The Wrong Mage

Fail to learn it properly, and you die.

Once that truth sank in, Artila gave the work everything she had. She learned at a dead run, and by the time she reached the goal set for her, time still remained. She spent what was left on a handful of smaller magics: a spell to read the weather, a spell for warmth, a spell to find water beneath the ground.

Zeldia the spiritist had come to watch, and her offhand remark that spirit stones were easier than casting spells drove Hisnil into a fury. She was from the same homeland as Ilesin, and she was Nazares's twin sister — large, loud, and blessed with the temper of a perfectly happy elephant, which was why she and Artila took to each other at once.

"Before you leave on this journey, I'll pack you a few spirit stones you'll actually need. Better than learning that one's magic."

Hisnil shoved his head between them, bristling.

"Don't interrupt."

"I'm doing her a kindness. A kindness. Leaving a person entirely in your hands would be a crime."

Artila prayed only that Zeldia would not forget what she had just said. Those spirit stones sounded extremely useful.

The day before they were to leave, Hisnil took her out and demonstrated Elevation Magic, the spell that quickened horses and carriages alike.

"Findrak Castle is ordinarily ten days off, but done this way it's three. On the way back, you cast it."

She grasped it so quickly that she suspected she had known the spell before she lost her memory. The weight of the responsibility, however, left her with no confidence she could manage it properly.

"If I cast it, I think it'll take six days."

"Still better than ten."

Hisnil held out a thick notebook.

"I've written down a few magical formulas. Learn them on the road. There will be a test when you get back."

Artila opened it and let out a small, strangled yelp. The pages were black with formulas.

"Hisnil, doesn't 'a few' mean fewer than ten?"

"It is a few. From here to here counts as one."

Pages rasped past under his thumb, sheet after sheet.

"...I think I'll die before I finish half of a single one."

"It's easier than it looks. Learn them well and they'll be useful. Travel safely! I'll be so happy when my disciple comes home from her first mission!"

Since when was he my master? They had already settled their places as lead and second. For Artila, this was a relationship advancing at a reckless speed.

The moment the talk with Hisnil ended, Zeldia, who had been waiting, pressed a pouch into her hands.

"Here. What I told you about. Take it."

The cloth pouch was packed with flat stones, and Zeldia had tied a slip of paper to each one, naming its use.

They looked as if they would prove very useful indeed.

"And this, too."

Zeldia also gave her a large cloak.

"There's a heat enchantment on it. For someone raised in the south, like you, it'll come in handy."

"Thank you! I'll put it to good use."

"And there's a friend of mine there, the spiritist Sekiana. She's better than I am at rites of spiritual power. I've already spoken to her, so go find her when you arrive."

Artila's eyes went wide.

"Could she restore my memories?"

"Don't get your hopes too high. I can't promise anything. Still, she knows more than I do, so I asked her. I told Ilesin as well. Go together as soon as you get there. The two of them have been close since they were children."

"Close?"

"Mm. Their parents were very close, so the families mixed often from the time they were small."

A strange feeling came over Artila. Of course Ilesin had friends from home, but the simple fact that someone stood that near to him felt suddenly, sharply new. Zeldia and Nazares were his friends too, when she thought about it, and Hisnil was closer to a brother than to a man in his employ. It was only natural that home should hold people just as dear. Even so, for no reason she could name, she felt slighted, and lonely.

The next day she carried her packed belongings outside. In the castle yard a loaded carriage waited among knights already in their gear. She looked for Ilesin and found him in a dark brown plaid cloak, checking over the company that would ride out.

Before long the castle folk began to gather to see them off. Ilesin shook hands with Bomar and Nazares, then laid a hand on Hisnil's shoulder and patted it — a captain's farewell for the first two, a brother's for the last. Hisnil said something. Ilesin caught him by the neck, bent his head down, and spoke at length, and Hisnil nodded. Ilesin patted the shoulder once more and came over to Artila.

"You ride in the carriage."

"I do know how to ride."

"Mages ride in carriages. You need both hands free."

"Oh. Yes. All right."

Just then Zeldia and Nazares came out into the yard. Artila pointed toward them.

"I'll go say goodbye."

"Go on."

She ran to them, caught both in one fierce embrace, and kissed each of them on the cheek in turn. Nazares patted her back.

"Come back safe."

Hisnil, watching, shoved his way in.

"Artila, I'm the one who taught you magic. Shouldn't you be warmer to me?"

"All right, I will. Come here."

She opened her arms. Only then did Hisnil understand what disaster he had invited, and he retreated at once.

"I didn't mean for you to hug me and pet me. Be grateful in your heart. Only in your heart."

"Just say the word whenever you want. I can do it when I get back, too."

She kissed her own hand and waved it at him. Hisnil recoiled and shouted.

"That is never going to happen!"

Artila climbed into the carriage. Zeldia and Nazares flung their arms wide and called after her.

"Travel safe!"

The moment they passed the gate, Hisnil's Elevation Magic took hold and their speed leapt. The castle vanished beyond the horizon almost at once, and mountains and rivers that had seemed far away swept past at their side.

When the sun went down, the country around them turned cold and unfamiliar. The cook hung a pot over the fire and dumped the ingredients in, and when the stew was done it was ladled into bowls and handed out with bread.

"Um, Mage."

Artila looked up with bread still in her mouth.

A boy knight dipped a quick bow.

"My name is Bok. I heard you're the one who saved our captain and came back with him."

She swallowed and waved a hand.

"We got out by helping each other. Whatever life-debts we owed were settled then. But... Bok, were you a mercenary too?"

"No. Why would you think that?"

"Because you called Ilesin captain. I thought only people who'd served with him as mercenaries did that."

Not that she had much to go on. The only people she had actually spoken with were Nazares, Zeldia, and Hisnil. This was the largest crowd she had been among since coming to Pobern. Bok laughed and waved it off.

"Not at all. I moved straight from Findrak to Pobern. Everyone calls him captain, so I do too. I've never been anywhere but those two. Were you always a mage, though, Miss Artila? Aside from Lord Hisnil, you're the first one I've ever seen."

"I learned from Hisnil after I got here. You probably won't believe that, but I'll do my best... and except for the times when doing one's best is useless, everything will turn out fine."

The country around them was perfectly safe in any case. She doubted she would have to prove herself by force anytime soon. Bok lifted a hand and pointed behind him.

"Want to talk with my friends? They're all curious about you."

"It's all right. If I join in, it'll only be less fun. And I may not look it, but I'm on watch. I'm working."

The boy glanced around, flustered. There was nothing that could possibly be there. He scratched his head and apologized.

"Oh. I see. I interrupted you. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for. I liked talking."

"Me too. Good work, then!"

Bok bowed again and went back to his friends. They were disappointed by whatever he reported, but they found something else to care about soon enough and grew noisy once more. When Artila finished eating, she returned her bowl, came back, spread out the cloak Zeldia had given her, and set a heating stone on top of it.

"Who gave you that?"

She turned. Ilesin was standing there with a spirit stone in his hand.

"Zeldia. And what's that?"

"A heating stone. I packed one before we left. Thought we might need it."

"You're right. We might. It's quite cold."

He held the stone out to her. She took it without thinking, then tried to give it back.

"I meant it seemed like you might need it."

"I'm from the north. I don't really need it. I'm not cold."

"Then give it to someone who is."

"Everyone but you is a northerner. They could run around naked and be fine. You use both."

"The stones might cook me."

"Two won't even be enough. Not for a southerner like you."

Artila slipped the spirit stone he had given her inside her clothes. Ilesin startled. She reached in, settled the stone where it belonged, and drew her hand back out. He was looking somewhere else.

"Ilesin?"

"Nothing. Sleep well... rest well. You work better when your body's clear."

"Nagging all of a sudden. I take it you've been there yourself?"

"Why?"

"Advice is built out of your own mistakes. So advice is a promise you make to yourself, not something meant for other people. That's also why advice is mostly useless."

"Everyone makes mistakes. Thinking you haven't might be a mistake in itself."

"That's a long excuse."

"It is an excuse. But I've made plenty of mistakes because I was tired. A fairly large one, recently."

"Recently — when?"

"The day I met you."

"What mistake did you make?"

"I chose the wrong mage."

She had never heard this before. Curiosity got the better of her.

"There was a mage besides Hisnil?"

"Not a mage. A man who claimed to be one. The Magic Tower had fallen, he said, so he'd never become an officially certified mage, and he bragged that he could do anything. I was the fool who believed that nonsense. I hadn't slept a wink in more than three days. I was too tired. I wanted to decide quickly and rest, so I just went with him. And..."

Ilesin shrugged and shook his head.

"He was a fraud beyond anything I'd expected. Spectacularly so. He was probably a worse mage than you."

"Worse than I am now?"