concealment.”
* * *
While they were sitting down to supper, Karryl raised a subject that had been on his mind since he began his studies. “When will I start learning to do real magic, like that spell of concealment…er…glamour… you showed me at the garden? That looked really easy, and I’m sure I can remember the words.”
Symon regarded him from under his eyebrows as he crunched on a pickle. Eventually he replied. “You must have patience. There is much more to learn before you make even the smallest attempt. Suppose you were to try and cast a spell at this moment, mispronounced something or used an incorrect word, and it went wrong. I doubt if you could begin to imagine what dire consequences that might have!”
Karryl looked puzzled. “But wouldn’t it just…well…not happen?”
Gravely, Symon shook his head. “Not necessarily. A spell cast with a lack of confidence, or with insufficient time to complete would, as you say, more than likely fall flat. However, I feel that confidence is something that you do not lack, although we haven’t yet established what actual magical strength you may have. It’s a very humbling and frequently painful experience to have a spell come back at you. In the case of a powerful spell, it could even result in the unfortunate demise of the practitioner.”
Pausing for a moment to gauge the reaction of his young apprentice, Symon picked up his knife and fork and proceeded to finish his supper, leaving the boy deep in thought. He remained so for the rest of the evening until he went to his room, leaving Symon reading a book and puffing contentedly on his pipe.
CHAPTER TEN
Rain had been falling almost constantly for the last three days. Karryl was not unhappy, just restless. He felt shut in. His life until a few weeks ago had been out in the open, having no option but to brave all weathers, seeking what shelter he and the little gang he ran with could find. He desperately wanted to go down into Vellethen. He missed the rough smart boys, and the duffers who looked to him to guide them through the trials of a hard life that few of them lived by choice. The smells and sounds of the streets he knew so well, the hustle and bustle of the places he had grown up in, crowded his memory, playing havoc with his concentration.
Despondent and slightly bored, he flicked the pages of the small volume he had been making a valiant effort to read. He had hoped he would have been allowed to do some magic by now, even just one of the simple spells which Symon was constantly demonstrating. Despite several broad hints, to which he appeared to be frustratingly immune, Symon had kept his apprentice at his books.
With a weak smile he murmured “Thank you” as the little magician placed a large mug of steaming hot tea in front of him, before seating himself opposite.
Sipping at his own, Symon regarded Karryl over the rim of his mug. “Apart from what should be, what else is on your mind?”
Karryl closed his book, leaned back in his chair, and let out a loud sigh. His tone was peevish. “If you must know, I was wondering how long it’ll be before I can go into the city.”
Symon also leaned back, cradling his mug in his tiny hands. A quiver of mystified amusement crossed his lips. “Whenever you like. You’re not a prisoner you know.”
Eyes wide in disbelief, Karryl slammed his mug down on the table, sloshing tea dangerously close to his book. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been cooped up in here, my nose buried day after day in an…an…endless pile of…of…tomes and scrolls, and all the while you knew?”
Placing his own mug calmly and deliberately in the centre of a small rush mat, Symon gave his apprentice a long, flat look. “The reason why…if you must know…” Karryl blushed furiously as Symon threw his own words back at him… “is that, until late yesterday I didn’t know myself. Now, you may or may not be pleased to hear, you are legally my ward. A few
* * *
While they were sitting down to supper, Karryl raised a subject that had been on his mind since he began his studies. “When will I start learning to do real magic, like that spell of concealment…er…glamour… you showed me at the garden? That looked really easy, and I’m sure I can remember the words.”
Symon regarded him from under his eyebrows as he crunched on a pickle. Eventually he replied. “You must have patience. There is much more to learn before you make even the smallest attempt. Suppose you were to try and cast a spell at this moment, mispronounced something or used an incorrect word, and it went wrong. I doubt if you could begin to imagine what dire consequences that might have!”
Karryl looked puzzled. “But wouldn’t it just…well…not happen?”
Gravely, Symon shook his head. “Not necessarily. A spell cast with a lack of confidence, or with insufficient time to complete would, as you say, more than likely fall flat. However, I feel that confidence is something that you do not lack, although we haven’t yet established what actual magical strength you may have. It’s a very humbling and frequently painful experience to have a spell come back at you. In the case of a powerful spell, it could even result in the unfortunate demise of the practitioner.”
Pausing for a moment to gauge the reaction of his young apprentice, Symon picked up his knife and fork and proceeded to finish his supper, leaving the boy deep in thought. He remained so for the rest of the evening until he went to his room, leaving Symon reading a book and puffing contentedly on his pipe.
CHAPTER TEN
Rain had been falling almost constantly for the last three days. Karryl was not unhappy, just restless. He felt shut in. His life until a few weeks ago had been out in the open, having no option but to brave all weathers, seeking what shelter he and the little gang he ran with could find. He desperately wanted to go down into Vellethen. He missed the rough smart boys, and the duffers who looked to him to guide them through the trials of a hard life that few of them lived by choice. The smells and sounds of the streets he knew so well, the hustle and bustle of the places he had grown up in, crowded his memory, playing havoc with his concentration.
Despondent and slightly bored, he flicked the pages of the small volume he had been making a valiant effort to read. He had hoped he would have been allowed to do some magic by now, even just one of the simple spells which Symon was constantly demonstrating. Despite several broad hints, to which he appeared to be frustratingly immune, Symon had kept his apprentice at his books.
With a weak smile he murmured “Thank you” as the little magician placed a large mug of steaming hot tea in front of him, before seating himself opposite.
Sipping at his own, Symon regarded Karryl over the rim of his mug. “Apart from what should be, what else is on your mind?”
Karryl closed his book, leaned back in his chair, and let out a loud sigh. His tone was peevish. “If you must know, I was wondering how long it’ll be before I can go into the city.”
Symon also leaned back, cradling his mug in his tiny hands. A quiver of mystified amusement crossed his lips. “Whenever you like. You’re not a prisoner you know.”
Eyes wide in disbelief, Karryl slammed his mug down on the table, sloshing tea dangerously close to his book. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been cooped up in here, my nose buried day after day in an…an…endless pile of…of…tomes and scrolls, and all the while you knew?”
Placing his own mug calmly and deliberately in the centre of a small rush mat, Symon gave his apprentice a long, flat look. “The reason why…if you must know…” Karryl blushed furiously as Symon threw his own words back at him… “is that, until late yesterday I didn’t know myself. Now, you may or may not be pleased to hear, you are legally my ward. A few
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