The Magician’s Apprentice

kept some of the mountain ways.”

Tessia nodded. “It’s a hard habit to break, I’ve heard. This is called ‘hunter-mouth’. I can cut out the lump and stitch you up, but you have to promise me two things.”

The woman nodded eagerly.

“Use the mouthwash I give you. It tastes utterly foul and dries you out so much you’ll swear you’ll never have any spit ever again, but it’ll stop the cut fouling.”

“She will,” her husband said, smiling. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Tessia nodded. “And stop chewing dunda. It’ll kill you.”

A glint of rebellion entered the woman’s gaze, but Tessia stared back, keeping her expression serious, and after a moment it faded.

“I’ll make sure of that, too,” her husband said softly.

“Now, let me see how much there is.” Tessia gently probed inside the woman’s mouth. Lumps like this had been treated by her father before. While removing them was usually successful, some of the patients sickened and died within a year or two. Others lived to old age. Her father had a theory that this was related to how strongly the lump had “stuck” to the flesh around it.

This one felt loose, like a large, slightly squishy stone inserted under the skin. Promising. Tessia removed her fingers and wiped them on a cloth that the woman’s husband offered her. She considered briefly whether she should attempt to cut the lump out.

As Jayan said, I’m not a healer. But I’ve seen this done. I know how to do it. It won’t be long before the lump grows so large she’ll either starve to death or suffocate. I have all the equipment... well, except the head brace. Her father used a brace he’d devised and had the metal worker make for him to hold open the mouth of patients when working on teeth and such. It prevented them from biting him out of pain or panic.

A knock at the door took the husband away, and he returned a moment later with her father’s bag. She asked him to clear the table beside the bed and, while he did so, performed her father’s routine check of a patient’s heart and breathing rhythms. When the space was clear she opened the bag and began to remove tools, salves and a calming tonic.

“Take this first,” Tessia told the woman, giving her the tonic. “I need you to lie on your side. Right on the edge of the bed. Arrange pillows behind you and under your head. Any blood and spit will drain out, so you’ll want to protect the bed with cloths and put a basin underneath.” The couple obeyed her instructions without question, which for some reason made her less certain of herself. They were relying on her. What if she got it wrong?

Don’t think about that. Just act.

Remembering her father’s advice about involving family members, she instructed the husband to rub a numbing salve inside and outside the woman’s cheek. This had the added benefit of making sure Tessia’s own hands weren’t affected by it.

She took several blades out and checked their sharpness, but as she began to remove the burner she heard Paowa whimper. Looking up, she realised the woman’s breathing had suddenly become rapid. Paowa’s eyes were on the blades. Tessia felt a pang of sympathy.

“It’s going to be fine,” she told the woman. “It will hurt. I’m not going to lie about that. But the salve helps and I’ll work as quickly as I can. It will be done and over with soon, and all you’ll have is a cut in your mouth all stitched up neatly.”

The woman’s breathing slowed a little. Her husband sat on the bed behind her and began rubbing her shoulders. Tessia took a deep breath, picked a blade and realised she hadn’t yet seared any of them.

And realised if she delayed much longer fear would overtake the woman’s reason.

No problem, she thought, and with a slight flexing of her will she seared the blade she was holding with magic. Then she set to work.

It was not easy, but nothing unexpected or disastrous happened either. After half an hour she had coaxed out the lump, sewn up the cut and applied a protective paste. Then she checked the woman’s rhythms again and pronounced her work a success. As the woman rolled onto her back, exhausted from pain and fear, Tessia rose and swayed, suddenly dizzy with weariness.

“Sit down.”

She blinked in surprise at Jayan’s voice, having forgotten he was there. He was offering a small wooden stool. Gratefully, she sat down and immediately her head cleared. Drawing her father’s bag closer, she rummaged inside and drew out a familiar wound cleanser.

“Have you a small clean jar with a lid?” she asked the husband. “And a bowl of clean water?”

The man produced the items, and she set about ensuring the jar was clean by steeping it in water she set boiling with magic.

The man watched calmly without comment, as if water boiling by itself was an ordinary and regular occurrence.

Into a measure of water she counted drops of the cleanser. As she gave it to the man she instructed him how it should be used, and when he should cut and remove the stitches. He drew out a pouch and she heard the sound of coins clinking.

“No, you don’t need to pay me,” she told him.

“But how else can I repay you?” he asked.

“Your whole village is feeding and accommodating us. That’s got to be cutting into everyone’s food stores and stock. My master would not approve of me taking money for this, either.”

He reluctantly pocketed the pouch again. “Then I’ll make sure you two have one of my fattest rassook each for dinner,” he said, smiling.

“Now that I could not easily refuse,” she replied, smiling ruefully. “We’d best get back in case our master needs us.” She looked down at Paowa. The woman was asleep, her mouth closed and face relaxed. “And remember, no more dunda.”

“I will. Whether she does . . .” He shrugged. “I’ll do what I can to help her stop.”

They walked in a weary, comfortable silence back towards where the apprentices were waiting. From the shadows cast by the trees, she guessed only a few hours had passed. Paowa’s husband left, at her request, to take her father’s bag to Crannin’s house instead of the stables. Next time someone took a peek inside they might not be as sensible or respectful of the contents.

As they came in sight of the apprentices she realised Jayan was watching her, and glanced at him. He was looking at her with a quizzical expression.

“What?” she asked.

“I, ah, I’m impressed,” he said, his face reddening. “What you did back there... I’d have given her up for dead.”

She felt her own face warming. He was acknowledging her skill as she had wanted, but for some reason it didn’t feel triumphant. Just... embarrassing.

“It just looked impressive,” she told him, looking away. “But it was simple, really. Routine work.”

“Ah,” he said, in a tone that was too accepting.

No, it wasn’t simple! she wanted to say. I don’t know why I said that! But his attention had moved away, to the apprentices, and even if she could think of a way to correct herself without sounding a fool it was too late to try.

The last rays of sun tinged the highest leaves of the forest when the magicians emerged from Crannin’s house. A feast began, served on makeshift tables outdoors and lit by numerous torches and lamps. When Tessia and Jayan were served a large, fat rassook each, Jayan had smugly commented that Tessia certainly had a way with villagers and he would not be surprised if she could charm pickpockets into putting money into her wallet.

Only after the meal was done did Dakon find a moment in private to talk to his apprentices. He led them away from the main table, walking down to the end of the village, then turning back. From there the sight and sound of laughing and drinking gave the impression of a festival day. It only made the ache and guilt at the loss of Mandryn harder to bear. He turned to Tessia and Jayan. Both looked tired despite not having spent the day in the saddle.

“So what can you tell us?” Jayan asked, the tension in his voice obvious despite the quiet pitch.

Dakon sighed. How much can I tell them? The magicians had agreed that secrecy