left a permanent legacy. The palms of his hands now bore a pattern of black marbling etched into his skin by the hot stinking fluid ejected from the grelfon’s throat. The irrepressible little magician assured everyone that it was of no consequence. After a couple of days back at the apartment during which he gave the impression of not doing very much, he insisted things get back to normal. He felt his first duty was to make as full a report as possible to King Vailin, who had sent him an encouraging little note. To that end he took Karryl along with him.
It was an hour after sunrise on a cool but pleasant early spring morning. A few old dry winter-brown leaves swirled in busy little eddies around their feet as they took the long way round, through the palace grounds, to the Royal apartments. Symon was dressed in a pale grey robe of soft wool, a simple thick cord of twisted blue cotton around his waist, and his usual thick-soled sandals. Not having taken the final examinations which would confirm him as a fully qualified magician, Karryl was not yet entitled to wear a robe. Instead he had chosen dark green slim-fitting trousers tucked into brown leather calf-length boots, and a cap-shouldered russet tunic fastened up the front with black lacings. He was not oblivious to the admiring and wistful glances from the occasional maid-servant or kitchen wench seizing the opportunity for some fresh air as they went about their early morning duties. He wondered, smiling to himself, whether they would be as interested if he were wearing the distinctive robe which would mark him out as a magician.
His pleasant reverie was abruptly interrupted by his master and mentor scurrying along trying to keep up with the long-paced stride of his apprentice. “I think it’s about time you began to learn that there’s more to being a Court Magician than casting a few spells as and when required. And before you start to protest, the remarkable things you have done both recently and in the past have not gone unnoticed. Now the furore has died down, even if only temporarily, people have moved on to other things. However, we as Court Magicians have a potential situation on our hands and we have to consider how best to deal with it. Look, can you ease up just a bit? My little legs are going like bees’ wings!”
Karryl’s face split in a wide grin and he obligingly reduced his long-legged pace to a saunter. “So, are we intending to discuss battle tactics with King Vailin, or do you have something more devious in mind?”
Symon gave his apprentice a side-long glance. “Certainly we’re going to discuss tactics, and not only with His Majesty. This is going to be a full-blown council. Every minister, both governmental and religious will all be expecting to have their say.”
Karryl frowned as he returned his mentor’s glance. “So, what are we going to be there for? Advisors? Eyewitnesses?”
Symon nodded vigorously. “Both, most definitely. I would however, ask one thing as a favour to me.”
“Of course. You only have to name it.”
Symon made a doubtful sounding noise in his throat. “Please, don’t speak until you’re asked to. Hopefully this will be a properly conducted council, not a free-for-all shouting match.”
The little magician stopped and looked up at his tall apprentice. “Mind you, I wouldn’t be in the least bit surprised if that’s how it ended up. Now, if we cut down that little path just there, we can come out by the gate in front of the Mages’ Entrance.”
* * *
As they approached the heavily gilded door to the Council Room, Karryl recognised one of the guards from the squad which had accompanied him on the night they had killed the third grelfon. With a perfectly straight face the guard gave Karryl a slow wink before coming to attention, his halberd upright and central to his body. The young magician gave the man a brief nod of acknowledgement as Symon flicked his hand in the direction of the doors.
It was an hour after sunrise on a cool but pleasant early spring morning. A few old dry winter-brown leaves swirled in busy little eddies around their feet as they took the long way round, through the palace grounds, to the Royal apartments. Symon was dressed in a pale grey robe of soft wool, a simple thick cord of twisted blue cotton around his waist, and his usual thick-soled sandals. Not having taken the final examinations which would confirm him as a fully qualified magician, Karryl was not yet entitled to wear a robe. Instead he had chosen dark green slim-fitting trousers tucked into brown leather calf-length boots, and a cap-shouldered russet tunic fastened up the front with black lacings. He was not oblivious to the admiring and wistful glances from the occasional maid-servant or kitchen wench seizing the opportunity for some fresh air as they went about their early morning duties. He wondered, smiling to himself, whether they would be as interested if he were wearing the distinctive robe which would mark him out as a magician.
His pleasant reverie was abruptly interrupted by his master and mentor scurrying along trying to keep up with the long-paced stride of his apprentice. “I think it’s about time you began to learn that there’s more to being a Court Magician than casting a few spells as and when required. And before you start to protest, the remarkable things you have done both recently and in the past have not gone unnoticed. Now the furore has died down, even if only temporarily, people have moved on to other things. However, we as Court Magicians have a potential situation on our hands and we have to consider how best to deal with it. Look, can you ease up just a bit? My little legs are going like bees’ wings!”
Karryl’s face split in a wide grin and he obligingly reduced his long-legged pace to a saunter. “So, are we intending to discuss battle tactics with King Vailin, or do you have something more devious in mind?”
Symon gave his apprentice a side-long glance. “Certainly we’re going to discuss tactics, and not only with His Majesty. This is going to be a full-blown council. Every minister, both governmental and religious will all be expecting to have their say.”
Karryl frowned as he returned his mentor’s glance. “So, what are we going to be there for? Advisors? Eyewitnesses?”
Symon nodded vigorously. “Both, most definitely. I would however, ask one thing as a favour to me.”
“Of course. You only have to name it.”
Symon made a doubtful sounding noise in his throat. “Please, don’t speak until you’re asked to. Hopefully this will be a properly conducted council, not a free-for-all shouting match.”
The little magician stopped and looked up at his tall apprentice. “Mind you, I wouldn’t be in the least bit surprised if that’s how it ended up. Now, if we cut down that little path just there, we can come out by the gate in front of the Mages’ Entrance.”
* * *
As they approached the heavily gilded door to the Council Room, Karryl recognised one of the guards from the squad which had accompanied him on the night they had killed the third grelfon. With a perfectly straight face the guard gave Karryl a slow wink before coming to attention, his halberd upright and central to his body. The young magician gave the man a brief nod of acknowledgement as Symon flicked his hand in the direction of the doors.
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