‘Magic, Study, Warrior’

  The Ashfields were empty, a barren land-- a scar on the plain, where warriors were forged, and the young and eager died. The ash was itself soaked with blood of both men and beast and when it was not home to the daughter called 'War', it was home to the son called 'Desperation'.

  And it was desperation that had those few people with their hands deep in the ash and dirt, all scavengers piling broken metal, wood, and weapons that could make them coin.

  And standing in a simple tunic and rags, Ivor looked down at the large pit he had dug up. To the side, the half Aasimar, half Goliath man had a stacked pile of tattered iron and broken arms that was placed next to a small cabin outside the wall. The cabin was in the middle of the Ashfields, and what most did not know was that he built the cabin every time the Great Houses fought the tides of monsters in the Ashfields.

  “Ivor, old man Ivor!”

  The half-Aasimar, half-giant man turned his head away from the pit he was scrutinising and saw three young teenagers running his way, skipping and stumbling over mounds of shifted earth.

  “Clara, what brings you to my home today? If you're looking for your friends, worry not. I last saw them scouring the fields to the east.”

  The man Clara was speaking to stood over seven feet tall, had broad shoulders, a bald head, a thick beard, and the definition of an oncoming gut. His eyes were both golden-hued, and he smiled without a care in the world—unlike the teenage Goliath or the blacksmith he had seen in the market. This Ivor had the body of a warrior, and the fact that he was living outside the wall on his lonesome lent credence to Marcus’s conclusion.

  “What can I do for you?" he said, smiling like a loving uncle happy to indulge Clara.

  “Can you help teach Marcus magic,” Clara pointed at Marcus.

  His smile fell away, and he looked up over Clara’s shoulder at Marcus. “No,” he shook his head, his sad eyes never leaving Clara.

  “You're the only one who can help him, I can pay you.” She grabbed at her rugged tunic that held the last few coins of copper Marcus had held onto before the meeting with the Aasimar boys and was not given to Agmak.

  “Take him to Victor. I am sure he can teach him," Ivor said as his beard swayed. He then headed to his cabin.

  “No, he will take him away,” she lowered her voice and stepped closer.

  He turned and raised his eyebrow, ”so boy- you're one of those.”

  Marcus shrugged.

  Ivor turned back to look at Clara. " He's like you, then. You're alive, aren’t you? I am sure he will be alright as well.”

  “No, he won't, he has innate magic.”

  “Yes, and so do you. I see no problem unless you think your friend is more?” He turned back, picking firewood from a rack and heading towards the door of his cabin to warm his fireplace.

  “No,” she ran in front of him, not daring to block his path to the door but obstructing it enough. Marcus has two innate magics.”

  Ivor paused at that, and memories of him and his battle brothers flashed before him as his lord ordered him to charge the gates of a rival House. By all measures of men, Ivor and his battle brothers were neither cowards nor weak, but facing a lord of house Crawtomb with two innate magics was one of many things a man could not do lightly. Having two innate magics made a man stand above most men, for he would never forget the spells. He would never need to study or have the need to keep them written down in a spell book or Katch paper.

  What this meant was that such people were above other casters, unlike regular casters who forgot spells, letting the intricacies and finer aspects of the spell be more complex to recall, needing the caster to recite and relearn the spell. They did not have to worry about not using a specific spell or magic form for an extended period of time.

  Two innate magics, this was the sort of power that belonged beyond the third wall.

  Ivor paused again, sighed, and closed his eyes. " All of you come, let’s talk inside.”

  They stepped inside the cabin, and Marcus looked around the room. It was a small room meant for a single person.

  In the middle of the room, a simple wooden table with carved legs and a rickety wooden chair were placed. A straw-stuffed mattress was on a simple bed frame, and behind him, a solid black chest was placed.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  When he looked to the side, he saw a coiled length of rope hanging on a hook, a weathered cloak hanging from a peg, and a candle made from animal fat.

  Ivor took a seat behind the wooden table and let the three teenagers stand in front of him. ”So tell me what you think your friend is capable of.”

  “I don’t trust Victor," Clara said, looking down at the wooden floors of Ivor’s cabin.

  “And you think he will take him away.”

  “Yes, he has two innate magics and —and,” Gabe turned to Marcus.

  “Marcus, use the katch paper. Show him.”

  “No, you will do no such thing.” Ivor raised his hand, stopping Gabe in his tirade, “If what you say is true, it would be unwise to show anyone, and I personally don't have any preference for truth seekers rummaging through my mind.”

  “Mind readers!” Marcus looked over at Clara.

  “So he doesn’t even know of mind magic,” Ivor said, turning to Clara,

  “where did you find him?”

  “Found him in the Ashfields, Gabe thinks they threw him there?”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Ivor pinched his eyebrows and went silent, and Clara, Marcus and Gabe were alongside him.

  “Before I can give you my answer,” he turned to Marcus, “show me what you can do.”

  Marcus scratched his head. “I don't think I know how to use magic.”

  Ivor raised his head to meet Marcus, furrowed his large, bushy eyebrows, and looked at him like a fool who knew not how to walk. Then he looked at the other two, asking if this was some sort of joke. “It’s innate magic—you just use it,” he said, looking Marcus straight in the eye.

  “Up until a month ago I didn’t even know magic was a real thing,” Marcus shrugged.

  “Boy, you mean to tell me you have never used magic,” Marcus’s eye twitched at being called 'boy', and Ivor didn’t miss it.

  "No, never. Not once in my life," 'that is this life as of the past weeks.'

  Ivor continued staring at the three like fools and trying to understand the joke, “ so you mean to tell me that not once over the many summers of you life have you used magic."

  "Yes," Marcus said. Ivor's eyebrow twitched, and as much as he could tell, the boy was not lying-- which was odd.

  "Tell me then what are the innate spells you have written on your soul.”

  “On my soul—" he muttered in confusion. Then, as he realised what the older man was asking, he continued, "I have ‘Arcane Sight'.” Ivor sat straighter in his chair at the words, taking the boy seriously. And I have Nova of Shadow Sun.”

  Ivor’s face went blank, and he turned, looking at his window, peering into the far distance. His hand twitched.

  “Victor. If you told Victor, you would definitely not see your friend again, Clara,” he said in a lower voice that was loud enough to etch worry deep in their hearts.

  “Yes, I know.” she replied with a defiance burning low in her voice.

  “Arcane Sight, how does it work for you?” he turned back to Marcus.

  “The time it happens, I can see colours. I think it’s magic,” Marcus said.

  “Can you do it now?” Ivor looked at Marcus and saw the blank look of confusion on the boy’s face. " Boy, unlike spells, innate magic is easy—just wish to see it, command it, and will it.”

  Marcus, ever sceptical, was surprised, and the appearance of colours had him stumbling back into the wall.

  “What do you see, boy?” he rumbled.

  “Colours.”

  “What do you see when you look at me?”

  “I see White, Blue, and Red," the boy said, and Ivor’s eyes widened a bit, a shiver running down his back. He stood and walked over to the chest behind him. It was plain, and one would guess that he liked it that way.

  He reached in, grabbed two daggers, and walked back to his seat. He placed them in front of the boy.

  “What colours do you see?” he asked again.

  Marcus looked down at the two daggers. “The right one is blue, and the left one gives off white light.”

  Ivor did not respond. He grabbed his two daggers from his plain-looking table, moved over to his chest, and dumped them in. "Mage sight. This is very rare magic. It’s good magic, and most can’t tell when it’s being used.

  Avoid arcane mages using the same spell-- they will know if you are using it."

  The large Goliath man turned back to the group, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fine Clara, I will teach your friend.”

  —

  When the children left, Ivor was curious, if not intrigued, that the boy had manifested two innate magics. For that alone, he would have accepted to teach him, but not only did he have a more focused mage sight, but he also had a second innate magic, one that even he had never had.

  To think they would throw away someone so powerful just because he was not of pure blood, Ivor stood still behind his door and thought. he thought of what to do next with this information. he could tell one of the noble houses and help the boy out of the slums, but that would leave him a serf for whichever house took him in. If he took him to the church-- no, they would cripple him. he shook his head and came to an idea if they were willing to throw the boy away, he would teach him. He would forge him if only to show the houses that half-breeds like him were more than just—.

  He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened them and breathed once more, he was calm, the bloodlust gone from his eyes.

  The next day, the teenagers came to Ivor’s cabin with something akin to new-found energy. The youngest of the orphans ran across the earthy, ash-soaked dunes, laughing and, at moments, digging through the war-torn earth before running back to the group, showing everyone.

  As for Marcus, he followed along, talking with Clara the entire time as he tried asking questions, and she tried to answer all of him about all she knew.

  Ivor stood on the ridge of a hill where his cabin was. His hands were dirty and filled with ash and brown earth as he sorted the different kinds of metals and weaponry left behind that he had collected after the annual battle of the Ashfields. The group of eight came to a stop in front of the cabin, and after a few words between Ivor, Marcus and Clara, seven of the orphaned teenagers left to scavenge the barren lands.

  Ivor looked at the boy in front of him and did not know exactly what to do. Sure, he had agreed with the boy and Clara to offer tutelage, but what was the point? Would there be a point? Sure, he could teach him, but the boy was orphaned and left for dead.

  The boy was living in the slums of Srok under the rule of Victor Stan, and the Baron did not care for people as long as he got a cut from the black market, thieves and smugglers. He could show him all he knew, but it would be a waste. Someone with two innate magics would cause a lot of trouble not only for himself but also for Clara and her friends.

  It was a question he had thought of all night-- what was the boy capable of? Was he capable of joining a house as a guard? Of course, he was. Would the power he would give the boy be used for good or evil-- that he was not sure of?

  Sure, Marcus could become strong, but Victor and the Baron of Srok would never let him be. He felt it was a waste of time, for with strength came daggers in one’s back, corruption, and pointless deaths. But to waste so much potential, Ivor only hoped the gods of Sun and River would merely look kindly upon the boy. He sighed internally. 'Then let it be for the gods of Sun and Water and let what comes be that which they will.'