Page 8 of Witchcraft and Fury (Chronicles of the Divided Isle #1)

‘Of course, like Storrbury, I have my own associates who keep their ears to the ground in the country’s largest cities.

Bayen is one of them. His talent for moving unseen makes him invaluable to me.

In fact, I have had him spying on young Hroth Archdale for the past month.

You see, Storrbury had instructed me to travel to Falcontop and enrol him in my class.

The boy has impeccable noble lineage, and has been down to become a wizard trainee from an early age.

I wanted Bayen to find out what he is really like. ’

‘Well, you didn’t need a spy for that,’ Solar snorted. ‘All you had to do was ask anyone in the street and they’d tell you straight away that he’s a brainless swine.’

‘Quite so. I take on the best raw talent only; in my class you will be studying alongside what is undoubtedly the future generation of magical leaders and experts. It didn’t take long for Bayen to work out that Hroth Archdale is not of the necessary calibre, and he set about finding an alternative candidate for me.

That was when he started paying more attention to you.

Bayen has always made it his business to know of all the lowlifes and criminals of the city.

He had long known that you were the fastest thief in Falcontop, an expert at tricking stall owners on market day, smart enough to avoid fights when possible and, more importantly, to win them by any means when cornered. ’

‘You make me sound like a real heroine,’ said Solar with a hint of sarcasm, feeling a little wounded at having been lumped together with the city’s “lowlifes”.

‘Not a heroine, no, but these are all skills that mark you out to be an excellent magical trainee.

When we are thwarting the plots of goblins or ridding towns of werewolves, do you think I want a class of lumbering idiots by my side?

No – I want students who are intelligent, courageous and used to living off their wits.

‘A few days ago, Bayen sent word to me that you were heading back to Falcontop from Queen’s Port, and I decided to observe you for myself during the final leg of your journey.

When Grubber challenged me to cards and first asked me my name, I used my middle name Irenbend and the false name Day so that you wouldn’t recognise me for who I really am.

I was still observing you, and I do not believe that you would have acted your usual self had you known that you had the king’s cousin for a customer. ’

He took another swig of potion, and Solar thought back with glee to the look on Grubber’s face when Loveday had finally revealed his true identity.

‘I made up my mind to enrol you when you sent Grubber’s tankard flying during the game,’ continued Loveday, once he had stoppered the potion bottle, ‘for in doing so you showed nerve and that you can think on your feet.’

Solar remembered a question that had been gnawing away at her. ‘Why did you need my help to beat Grubber at cards? Since you’re a wizard, surely you could’ve just raided his mind and seen what cards he had?’

‘I could have done, were it not for the crescent moon amulet he wears around his neck. Its protection means that mind-influencing magic cannot touch him.’

‘When you were at the city gate and told Grubber his house was burning down, that was an attempt at mind nesting, wasn’t it? Planting a lie in his head and making him believe it. Only he didn’t, ’cos of his amulet.’

‘Quite.’

As evening approached, the road began to narrow and the trees drew closer. Their roots broke through the road’s surface like raised scars, and dense branches cast looming shadows. Just as Solar noticed that birdsong had given way to the cawing of crows, Loveday halted and held up a hand .

‘Here,’ he said. Solar followed his gaze and saw in the gloom a small dirt track that meandered off the main road and was soon lost from sight among the gnarled tree trunks and shadows. Loveday began to make his way along the track, and Solar followed cautiously.

Within a minute or two on this new path Solar had lost sight of the sun.

She stumbled along, keeping close behind Loveday.

Then he stopped again, so suddenly that Solar almost walked into him.

‘We’ve arrived,’ he said. He ushered her forwards through a tangle of branches until they emerged into an expansive grassy glade resplendent in the evening’s sunlight.

At the far end was a small lake, blue and dazzling, and sandy beach.

‘Welcome to my magic encampment,’ said Loveday, ‘and a new beginning.’

Five crimson tents of varying size stood majestically in the centre of the glade, their flaps lined in gold and fluttering lazily in the wind.

High above each tent flew a pair of flags that displayed two different coats of arms. Solar recognised one as the king’s own: a grey dire wolf passant.

The other showed two sapphire-blue dragons combatant.

The tents were arranged in a circle, so that all of them looked out onto a campfire that crackled merrily.

A short, pale, chubby adolescent with black hair plastered over his forehead tended to a spit, and the delicious smell of roasting pheasant wafted over to them.

The boy looked to be around Solar’s own age.

Solar blinked hard to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

Dozens of imps were whizzing through the air over and around the fire, occasionally hitting the boy with spatulas many times their size and urging him to cook faster with gruff curses and commands.

Their bodies were a vivid green in colour, and their long, slender, beating wings an iridescent blur.

‘Looks like supper is almost ready,’ said Loveday.

‘They … they …’

‘Are imps, yes,’ finished the wizard for her. ‘They help out around here, when the mood takes them, and occasionally even make themselves useful on missions. But patience, especially when it comes to food, is not their forte.’

Another boy sat on an oak stool across from the fire.

He had thick auburn hair, and his eyes were screwed up in concentration as he peered and poked at a pile of small bones before him.

He tried to jot down notes in a book on his lap, but the bones jumped of their own accord and changed position.

He swore loudly in frustration before resuming his peering and prodding.

To the side of this hub of activity, beyond the circle of tents, a man and a boy of around nineteen moved back and forth in rapid, fluid steps as they sparred with swords.

The youth – the taller of the two – had dark hair and tanned skin.

Though slim and lithe, he had a muscular physique, with biceps that bulged underneath his shirt with every attack and parry.

His feet were a blur of movement. Every now and again his partner gave a grunt of approval, but the boy’s sullen scowl never altered.

Then, all of a sudden, he stretched too far, and his opponent sidestepped and tripped him with a well-placed heel.

The boy regained his balance and seemed ready to resume the duel. He looked up, however, and saw Loveday and Solar at the edge of the clearing. He paused, staring at them, and then threw down his sword and strode off, pushing aside two younger lads who had been watching the fight from the side .

Solar followed Loveday towards the sparring patch where the man, abandoned by his partner, stood perspiring lightly and catching his breath.

He was like a shadow, gaunt and restless with jet-black hair that fell well past his shoulders.

More hair protruded in spikes from his nostrils and stubble covered his chin, cheeks and neck.

His eyes were darker than coal. A grimace revealed two rows of jagged broken teeth stained a foul yellow.

He was garbed from head to toe in black: worn boots of supple leather, filthy trousers and a leather tunic.

‘Dirk, I’d like you to meet the newest addition to our group of young trainees: Solar Carpenter. She’s joining us having been … talent-spotted.’

‘Oh aye?’ growled the man in a voice from the underworld’s darkest depths. ‘I’ve never had to train a lady before, this’ll be summat of a new experience.’

‘I’m not a lady,’ said Solar. She dared not look him in the eye. She feared that if she did, those twin coals would never let her break their gaze.

‘Sir Dirk Binns is our master-at-arms. He will teach you how to wield a sword; throw javelins, axes and knives; draw a bow; and handle a staff.’

‘A magic staff?’ asked Solar eagerly. She knew that magic staffs were the most prized weapons of the realm. Those made from the trees of Ashwood’s forests could never be split or scarred by a normal blade.

‘When the time comes you will carve a magic staff for yourself, learn to use it and channel its magic, yes,’ replied Loveday.

‘But you must earn one first. A trainee has to excel in three magical missions under the supervision of their instructor, a qualified wizard, before they rise to the rank of apprentice, and a fourth before they are granted permission to carve a staff. A staff is a thing of power. Some students leave their instructor’s encampment and strike out as a working magician once they have one, but most choose to stay and progress further up the official training ladder, assuming the rank of forester and further honing their skills.

Forester is the final rank before rover, or any other position within the king’s magic circle.

‘But such a decision is a long way off for you, Solar – you’ll be learning to fight with traditional weaponry first, including an ordinary practice staff made from oak.’