Allan flew.
He’d come to enjoy flying to get around over long distances, like that from the castle to Elderwood Ford. He grew up poor, so he never had the chance to ride a horse, or ride in a carriage. He and his sister had to walk to get anywhere. Occasionally they had to run to get away from something or someone. He’d had to run to flee the city, almost a year ago. Being on foot reminded Allan of being poor.
Not that he’d become rich. He had become a mage, at least by the standard of having read all of Damien’s books and learned to cast the spells within them. Learning magic gave Allan certain freedoms. He could use spells to find and kill game. He could use spells to keep himself warm. He could use spells to fly. Freedom wasn’t quite the same as having coins in your pocket, but for Allan it was close enough, and it felt good.
He could savor the pleasure of flying only for so long. Flying required concentration. The first spell needed was to lift a body into the air. It took a little more energy for Allan to cast that spell on himself than on something or someone else, but not so much that he couldn’t move once he was in the air. The next spell was to move through the air. There was a spell for speeding up and slowing down. Turning required an adjustment by his body through the movement spell.
Damien offered advice from the past on such combinations of spells. In one of his books he suggested that the mage cast spells into an object. Activation of spells cast into objects, or enchantments, could be controlled through spoken words or carved symbols, or runes. It would take a simple word or gesture to enact the desired enchantment.
Allan chose to enchant a wooden rod with runes for flying any distance. All he had to do was move his thumb over the correct rune, tap it twice to activate the spell, and concentrate. He made a strap for his left forearm, so he could tuck the rod there once he arrived at his destination.
It took him just over an hour to reach Elderwood Ford. Even though it was after dark, Allan had no trouble seeing the whole of the city. The first time he had flown here, everything was a surprise. There were the patterns of the fields and pastures leading to the city. There were the straight lines of the city streets, some wide, some narrow. The buildings were squares and rectangles, with the odd circle here and there.
Some parts of the city were better lit at night than others. The Lord’s manor and the wall surrounding it were marked by the lanterns and torches carried by the guards. The river district, with its taverns and brothels, cast its own glow, brighter than the manor’s. The trades district, with its merchant and craftsman shops, had some building lights, but was also lit by guard lanterns.
The only residential district that had any light was the one bounded by the trades district and the Lord’s manor. That was where the wealthiest members of the city lived. They had the only homes that His Lordship felt needed to be protected. Guard lanterns marked the patrol routes that tried to keep those homes safe from ruffians.
Ruffians like Elena and I, Allan noted.
He searched for a place to land. He would need water before he could continue. He saw the Temple of the Moon Goddess below him. He steered to the roof and came down as much like a leaf as he could.
Part of him felt bad using the Temple as a landing spot. The priestesses there were kind to people like him and his sister.
It related to their doctrine. They preached that the Moon had given birth to the Sun. The Sun, being a rebellious boy, out-shined his mother and demanded she be humble to his brightness and warmth. The Moon chose to make her son happy, but always reminded him of who came first, and who gave birth to whom. The priestesses had to be humble before the larger Church of the Sun, but that made them into humble servants of their goddess. As their goddess was a mother, so to did they have to be mothers. That meant, among other things, caring for the poor.
Allan never felt much of a religious calling growing up. Gods and goddesses were unseen things, and therefore didn’t matter as much as food and shelter. Even now he wasn’t certain if anything preached by any priest or priestess was entirely true. He was more concerned about being seen as a poor guest of the Temple, by landing on its roof, than by offending any goddess.
He used the pause in his flight to look around. He wasn’t sure if he would find anything to do from that vantage point. It was well above the streets, and afforded a wide view. It would be a shame to waste this chance.
As he learned to cast spells from Damien’s old tomes, Allan wondered what he would do with the skills and spells he was acquiring. Clearly he couldn’t simply return to Elderwood Ford and become a mage. For one thing, mages hadn’t existed for centuries. People might try to kill him the moment he cast a spell in front of them.
For another thing, he was might still be a wanted young man. A year of better eating had filled out his arms and legs. He’d also grown an extra half-palm of height, and he could now grown a beard and mustache. His face hadn’t changed all that much, though. He also couldn’t be certain that, by killing a man of wealth, he had a bounty placed on his head, or that it was still in place, waiting for him.
Yet the advice given by the ancient mage in his first book, about using magic for good and selfless purposes, kept with Allan over the days and weeks that followed. So did the memory of his sister. The more he thought of her, the more he could hear her telling him that he ought to use his new talents to help people. She believed their survival depended on them not breaking the law whenever they had a choice. That they had to thank those that helped them. That if they had the chance to help others, they ought to, because those others might be willing to help them back.
Allan had wondered about those notions his sister had. He stopped wondering and began to accept them as he read Damien’s narrative on the history of magic, and the little stories he’d drop in between the lessons on casting spells. Time and again, Damien would relate how using magic to benefit people resulted in benefits to the mage, while being selfish led to trouble. Damien was humble enough to relate his own mistakes in that regard, which made Allan trust the mage’s and his sister’s beliefs that much more.
Allan understood that he had a way to help people that he didn’t before he’d fled the city. He had returned to Elderwood Ford for a few nights now, and had found no one to assist. True, he was coming at night. There might be more to help during the day. But at night his face would be harder to see, as it would when he cast spells.
He saw nothing untoward going on from the roof of the Temple. No longer thirsty, he took his flying rod from its place and tapped the rune to lift him into the air. Moments after he rose upward, he heard a shout. He flew in the direction of the sound.
A few streets away, he saw two men with their arms around a third man. The pair were dragging the third man through an alley. A piece of cloth was in the third man’s mouth. One of the pair said something to the third man, but Allan was too high to hear the man whisper.
Allan lowered himself to get a better look at the men. The third man’s clothes were newer than the ones the pair wore. The pair of men had both drawn and sheathed daggers.
When he saw the weapons, Allan knew what was going on. Every so often, someone would hire men like the pair to capture a man and hold him for ransom. While he and his sister lived on the streets, he remembered hearing a few times of a herald’s report of a disappearance, followed a day or so later with news that the disappeared had returned home. The word on the street about the incident was always the same: someone had collected a ransom for the life of the man who’d gone missing.
Allan was aware that it was a crime, and that the kidnappers made coins from the act, but he never learned why anyone would commit such a deed. It seemed risky: taking a man off the streets, hiding him, telling his family that he’d be returned if the kidnappers were given enough money, and letting the man go once the money was paid. There was so much that could go wrong.
Maybe if I stop that kidnapping, I’ll find out something.
Allan knew he couldn’t just land and start a fight. The kidnappers were armed, and he wasn’t. He would need time, and magic, to make any fight more even. He listed the possible spells in his head as quickly as he could.
He settled on a spell to blow a concentrated blast of wind at the trio. He focused on the men as they were about to leave the alley. He cast the spell.
The burst of wind sent the men sprawling into the next street. Allan aimed for the larger of the two kidnappers. He aimed his body and flew. As the man was getting up, Allan kicked at the man. His foot struck the man in the upper chest.
For an instant Allan lost control of his flight after striking the blow. He got his focus back, and landed on the street. His foot stung a bit, but otherwise he felt fine.
He glanced at the scene. The man being kidnapped was lying in the street, his eyes wide. The man Allan had just kicked was also in the street, gasping for air. His accomplice was turning to face Allan. He’d dropped one of his daggers, but had drawn another.
Allan decided that another blow of air might knock the second man down. He focused his attention on the spell, raised his right arm, and pushed his fist at the other man.
His blow landed in the man’s belly. The man staggered back a couple of steps and bent over. Allan dashed at the man. He grabbed the man’s right arm so he couldn’t use his dagger. He yanked the man’s arm. As the man fell forward, Allan pushed up his knee. His knee hit the man in the lower gut, just above the groin.
Allan jerked the man’s knife from him, then turned to the other kidnapper. The man had gotten to his feet, but was still gasping. He started towards Allan with an uncertain stride.
Allan cast a third blast of air. The impact sent the man down with a loud groan of pain. Allan turned back to the second man; he was still down, and holding his body.
Allan stepped to the man the kidnappers had captured. He pulled the cloth out of the man’s mouth. He went behind the man.
“Why were you being kidnapped?” he asked.
The man didn’t reply. Allan saw that the man’s wrists had been bound quickly with twine. He used the knife he’d take from the second man to cut the twine.
“Who are you?” Allan asked. “Why were you being kidnapped?”
The man stood up. He looked at Allan for an instant, shook his head, and ran away down the street.
Allan shook his head. Not even a word of thanks.
A wave of exhaustion fell over him. He heard himself start to gasp. A moment later he realized that two men were slowly recovering from his blows. He drew his flying rod, tapped it, and rose into the air. As he turned away he heard voices below. He saw a lantern in the distance.
He flew away from the scene as fast as he could. He headed back to the Temple. This time he landed behind the structure. Patches of grass ran around the sides and rear of the Temple. The priestesses frowned on people trampling on the grass, but he’d never known them to force someone off if they were resting on it.
Besides, it’s night. No one will be out tending the grounds at night.
Allan cast a shielding spell before trying to go to sleep. He was vaguely aware that, if someone found him and tried to touch him, they’d hit the shield, and that might not be a good thing. But he was tired. More tired than he’d been in weeks. He needed sleep, and he needed to be safe.
When he woke up, the first light of dawn was coming over the city. It took him a few moments to realize where he was, and what time it was. He knew he couldn’t fly out of the city. People were waking up, like him, and would see him.
I’m at the Temple. Maybe I should hide here until tonight.
Allan stepped off the grass. He walked around to the front of the building. He waited on the sidewalk for several moments. Finally the main doors of the Temple opened.
An older woman in white and yellow robes saw him. “Yes, young man?”
“Could I trouble you for some breakfast, Lady of the Moon?”
She looked him up and down. “Are you certain that’s all you need, young man?”
“What do you mean?”
“You look like you need a bath, and new clothes.”
Allan hadn’t realized how ragged he appeared. He’d had to fix, then replace, his clothes with bits of hide from the game he’d killed for food. Occasionally he went to the nearby stream for a bath, but he hadn’t used soap in ages.
“I suppose I do need a little more help, Lady.”
“Come in, then. We’ll see what we can do.”
***
Allan left the Temple a few hours later with a full belly, a new shirt, new leggings, new shoes, and a clean body. He’d had the chance to shave, but chose to only trim the small beard he had. His face might still be on a wanted poster in town.
Once back on the street, he pondered his actions the previous night. I was adequate during that fight, he noted, but I had to rely on magic. I got winded pretty fast, from both the fighting and the casting.
He’d learned to fight living on the streets. He and his sister had to if they were to stay alive. What they’d learned, though, was no so much how to win, but how to disable an opponent enough to get away.
That sort of fighting doesn’t really put a man down. It knocks him over long enough for you to run. If I’d have fought more men, or had to fight to escape, I might not have gotten away.
He looked at his body. I suppose I’m not quite built for fighting, either. Maybe I should learn a thing or two about fighting before I come back and try to help someone else.
It seemed to him that, aside from a guard or a mercenary, the best man to ask about fighting was a weapon-smith. Allan went to the nearest shop, but was told, “Beggars aren’t welcome.” The smiths at the next two shops told him they didn’t have time for boys and their questions.
The fourth shop was tucked away along a quiet street next to a large blacksmith shop. Inside the shop was a solitary smith. The man was tall, a head taller than Allan, with dark hair, dirty clothes, huge arms, and a patch over his left eye. He was hammering on the point of a spear.
“Yes, lad?” he asked. His voice was loud and raspy.
“I wonder if I might trouble you for a bit of your time,” Allan said.
“Time, lad?”
“Yes. I have some questions about learning to fight.”
“And you chose to ask me?” He stopped hammering. “Couldn’t ask a guard, could you?”
“Maybe not.”
“Fair enough. Lucky for you that I don’t need that much work.”
“You don’t? Why?”
“I own the blacksmith shop next door, and the stable next to it.”
“How did you do that?”
“By being good at one I do. This patch notwithstanding.”
“Oh.”
“So, what’s on your mind?”
“Well, sir, first, how does a man get the strength to wield a sword, or a spear?”
“The name’s Owen, young man.”
“Pleased to meet you, Master Owen. I’m Allan.”
Owen nodded. “Allan.” He stopped hammering again. “Practice, young Allan. You get good with a weapon by using it. You get strong by using it.”
Allan let out a laugh and shook his head. “Of course.”
“Well, you being a young man, and not the son of a nobleman or mercenary, it wouldn’t seem obvious till you gave it a moment’s thought.”
“No, I guess not.”
“Any reason why you want to know about fighting?”
“Just curious.”
“I see. Is that all you wished to ask?”
“What’s a good weapon for a young man like me to carry?”
“Depends on why you need a weapon.”
“To defend myself.”
“A dagger’s as good as anything.”
“Really? I thought it was just for poor folk and criminals.”
“It is. But a dagger is easy to hide. It’s also easy to get good at.” Owen waved his hammer at the wall, away from his anvil and forge. “See those swords? Pick one of them.”
Allan picked a sword at random. “Yes?”
“Stand there, and swing it around a bit.”
Allan did so for a few moments.
“Feel your arm getting tired, lad?”
“Yes, now that you mention it.” Allan put the sword back on the weapons rack.
“That’s the bad thing about any weapon bigger than a knife, lad. You use it long enough, and it’ll tire you out. That’s why it takes years to get good with a sword, or a spear, or something like that. A dagger, on the other hand, won’t tire you out as fast, so it’s easy to get good with it.”
“How do you get good with it?”
“Like anything. Practice.”
“I mean, what do you do with it, other than stab someone?”
“There’s your trouble right there, lad. Let’s say I come at you with this hammer, and you’ve got your dagger. I’m taller than you, so my reach is longer than yours, yes?”
“Yes.”
“I’m stronger than you, so my blows are going to hit you hard.”
“Sure.”
“But, if you dodge my first blow, and slash at my arm, you’ll take me down. Think about it an instant or two.”
Allan pictured the scene in his mind. He nodded once he saw what Owen meant. “Yes, I see what you mean.”
“That’s how you learn to use a dagger, lad. Learn to move, learn to slash, learn to block, and learn to thrust effectively. Thing is, it’s not a skill you can find a teacher for.”
“You have to learn on your own.”
“Right. If you do, you’ll be ahead of most men. Most of them that has a dagger never learns more than to stick into someone else. You learn to fight with it, and you’ll keep yourself alive. Most of the time.”
“What do you mean, most of the time, Master Owen?”
“A good weapon isn’t worth much without skill. A good man with a weapon won’t last long without armor.”
“Armor?” Allan nodded again. “Do folk like me wear armor?”
“They could, if they gave it much thought. I say armor, and you think of chest plates and leg guards and shields, yes?”
“Yes.”
“What about leather?”
“Leather armor?”
“Sure. Guards and mercenaries wear leather under their plates or mail. Reinforce the leather with a bit of padding, and you’re safe from glancing blows.”
Maybe magic can make leather even better protection. “What about the arms and legs?”
“Good boots will protect your lower legs. You can fashion arm guards out of leather to protect your wrists.” Owen looked Allan in the eyes. “You sure you’re only asking to protect yourself, lad?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“What are you protecting yourself from?”
“Danger. Shouldn’t every young man be worried enough to live to old age?”
Owen let out a gruff laugh. “I suppose. Is that the last of your questions?”
“For now, Master Owen. I may come back.”
“Come back to buy, and I’ll answer any question you have.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Good day.”
“Good day to you, lad.”
Allan walked out of the shop. Well, I have the dagger, and I can get the hides to make leather. I’ll need to know about making boots and leather armor.
He looked up at the sky. It’s almost midday. Looks like I’ve found a way to spend the day. So long as I don’t attract any attention, I should learn what I need to know, and then I can return to the castle. Then what?
Then come back and be better at helping people.