C Dale Brittain - Wizard of Yurt 1 - 1991 - A Bad Spell in Yurt

Brittain, C. Dale - A Bad Spell in Yurt

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. Fd 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," I 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 sur-

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 pow-

ers of darkness and light, which someone like me sees

through at once."

"I think you're underestimating real wizardry," con-

tinued 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

f

you go beyond illusions, what do you have?" I turned him into a frog.

A BAD SPELL IN YURT

THE CELLARS

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.

2 C. Dale Brittain

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.

A Bad Spell in Yurt 3

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

4 , C. Dale Brittain

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

A Bad Spell in Yurt 5

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

6 C. Dale Brittain

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

A Bad Spell in Yurt 7

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 De!" 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

8

C. Dale Brittain

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

A Bad Spell in Yurt

9

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-schoolea 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.

10

C. Dale Brittain

"All our food, or almost all, is produced right on the castle estates. At

this

time of year they're winnowing the cockerels out of the young fowl, so we'll

have chicken very regularly. I hope you don't miss the greater choice of the

City."

"Well, this is delicious," I answered, wiping my lips and wondering if I

could

reach the platter or if I would have to interrupt Dominic in his conversation

with the lady on his far side to get him to pass it.

"I spent three seasons in the City myself when I was younger, much younger."

"Then you must have been an infant," I said gallantly. I slid my hand

nonchalantly to the left along the table, calculating the distance. I guessed

her as perhaps half again my age, in spite of the big pink ribbons with which

her braids were looped and the myriad flowers and flourishes of lace on her

gown.

"On, no," she said with a tinkling laugh. "I'm so much older and wiser than

you

might think. I may have kept my youthful looks, but they conceal a wealth of

experience. You may not realize it, but it can be a serious disadvantage to

still have golden curls when one has passed twenty summers. It's so hard to

be

taken seriously!"

Although my curls were not golden, I actually realized it quite well, having

the

same problem—except that I didn't have the wealth of experience either.

Dominic's wine glass was unfortunately placed; I was afraid I'd catch it with

my

elbow. I wondered if I dared use a lifting spell on the platter.

"Go ahead, see if you can guess my age," she continued. I was tired of this

topic, but she was just wanning to it. "Come on, everybody, guess!"

"Twenty-five?" I said judiciously.

"My goodness, you're getting close, but you're still too low." She laughed

again. "Anyone else?" looking around the table.

A Bad Spell in Yurt

11

Dominic looked toward us. "Pass the chicken, please," I said quickly.

The chaplain, sitting across the table from me, had been following our

conversation in silence. "Forty-eight," he said, just as everyone else had

stopped talking.

My companion blushed up to the roots of her hair (if she dyed her hair, she

was

careful; the roots were as golden as the rest). The chaplain resumed eating,

and, after a brief embarrassed pause, so did everyone else. I reloaded my

plate

with more clattering of spoons than was strictly necessary.

"'While you were in the City," I said, "did you ever go on the tour of the

wizards' school? Did they show you the dragon in the basement?"

Conversation resumed around us. I glanced over again at the chaplain. I was

afraid he didn't have a sense of humor, which could be a problem for him if

he

was going to be friends with me, but on the other hand he didn't seem to have

any tact either, which could have advantages.

I don't know why I kept expecting Dominic to be my enemy, but the burly royal

heir was trying to be friendly. "There's a story we ve heard even out here,"

he

said, "that if you go far enough north, thousands and thousands of miles, you

come to a land that's nothing but dragons and other magic creatures. Is this

true? A wizard came through once, to visit our old wizard, and he said he'd

been

there."

"Oh, it's real enough," I said. "The magic is wild up there." Other people

were

turning toward us, and I was enjoying the audience. "It's the same magic we

use,

because it too grows out of the power that shaped the earth." I caught the

chaplain's eye across the table and winked. He made no response.

"But the magic there is more primitive," I continued, "not formed into the

deep

channels that generations of wizards have made for it down here. It's a

12

C. Dale Brittain

land of dragons, of giants, of unspeakable monsters. The air cart you saw me

arrive in today"—I knew some of them must have been peeping at me from the

windows—"is the skin of a beast from the land of dragons. Anything could

happen

there; it can be a highly dangerous place, even for those most experienced in

wizardry.

"Have you been there yourself?"

I had been hoping Dominic wouldn't ask that. Of course I hadn't been there.

There had been a field trip from the wizards' school, but only the best

students

were invited to go.

"I am not yet worthy of the voyage," I said in what I hoped would be a

mysterious voice. Surprisingly, the chaplain sat up straighter and fixed me

with

nis enormous eyes at that. Several ladies further down the table smiled as

though they saw right through me. "Has your old wizard ever been?" I said

disingenuously, knowing the answer from what Dominic had said but wanting to

make it clear that I at any rate had company.

"Not mat he ever told us," said the lady on my right, but much more

uncertainly

than I had expected. Several things several people had said about the old

wizard

made him seem like a more distant and more shadowy figure than someone should

be

who had lived in the court for years, and even now, apparently, lived just

outside the castle. I was both going to have to work on my own aura of

shadowy

mystery and visit him.

There was a clearing of a throat at the upper end of the table. Everyone fell

silent at once. ' Wizard!" said the king. "How are you finding Yurt? Do we

have

company to make up for the pleasures of the City?"

The chaplain might have said "No." I instead answered only the first but not

the

second question. "I like it very much!" I said with perfect honesty.

"But already you're worrying that the evenings will

A Bad Spell in Yurt

13

be quiet," said the King with a smile. How had he known that? "This will be

an

incentive for you to work on our telephone system, so you can talk to your

friends again."

The disadvantage to studying wizardry, instead of religion, is that you don't

learn good curses. Everything you learn is in the powerful language of magic

and

will have an effect if you say it, even if the effect is not the intended one.

I

really didn't want to propel King Haimeric and his talk of telephones across

the

hall and into the fire, so I couldn't even think it. "The constable's already

mentioned that to me!" I said with cheerful noncommittal. If I already had a

telephone, maybe I could call up some of my teachers, the ones who still

liked

me even at the end, and ask them how to put one in. But this line of thinking

clearly was not going to get me anywhere. "Do the neighboring kingdoms

already

have their systems?"

' Ours will be the first in the region," said the king proudly.

Ill

Dessert came at that point, providing a welcome distraction. A few minutes

later, the king rose, and everyone rose with him. He left the hall, again on

Dominic's arm, presumably bound for bed. Some people stood talking, and

others

started to disperse. I touched the chaplain on the shoulder. "Would you like

to

go to my chambers for a last glass of wine?"

He looked slightly surprised but nodded, and we walked together back out into

the cobbled courtyard. The long summer evening was still lingering, and the

air

was Hke a caress on the skin. My magic lock was glowing softly. I pressed

with

my palm to open the door, men threw the casements open to let in the air.

The chaplain took a seat by the window, eyeing my

14

C. Dale Brittain

diploma and books. I opened one of the bottles of wine I had brought with me.

Tomorrow I would have to ask the constable about getting some of the local

wine

for my chambers; it was better than what I had been able to afford in the

City

on a student stipend.

"You seemed surprised that I asked you in," I said as I handed him a glass.

"Why

was that? Were you and the old wizard enemies?" I knew at least that he would

give me a direct answer.

"No, not enemies," and he held the glass up to the light. "I trust this isn't

magic wine," he said and smiled for the first time since I'd met him. He took

a

sip without waiting for the answer to what was obviously meant to be a joke.

"But your predecessor resented religion. I don't know whether he thought

there

shouldn't be a court chaplain at all, or whether he thought that the fact

that

religion demands a higher standard of human behavior than does magic put nim

at

a disadvantage. I have only been here three years myself, and clearly

something

happened between the old wizard and my own predecessor. I have never heard

what

it was; I had too much Christian tact to ask."

"You didn't have too much Christian tact to guess the lady's age tonight!" I

said with a laugh. If he could make a joke, so could I.

"The Lady Maria?" He considered for a moment. "Maybe it wasn't tactful at

that."

I began to wonder if he would be as good a person to talk to as I had hoped.

'Did the old wizard have these same chambers?" I said to change the subject.

"These chambers? No. In fact, I was rather surprised when I heard the

constable

was putting you here. The queen's old nurse lived here until she died last

year;

the rooms were then shut up until last week. The old wizard had his chambers

in

the north tower.'

I knew it. They weren't taking me seriously. I could

A Bad Spell in Yurt

15 the

be ten times more powerful and mysterious m north tower than in the old

nurse's

chambers!

As though reading my thoughts and wanting to contradict them, the chaplain

said,

"Everyone was enormously impressed when a wizard trained in the great school

answered the constable's ad. The queen started talking at once about a

telephone

system."

"Why a telephone, in the name of the saints?" I cried, using an exclamation I

trusted he would understand.

He lifted his eyebrows at me. "The queen has found telephones extremely

convenient the times she has been in the City. She thought that if we had a

system here, she could phone here and talk to the king wherever she is, in

the

City or visiting her parents, rather than having to rely on carrier pigeons.'

The queen was clearly an important presence here in Yurt. I wondered if she

could possibly be as old and bent as the king, and, since she seemed to take

frequent trips, when she would be returning.

The chaplain hesitated for a moment before speaking again, taking

unnecessarily

long over a sip of wine. It was probably Christian tact failing again to

control

his words. "I don't like this talk of telephones," he said brusquely.

"Neither do I," I said cheerfully, but he didn't hear

me.

"The queen herself tried to persuade me that it's only white magic, that it

involves no dealings with the devil, but I can't be sure. There must be black

magic in being able to hear someone else's voice over hundreds of miles."

Since it could have been pink or purple magic for all I knew about telephones,

I

responded to a different aspect of his comment. "If you had been more

friendly

C Dale Brittain - Wizard of Yurt 1 - 1991 - A Bad Spell in Yurt

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