Swords & Dark Magic: The New Sword and Sorcery

Then he thought: I want that fire burning. The fire’s burning up there.

And all of a sudden Tewk stopped pulling at him. Tewk was looking up, and there was a fire, a huge fire, for everybody to see. It was the biggest illusion he’d ever cast, and he just stood there, as Tewk stood there, both of them being themselves, while the fire roared away on the height of the tower and sent up black smoke to the heavens.

Could Osric’s men see it? Willem wondered. Could it carry that far?

Sword rang against sword. Thunked into flesh, and a dying man fell at Willem’s feet. Tewk flung an arm around him and shoved him into motion, running, running, while Tewk turned and hacked another man down.

If he were Master…if he were even Almore, he would have a chance. But he didn’t know where a torch was. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He reached the steps. He climbed for all he was worth, and Tewk stayed behind him, but attackers were trying to come up after them and Tewk stopped to hew away at the men on the steps.

On hands and knees, Willem made it over the crest, made it as far as the top of the wall, and he could see into the signal tower, where wood was piled, and oil jars, but it wasn’t lit, and there was a merc there, the same they’d told to lay the fire. That man drew his sword, and Willem’s mind went momentarily blank. No fire. No torch. No way to light it.

He wanted it. Or everybody in the town was going to be dead and King Osric was going to be outside the walls and the mercs in charge of the town, and Master, and Almore, and Jezzy—

He dodged a sword blow. The man saw Tewk as the threat: it was Tewk he was going for, right past him.

Which left him the stack of wood in the stone fire-pit. And the oil, which was still in the jars.

And fire didn’t obey illusion magic. Heat wouldn’t come.

He heard swords meet behind him. Twice. Blows like a blacksmith’s hammer.

Sparks flying. Little sparks.

Be! he thought.

And the fire came.

The fire took the wood. It blazed up. It broke the jars, which spread fire along the wall, and the great fire roared like a living thing.

Heat flared out. He wasn’t thinking it. It was.

A master wizard—a real master wizard—

Hadn’t Master taught Almore? And taught him?

He felt that piece of paper he had tucked in his shirt. The one that Master had written, naming him master.

He stood there with the smoke going up to the sky, and the heat baking his front and calling up more sweat, and then a hand landed on his shoulder, and squeezed.

“Good job,” Tewk panted. “Good job, boy.”

“Master Willem,” he said, not prideful, not arrogant, just numb. Down below the wall he could see mercs running for it, some with loot, some not, and doors pouring out men who headed for the open courtyard gate. They weren’t slowing down.

“Master Willem,” Tewk said, and squeezed a second time. “There’s still work to do, for you and me. Your Talent can hound those bastards all the way to the gates. I’ll mop up any that get behind us. All right? Got the strength for it?”

“People won’t get killed,” he said, remembering Master’s injunction. He hadn’t killed anybody. He hadn’t tried to kill anybody. If their own inclinations were to kill people—he hadn’t stopped it, but he hadn’t made them do anything they wouldn’t like to do. He turned, a little wobbly, and a little dizzied by the downward view of the steep and narrow stairs, and Tewk kept a firm grip on him. “I’ll do it.”

“Until you can magic yourself wings,” Tewk said, “I’m keeping hold of you. Not losing you, no.”

“Thanks,” he said, and started down the steps, with Tewk’s hand firmly clenching his collar, all the way down.

King Osric was holding court uptown. Master was packing, down here in the Alley. Master was going back to his house higher on the hill, and Master was going to work for Tewk’s cousin, twice removed, who was going to be the new duke in Wiscezan.

“He’s a little lazy,” Tewk said about his cousin. “You’ll notice he sat safe in Korianth. But he’s a scholar, not a fighter. You’ll like him,” he said to Master, and Master nodded.

Almore and Jezzy were already packed, since Master said they would have real beds, and each their own room, and six changes of clothes, and servants.

Willem supposed he would have a room, too. He had new clothes—his old ones he didn’t even want to remember. He’d had a bath at the Ox, he’d changed into clothes all the same color—gray—with new boots from the boot-seller, and a gray cloak he liked just to stroke, because it felt as smooth and soft as one of Jezzy’s cats.

But he didn’t know, now that Master and everybody called him Master Willem, exactly where he would be. He didn’t have anything to pack, either, except an old knife he liked, and a few pages Master had given him, which he was going to bind into the start of a book. So he had those lying on the table, and Master and Tewk talked for a while.