A Touch of Magic (18 page)

Randall broke into fresh sobs, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. It
was
his fault. He used the training Erliand had given him to cheat, and he had been caught at it. If he had just taken his licking from Bobby like Erliand had ordered him to, none of this would be happening now.

“We don’t have time for more tears, Randall,” his mother said softly, before continuing more sternly. “You’re a young man now, and you need to behave like one.” She looked Randall up and down wistfully for a moment, as if she just realized that what she said was actually true.

She gripped his shoulders as she continued, “You need to make your way to Salianca, if you can. It’s really your only hope, now. If you can get to the big continent, you find yourself one of the town watchmen, as quick as you can, and ask where the nearest Mage lodge house is located. If there’s not one in town, they’ll know where the closest one is.”

“What about you, Momma? What’ll happen to you?” Randall asked. He didn’t want to leave his family in danger.

“Nothing will happen to us, dear,” his mother soothed. “If you’re not here, we can spin our own tale. We’ll be safe, as long as you are gone. If we can keep the heat off of us for a little while, we’ll be safe. But you won’t, Randall. You won’t ever be safe coming back here.”

Randall nodded. “Does…does Pa know?”

Randall’s mother let her face soften a little. “No, baby, he doesn’t know. He’s proud of you, and thinks that you’re off seeing the world and being a very brave young man. I’ll make sure he stays proud of you,” she said, as the pair reached the main road.

Randall reached out and hugged his mother, burying his face in her neck, like he used to as a small child. And as they hugged, he felt a pulse within Llandra. Not close, but extremely powerful. He flinched instinctively, jerking away from his mother. Her eyes were wide, and her face ashen.

“Go!” she said, pushing him on the shoulder blade to prod him into action. “We’ve wasted too much time already! Run!”

And so, Randall ran, his mother’s last words ringing in his ears.

“Stay off the roads!”

Chapter 7

As Randall fled his childhood home, he was overwhelmed with a mix of emotions. After the all-too-brief talk with his mother, he felt like there was an entirely new side to his life that he had never known: a life of secrets, deception, and intrigue. His mother, a Seer in hiding! And she had known Master Erliand! Looking back at his normal, boring life, he had a hard time imagining the world through her eyes. He had so many questions, and so few answers.

And he would probably never get those answers. He would probably never see his family again. At that thought, Randall broke into a fresh spasm of sobs. But even through the tears, he continued to push onward. He had nowhere to go, and no one to turn to.

If he was on the run for a minor offense, he could always find someone willing to hide out a family friend. Small town folk looked after each other like that. After all, practically everyone in Geldorn knew everyone else, and a good neighbor could be as close as kin. Outside interference was strongly resented. Injustice didn’t go unpunished, but the folks of Geldorn had a way of looking after their own, and making sure that injustices were righted within the community. Nobody liked the King’s Guard mucking around in local affairs.

But Randall wasn’t just a scofflaw caught stealing apples, or a drunkard. He was devil touched. He’d be outcast—nobody in Geldorn would want to bring that kind of trouble into their home. Anywhere he went, he’d be turned away. People who had known him his entire life wouldn’t give a second thought to turning him in if he were one of the devil touched. And within hours, everyone in Geldorn would know of his misdeeds.

After a couple of hours of walking, Randall had gotten himself under some semblance of control. While he had been mindlessly fleeing without a plan, instinct had taken over: cutting through fields and pastures, Randall noticed that his feet had turned him north, toward Paranol. The beginning of a plan had been forming in his subconscious and was just now bubbling up to the surface.

If Randall was going to make it to Salianca, he’d have to eventually get to the port towns on the north-eastern shores of Tallia—
some five hundred miles away,
he thought dejectedly. He did his best to bury the worry with a sense of determination. He would make it. He had to. And Paranol was on the way.

Plus Paranol was big—there were easily a couple of thousand people living there! It wasn’t like Geldorn, where a stranger would stand out like a sore thumb. He could lose himself there for a while; maybe he could get an odd job or two and make ends meet until he could figure out a better plan.

In Paranol, there were bound to be plenty of strangers and boys trying to make it on their own. While they might hear of what had happened in Geldorn, they wouldn’t necessarily connect it to him. And, really, he’d be surprised if anyone believed the stories anyway. At least not until the king’s men showed up, nosing around town. Until then, the stories would sound like small town superstition, and be dismissed by the more sophisticated townsfolk of the large city.

It made sense, and it would have to do. There were closer towns, like Waverly and Mons, but they were small hamlets like Geldorn. News would travel there soon enough, and people would immediately connect a runaway boy with the story. Besides, Waverly was completely in the wrong direction, and to get to Mons quickly, Randall would have to travel through Black Eel Marsh—not something he was inclined to do. The bog-wights were a deadly menace for a lone traveler, even though their numbers were kept down by the militia. Bog-wights were the only reason King Priess even maintained a guard post in such a small town like Geldorn in the first place.

So, Paranol made the most sense. Unfortunately, that also put Randall walking toward Ninove, the seat of King Priess’ power. That thought filled him with dread. Even though Randall knew Ninove was far from Paranol, he still felt like he was walking into the mouth of danger.

Still, it was the only plan he had. Pa had said that Paranol would normally take five or six days travel if he took the cart and if the weather was good. Randall figured that he could probably make it in a little over week, if he pushed himself. That was only about fifteen miles per day. It would be hard, but he could do it.

The more Randall thought about it, the more he convinced himself that Paranol was the best choice. He even started fantasizing about taking on a job there, and making a life for himself. He imagined himself settling down and stealing away to secretly visit his family whenever he could. He might even find the time to continue his training with Master Erliand! So, with such romantic notions swirling around in his head, Randall put the day’s events behind him and continued toward Paranol, sure in the belief that he would soon have things sorted out.

Remembering his mother’s advice, Randall kept off of the road, and instead decided to skirt the eastern edge of Black Eel Marsh. That path would keep him off of the road without taking him too close to the marsh itself. Randall hoped the less favorable ground would slow any pursuit on horseback. He also hoped that because his travel would take him within a couple hours walking distance from the marsh, the militia might not come looking for him in that direction at all. People were killed by the bog-wights often enough that parents used them as bogey-men to frighten their children into behaving. It was a very real danger, and while Randall knew he was taking a risk, it was a small one. He wasn’t actually planning on going
into
the marsh, after all!

Randall soon found the travel much rougher going than if he’d used the road, and he began to suspect the journey to Paranol would take far longer than a week. Even the relatively tame grasslands surrounding Geldorn had rocks, thorny weeds and other impediments that slowed him down. Once, he almost twisted his ankle stepping in a gopher hole. Another time, he nearly stepped on a snake. He circled the reptile at a respectful distance and vowed to keep a closer eye on his feet.

Soon, the thought of lunch brought an answering rumble from Randall’s empty stomach. He decided to take a short break and see what kind of provisions his mother had packed for him. Dumping the sack out on the ground, Randall found some nuts and apples, as well as some tough journey bread. A small cook-pot, a thin blanket and a length of leather cord had also been stuffed in the bottom of the sack.

Randall also found a short knife in the bag. Pulling it from its leather sheath, Randall saw that it was more of a fighting blade than a utility knife, though it would still cut apples well enough. It was plenty sharp, and Randall used it to cut himself a walking stick to help him cross the roughest patches of land and beat the tall grass as he traveled. He didn’t want to meet up with any more snakes.

Except for the blade, the sack was just the kind of thing his mother might pack for his father when he left on the occasional journey to Paranol for supplies that couldn’t be traded for in Geldorn. It wouldn’t feed him the entire way there, unless he planned on eating short rations every day, but it would mean he wouldn’t have to hunt as much along the way.

Finishing his lunch, Randall realized he had hit his second wind, and was anxious to get moving again. He re-packed the travel sack and slung it over his back. He took some leather cord and affixed the knife’s sheath to his belt and slipped the blade inside. Once he had everything settled and in place, he resumed his journey refreshed and with a little more confidence, and quickly fell into a ground-eating pace.

By the time dusk was upon him, Randall was surprised to note that he wasn’t going to make it to Paranol in a week after all. He was going to make it much sooner. He had already reached the southeastern edge of Black Eel Marsh!

Off in the distance, he could see the tall, thin shapes of the marsh trees, silhouetted by the setting sun. The ground was growing softer here, and the grasses and clover he had been walking on were beginning to be speckled here and there with sedges and broad-leafed marsh plants. Randall had skirted nearly the entire length of the marsh!

Even with the rough going, Randall had easily walked twenty five or thirty miles at a stiff pace, only stopping occasionally to drink at a stream or tiny pond and catch his breath. Shortly after lunch, he thought he might be beginning to develop a blister on his heel, but by late afternoon, the ache had worked itself out and his feet felt fine.

Randall didn’t know if it was the fear of capture or the sense of purpose that drove him, but he had walked the entire day without much of a break, and without exhausting himself in the process. If he could keep up this pace, he’d be in Paranol in only three or four days! He’d get there much earlier than anyone would have expected.

Randall figured the marsh itself was probably an hour or two away. Another hour’s walk would put him at the most dangerous part of his journey. As the road to Paranol curved northward, it would push Randall dangerously close to the marsh’s eastern edge. At that point, Randall would be skirting the small section of land squeezed between the marsh and the road, putting him in danger of both the bog-wights and any patrols from the road. He decided that it would be better to tackle that obstacle in the daylight, and decided to bed down where he was for the night.

It wasn’t until he was struggling to slip out of his undershirt, still stiffened by the Buk rune, that he realized the source of his boundless energy. As Randall twisted and squirmed to get out of the tunic, he heard something heavy hit the ground, and weariness crashed down on him like a giant invisible hand pushing him to the earth. He sank to his knees in weariness, spotting what had fallen out of his tunic. Master Erliand’s healing talisman! Of course! Randall was in good shape, but there was no other way he could have pulled off a thirty mile walk without the punishment taking its toll on his body.

The instant he picked the talisman back up, he began feeling better. He knew he’d have to hold onto it all night if he wanted to wake up refreshed and ready for the march tomorrow. After a bit of thought, he took out the cord from the leather bag his mother had given him, and fashioned a necklace to hold the artifact, so he could keep it close by as he slept. It was large and unwieldy bumping against his chest, but even with all of the inconvenience, he felt better having it on his person.

He made a cold camp, making no campfire to draw attention to himself, and dug a bit of food out of his travel sack. Biting on an apple, he thought about his predicament.

I’ll have to try to trap some game tomorrow or the next day, he thought.

It may have been springtime, but the nights still got chilly, and he could use the fur for warmth. His mother had packed a thin blanket, but it barely covered him adequately. The thought of fresh meat made his mouth water, and brought a small smile to his face. He drifted off to sleep, clutching the talisman to his chest, and dreaming of the taste of rabbit stew.

Randall awoke early the next morning and quickly broke camp. He pulled on his boots and tunic and started walking. The talisman had done its work during the night, and Randall wasn’t even sore from yesterday’s grueling march. Still, even at his accelerated pace, he was no match for a man on horseback, and he felt a pressing need to put a lot of distance between himself and Geldorn.

He quickly fell into the ground-eating pace of the day before, bolstered by the talisman pressing against his chest. Time flew as Randall marched, and he kept a close eye on the marsh trees in the distance and the sun overhead. By mid-morning, he noticed that the encroaching marsh was gradually pushing him in a more north-eastern direction. He was reaching the point where the eastern edge of the marsh and the road to Paranol were only a few miles apart.

This section of land had claimed the lives of travelers several times in Randall’s lifetime. When the bog-wights became too numerous, they would often ambush small caravans and lone travelers, forcing the militia to action. It was a fairly predictable cycle: some poor traveler would be mauled or eaten by the bog-wights, or attacked by bandits. Then the militia would spend a week or two working along the road, killing bandits or bog-wights until the roads were safe again. After a short period of intense activity, the militia would begin spending more and more time at the inn, drinking and carousing. And so it would go, until another incident on the road.

Randall hadn’t heard of any unwholesome activity on the road in the short time he’d been in town, but then again, one never did until the first story of the season started spreading through the town’s gossip mill like fire through sagebrush. The fact that Bobby and the other militiamen were still lazing around Frank’s Inn led him to believe that the first attacks of the season had yet to be reported.

Randall didn’t want to be the first casualty of the season, regardless of how remote the danger. Still, he was certain that soldiers would be looking for him on the road, and that was a much more definite risk. It would be better to stick as closely to the marsh as possible and hope for the best.

Another hour passed without incident, and soon he would be past the hazardous bottleneck. Afterwards, without the fear of the marsh, he would be able to travel overland to Paranol, far from the road. With his talisman, he’d still make good time.

He was just beginning to relax when he heard hoof beats in the distance. Someone nearby was riding at full gallop! His head jerked around quickly, looking for the source of the noise. Coming from the direction of the road, were two men wearing militia armor!

Randall quickly dropped to his belly in the tall grass and kept his eye on the figures. Had they seen him? After a couple of minutes, he was sure they had. They were coming straight toward the area where he was hiding!