you.”

  “It’s my predecessor. He lives not far from here, and he’s taught me the rudiments,” I said, feeling somewhat defensive, whereas I had expected to be proudly demonstrating an unusual accomplishment when I first met a wizard from the school again.

  “He’s your friend, too,” said Zahlfast. It was a statement, not a question. “There aren’t many young wizards who are even on speaking terms with their predecessors.”

  “Is that what you mean when you say I’m sharp?” I said, hoping for another compliment.

  “Why do you think you were hired as Royal Wizard of Yurt?”

  “I’d assumed I was the only person who applied.”

  “You may have been; I’m not sure. But when I heard you’d applied, I talked to the Master, and we agreed. I wrote to the constable of Yurt and told him not to hire anyone else.”

  “That was the constable who you met at the gate,” I said, wondering again why Zahlfast had not wanted to come in. But another question took precedence. “Why did you want me in Yurt? Was it to keep me out of the way?”

  “Not at all. We knew something was happening in Yurt, something odd, and it needed someone who combined your intuitive flair for magic with the potential, at least, to work hard and master academic magic. Neither careful mastery of spells nor innate ability would have been enough without the other. Also, of course, we hoped that here, away from the distractions of the City, you might meet enough challenges and find enough leisure that you really would set yourself to learning the magic we had tried to teach you.”

  There was not nearly enough of a compliment in this to mitigate the sting. “You mean you knew all along what was going on in Yurt? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Actually,” said Zahlfast, with a snort that could have been amusement, “I have no idea what’s going on in Yurt. I was hoping you would tell me.”

  “There’s an evil presence in the castle,” I said slowly, looking at my hands. “I don’t know where it’s coming from, and sometimes I can hardly even sense it. Most of the time I think it’s a person, but I don’t know how to find out which one. Once or twice I’ve thought it could be a demon, but the old wizard says there was never any evil presence in the castle before I arrived, and I don’t think even I could have summoned a demon by mistake.”

  “An evil presence,” said Zahlfast, as though this answered a question. “We’ve known in the City for several years that there was a supernatural focus here in Yurt, or at least nearby, but it was impossible to localize it precisely or even to say whether it was for good or evil. Several of the wizards at the school thought it might be a witch li
ving in the forest who had taken the step into black magic.”

  “It’s not in the forest,” I said positively. “It’s here in the castle. It was coming home to his kingdom that nearly killed the king.”

  “I knew it was here in the castle when I got your letter.”

  “But how could you know that? I didn’t say anything about it.”

  “The very paper your letter was written on was permeated with the supernatural. Didn’t you know that? That’s why, when I arrived and discovered that the supernatural influence stopped at the moat, I asked you to meet me outside.”

  “But how could you tell anything from the paper?” I demanded, intensely frustrated, thinking the wizards of the school had been deliberately withholding information from me. But then I saw Zahlfast smiling and said in a lower voice, “Was that maybe in one of the lectures I missed?”

  It turned out that it was. There was a rather simple spell to recognize the presence of a supernatural influence, a modern, more universal spell than the one the old wizard had taught me for detecting magic potions. I glanced over the garden walls at the turrets of the castle and felt my heart sink. I didn’t want to try the spell. Yurt was my kingdom, and I loved it, and if I confirmed my fears I might never feel the same about it again.

  “Do you think the king will become sick again?” I said.

  “You think he was made ill by supernatural forces?”

  “Dominic thought an evil spell had been put on him,” I said, “even though I didn’t believe him at first.” I gave Zahlfast a quick summary of the king’s three-year illness and miraculous recovery.

  “If he really was healed miraculously,” said Zahlfast somewhat dubiously, “he should be safe from black magic, or at least from the effects of the particular evil spell that was put on the castle.”