Songs of the Dying Earth

He hesitated a moment and then added in a somber tone, “I am a bastard.”

They all looked at each other, and then suddenly the entire table broke out in raucous laughter.

Finally, Gasterlo spoke, though haltingly, unable to contain his amusement: “We’re all bastards, Dringo. You don’t imagine that magicians take wives, do you? They live in their manses surrounded by poinctures, sandestins and other entities. Their energies flow in directions that at times seem not even human. They are capricious at best and unreliable always. I suppose my father has sired many bastards; and why he chose me is as mysterious as the most complex spells are to my untutored mind.”

“Makes me wonder if I want that for myself,” joked Tryllo. “Dringo can assume my place.”

Cavour placed a hand on the table, palm down. “Oh, we will be different. Let us make a pact now, that one: We will remain friends and not become factious old men; and two: We will use our skills in a lighthearted manner.”

One by one the young men laid a hand on another. They all turned to Dringo.

With a smile, he added his hand to the stack.

Lord Lychenbarr frowned down at the assemblage from a raised platform. He paced the dais, his robes swishing the air in the muted chamber like the sound of rustling leaves. “I am tasked,” he finally began in a voice both powerful and resonant, “with transforming you nescient novices into wizards. It would be easier — much easier, in fact — to change a grub into an eagle.”

Dringo heard Tryllo whisper something to Popo and they both laughed.

Lord Lychenbarr’s lean face, elongated further by a thin, grey wisp of a beard, darkened with annoyance. He murmured a series of inaudible words.

As if all sound had been banished, the audarium fell silent. The shifting of feet, the rustle of paper, even the slight wheeze of Zimmie’s breathing ceased instantaneously. Dringo could not move. He tried to look to his side but his sight was as constrained as his body. A burning prickle began to build within his bowels and quickly bloomed in intensity.

Lord Lychenbarr glared at them. “To say I require absolute obedience and submission to my will in all things can be assumed.” He smiled, but it was more a look of malice. “Let me add, I also demand quietude and attentiveness. Are there any questions?”

They all remained motionless, of course.

“Good, then we will proceed.” he said.

“I just activated three somewhat minor spells in rapid succession.” He raised a finger. “The first was the Spell of Unbending Rigiditosity.” He added a second upraised finger. “The second was just a tincture of Lugwiler’s Dismal Itch — you would not want to experience it in its undiluted grandeur. And the third…”

By this time a fire burned vertically through Dringo’s entrails. So great was the pruritus that he would have torn into his body to reach the source.

Lord Lychenbarr paused as if he had forgotten his train of thought. “Ahh…yes, I neglected to verbalize the third.” He laughed, and then spoke a complex chain of strange syllables.

At once, the room was filled with groans of relief. Dringo looked about the room and could see that they all had suffered as greatly as he.

Lord Lychenbarr continued without notice. “The third was Triskole’s Fundamental Reversal that removed the two previous spells. The ability to hold even one such spell in one’s mind requires much study and meticulous execution. To utter one mistaken pervulsion will cause unanticipated results. With that in mind we will begin with Amberlin’s Warning of Infinite Consequences, a precept critical to the structure of all spells.”

Their first day was a day of humiliation and mortification. Even Gasterlo, who all agreed was at least initially more skilled, was inept. Surprisingly, Dringo found Lord Lychenbarr’s lecture on theory comprehensible, although his first attempt at effecting a primary spell spectacularly futile. Yet, he didn’t feel overwhelmed, and a real glimmer of confidence began to form. As they filed from the room with Lord Lychenbarr’s exceedingly crude derision keeping pace with them, Dringo’s high spirits, however, were shattered.

“Dringo, I’ll see you in my chamber before your dinner,” Lord Lychenbarr commanded.

Well, he knew it was coming. The morning they departed the inn for the collegeum, the seven of them had planned how they might pull off the ruse. To better look the part of a young aristocrat, his friends had each donated a few pieces of fine clothing. Tryllo offered to vouch for Dringo. “You will be a distant relative whose family is highly regarded by my father,” suggested Tryllo. “The worse that will happen is that Lord Lychenbarr will place his boot up my arse right after he does the same to Dringo.” The story would be that Dringo’s father, a mighty magician, was delayed in hearing word of the formation of the school and had sent Dringo on while he would make arrangements with the Guild.

Entering Lord Lychenbarr’s chamber, Dringo stiffened his shoulders and tried to appear assured. “Lord Lychenbarr, you wished to speak to me?”

Lord Lychenbarr stroked his wiry chin-whiskers and stared at Dringo. Finally he spoke: “Dringo, I have no authoritative documentation enrolling you into the collegeum. Nor have the appropriate funds arrived.”

Dringo held his gaze and answered with as much boldness as he dared. “I’m certain my credentials are enroute, Lord Lychenbarr. I traveled from lands west of the Flattened Sea. I must have outraced the messenger with the documents.”

“I’m afraid that explanation will not suffice,” said Lord Lychenbarr, shaking his head.

His friends had suggested that Dringo should use bombast and threaten Lord Lychenbarr with the wrath of a powerful father if necessary; however, Dringo was now certain that approach would not work. It was obvious that Lord Lychenbarr could not be intimidated, and it would only open the door to questions for which he had no answers. “I plead for your indulgence, Lord Lychenbarr. This first day has humbled me, but I eagerly await your instruction tomorrow. I will do better. I urge you not to dismiss me.”

Lord Lychenbarr regarded him with a look of contemplation, but then surprised Dringo by saying, “I’ll wait a few days. Go to your dinner and out of my sight.”

Dringo left determined to think no more on the matter. There was nothing else he could do, in any event. After all, the sun might neglect to rise tomorrow leaving that difficulty in obscurity.

The next day, Lord Lychenbarr drove them with relentless energy, demanding exactitude in all things and punishing errors with zest. Dringo, in particular, received painful attention. Late in the day, Lord Lychenbarr departed the room without a word and did not return, leaving them to debate whether they, too, could depart for dinner. Lugwiler’s Itch was very much on their minds.

The following day saw little improvement; nor the day after. On the fifth day, Dringo and Gasterlo managed a momentary Spell of Refulgent Luminosity. Their excitement spurred the others, and within two more days the entire class could duplicate the feat.

The following weeks saw a transformation in Lord Lychenbarr that was as magical as anything Dringo could have imagined. Their mentor had become a patient and enthusiastic teacher, now as quick with praise and encouragement as he had previously been cynical and invective. One evening, following a day of tedious dissection of Killiclaw”s Primer of Practical Magic, he asked them all to join him on his balustraded aerie for a drink. The speckled sun doddered on rays of pale, lavender beams as it fell below the rounded hills of the Ambit and the evening air was cool and fragrant with the sweet aroma of dymphny and telanxis.

“Initially, I resented having to leave my own manse,” began Lord Lychenbarr. “You have won me over with your youthful energy and enthusiasm.” He paused to refill their glasses with a rich, yellow wine. “I am so satisfied with your progress that I’ve decided you are ready for your first practical test tonight.”

This was greeted with loud moans and mumbled complaints.

Lord Lychenbarr laughed. “Here is your task: You are free to make the journey to Grippo’s this evening. I warn you, the dangers are plenitude: visps; erbs; fermines; asms; all the hideous creations of magic gone awry.” He waited a moment, and then added, “Of course, if you don’t feel ready…”

Dringo was the first to voice: “NO! We’re ready.”

A chorus of loud agreement echoed into the purple twilight.

The young mages returned the next evening, blurry-eyed and unsteady, but in a carefree and relaxed demeanor. Dringo also felt a renewed self-assurance. It was one thing to mouth a few words from memory, and quite another to come forth with precision the exact pervulsions necessary when under duress. He and Gasterlo had