A Bad Spell in Yurt - Wizard of Yurt - 1 by C. Dale Brittain Page B
Authors: C. Dale Brittain
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touch that was never there when I looked but might surface, unexpectedly and fleetingly, while I was thinking of something entirely different. My predecessor should have some ideas.
The green of the leaves in the forest below me had gone dusty in the heat of late summer, and the breeze across the hil made silver ripples in the grass. I was enjoying being out near fields and forest, and real forest, too, not the manicured parks I was used to near the City. I hadn't told anyone where I was going, only that I was out for a ride. As my horse and I reached the edge of the woods, I was wondering again how I should address the old wizard.
Casual conversation with the constable's wife had informed me where his house was, but protocol was stil a problem. I, now, was Royal Wizard, and he was only an old retired spel -
caster. But he was two hundred years older than me and certainly knew a lot more about Yurt than I did. I had dressed formal y in my red and black velvet but decided to address him with deference and respect.
In the cool shade of the woods, birds sang in the treetops far above us and insects hummed closer to hand. The mare shook her head, making al the bel s on her bridle jingle. I whistled as I rode, a little tune in minor that the trumpeters had played at dinner the night before. We were going paral el to the edge of the forest, and occasional y I could see the fields through a gap in the trees. The long summer's day stretched before me, leisurely and lingering, with no thought of the night.
After half an hour's easy riding, I found the trail mark I had been looking for, a little pile of white stones. Just beyond, a narrow grassy track wandered away from the road, off between the beeches, and disappeared over a rise. I would never have spotted it except for the stones.
The branches here were low enough that I dismounted and led the mare. We should be almost there. I stopped at the top of the rise, looking down into a val ey with a stream at the bottom. Even the sound of the water on stones was sparkling. The grass was richly green on either hand, and the trees that surrounded the little val ey cast dancing shadows.
My horse snorted and made for the grass. I pul ed her nose up and continued toward a little bridge. We passed a branch that had half-shielded my view of the bridge, and sitting on the far side was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life.
She had thick golden hair that made the Lady Maria's seem thin and lifeless, and it rol ed in rich waves down her back and ten feet out behind her. She was wearing a dress of bril iant sky blue, and when she lifted her head and looked toward me, her eyes were the same color. And most marvelous of al , an alabaster-white unicorn was kneeling beside her, with his muzzle in her lap.
I dropped the reins and approached slowly, not daring to take my eyes from her. She lowered her gaze again but did not speak. "Um, hel o," I said. Gently she lifted the unicorn's muzzle from her lap, rose to her feet, and began to walk away, her arm around the creature's neck. Her hair floated in a weightless cloud behind her.
"Wait," I told myself sharply, resisting the initial impulse to run after her. I put my hand over my eyes, said two magic words, and looked again. She was gone.
I recovered my horse and started forward again. As we crossed the bridge, I told the mare, "If that's a typical sample of his il usions, the old wizard must real y have impressed the castle over dessert." The mare seemed uninterested, but I took a deep breath and wondered how abjectly it would be appropriate to address the wizard.
The grassy val ey continued to fol ow the stream. Within a hundred yards it turned and descended a steep hil , where the water foamed white. I was easing the mare's steps down the hil side when I heard a twanging noise. The sound was repeated, and then again.
I looked forward. Flying across the width of the val ey in front of us, one after the other, was a series of
The green of the leaves in the forest below me had gone dusty in the heat of late summer, and the breeze across the hil made silver ripples in the grass. I was enjoying being out near fields and forest, and real forest, too, not the manicured parks I was used to near the City. I hadn't told anyone where I was going, only that I was out for a ride. As my horse and I reached the edge of the woods, I was wondering again how I should address the old wizard.
Casual conversation with the constable's wife had informed me where his house was, but protocol was stil a problem. I, now, was Royal Wizard, and he was only an old retired spel -
caster. But he was two hundred years older than me and certainly knew a lot more about Yurt than I did. I had dressed formal y in my red and black velvet but decided to address him with deference and respect.
In the cool shade of the woods, birds sang in the treetops far above us and insects hummed closer to hand. The mare shook her head, making al the bel s on her bridle jingle. I whistled as I rode, a little tune in minor that the trumpeters had played at dinner the night before. We were going paral el to the edge of the forest, and occasional y I could see the fields through a gap in the trees. The long summer's day stretched before me, leisurely and lingering, with no thought of the night.
After half an hour's easy riding, I found the trail mark I had been looking for, a little pile of white stones. Just beyond, a narrow grassy track wandered away from the road, off between the beeches, and disappeared over a rise. I would never have spotted it except for the stones.
The branches here were low enough that I dismounted and led the mare. We should be almost there. I stopped at the top of the rise, looking down into a val ey with a stream at the bottom. Even the sound of the water on stones was sparkling. The grass was richly green on either hand, and the trees that surrounded the little val ey cast dancing shadows.
My horse snorted and made for the grass. I pul ed her nose up and continued toward a little bridge. We passed a branch that had half-shielded my view of the bridge, and sitting on the far side was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life.
She had thick golden hair that made the Lady Maria's seem thin and lifeless, and it rol ed in rich waves down her back and ten feet out behind her. She was wearing a dress of bril iant sky blue, and when she lifted her head and looked toward me, her eyes were the same color. And most marvelous of al , an alabaster-white unicorn was kneeling beside her, with his muzzle in her lap.
I dropped the reins and approached slowly, not daring to take my eyes from her. She lowered her gaze again but did not speak. "Um, hel o," I said. Gently she lifted the unicorn's muzzle from her lap, rose to her feet, and began to walk away, her arm around the creature's neck. Her hair floated in a weightless cloud behind her.
"Wait," I told myself sharply, resisting the initial impulse to run after her. I put my hand over my eyes, said two magic words, and looked again. She was gone.
I recovered my horse and started forward again. As we crossed the bridge, I told the mare, "If that's a typical sample of his il usions, the old wizard must real y have impressed the castle over dessert." The mare seemed uninterested, but I took a deep breath and wondered how abjectly it would be appropriate to address the wizard.
The grassy val ey continued to fol ow the stream. Within a hundred yards it turned and descended a steep hil , where the water foamed white. I was easing the mare's steps down the hil side when I heard a twanging noise. The sound was repeated, and then again.
I looked forward. Flying across the width of the val ey in front of us, one after the other, was a series of
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