Wizard's Spawn

The Wizard

Dafydd Wren woke at dawn, as he had done hundreds of times before, roused by the sound of birds stirring in the trees around his hut. But this time something was different.

Someone, or some creature, was calling him eastward, toward the rising sun. He felt the call, as if it was a thread attached to his very centre.

He frowned in annoyance. The timing was inconvenient, to say the least. The closing days of summer were a busy time in his garden, fruit and vegetables to preserve for winter, herbs to pick and dry while they were at their most potent. Not to mention the animals he cared for; an orphaned family of squirrels to raise, an injured fox to tend.

He tried ignoring the call as he went about his daily tasks—he was sure he would have more free time in a week or so—but by nightfall it was stronger than ever, relentless.

By the next morning it was like a hook in his heart. He couldn't ignore it any longer; he had to face the fact that he was needed elsewhere. Once he had resigned himself to the inevitable, it was a surprisingly quick task to pack and get ready. He was able to arrange for a young girl from the village to come and tend the animals, but the garden would have to fend for itself.

He saddled his dappled brown mare, and slung two saddle bags holding a few clothes, some travelling rations, and his water flask across her withers. Neither he nor the mare had any need for reins. Dafydd could communicate with her—as with all animals—directly, mind to mind, but he found a saddle more comfortable than riding bareback. He wore forest colours for the journey—brown trousers, a dappled green shirt—and tied back his long, silver-white hair away from his face. He slung his favourite emerald green satchel, filled with herbs and potions, over one shoulder and he was ready.

It was approaching nightfall when he finally came across the village he was seeking. He felt the pull drawing him toward the hills beyond, but he stopped at the inn first, to book a room and settle the mare in her stall.

Two small boys followed him into the stables.

"Are you a wizard then?" asked one, eying the silver-white hair with wonder.

"Are you here to catch the monster?" asked the other, not wanting to be left out.

"What monster is that?" Dafydd queried, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know exactly, but it's huge!"

"I've seen its eyes glowing... hundreds of them!"

"And where can I find this monster?" asked Dafydd.

"It lives underground, in the tunnels behind the village."

"I can show you!"

"I'd take that kindly," smiled Dafydd. Although he knew where the pull was coming from, it would be helpful to have a guide to show him the human path. Too often he had had to fight his way through scrub and trees, following the apocryphal crow's flight to his goal.

"Tod, Kim, come back here this instant!" a large woman with a white apron called from the door of the inn. "Don't be bothering our guest."

"They're no trouble, mistress," he answered. "I'd be glad of their help."

She looked as if she would protest further, but her husband touched her arm lightly and spoke softly into her ear. "Careful. We don't want to offer offence to a wizard."

As softly as he spoke, Dafydd's keen ears picked up the frightened words. "No need to worry," he assured them cheerfully. "I'll make certain the boys do not come to any harm."

Carrying a lantern, for the sake of the boys rather than himself, he followed them along a winding path which led behind the village up though pine trees and scrub for what must have been a full mile before they halted. The sky was now dark and the two boys, who only moments ago had been filled with excitement, were suddenly glad their charge had insisted on stopping a good couple of hundred yards short of their destination.

"It's up there." One of the boys pointed. "See that boulder that looks like a sheep's head? Just behind that."

"Thank you kindly. You'd best be off now—can you find your way back alone?" Although Dafydd was confident he could handle the 'monster,' there was no point in taking any risks. He could tell from the very fact that the creature was drawing him, that it was magical in nature, and magic was never wholly predictable.

He waited only until he was sure that the boys were on their way, taking the lantern with them, before continuing upward with all the skill of a wolf on the hunt.

He didn't need to see the entrance to the tunnel to know that he had found his quarry. The delicate magic which infused every living thing simply vanished between one step and the next. It had been devoured, leaving only lifeless rock and soil.

Silently, he slipped inside the entrance to the tunnel, sending out his senses as far as he could into the deeper darkness. Whatever else this creature might be, it was clearly a threat. He could tell it was nearby, probably as drawn to his magic as he was by the creature's. He glided softly around a corner.

There!

He froze in momentary disbelief. The boy was right, there must be a hundred eyes! What kind of monster was this? He stared. Glowing red eyes floated just above the ground, others just below the roof. It didn't make sense.... They turned toward him and he realised they weren't eyes at all. Each glowing 'eye' was a tiny sphere, about the size of his thumbnail.

Fascinated, he allowed one to touch his foot. Agonising pain woke him from a near trance and he thrust out violently with a wave of magic, trying to push them away. But it had the opposite effect. Greedily the spheres sucked the magic right out of the air, glowing brighter as they ate, coming closer.

His brain whirling frantically, Dafydd tried to think. If magic fed them, then.... He drew in every bit of magic he could gather, holding it tight inside his body until he felt as if his eyes would burst out of his head. The lights wobbled for a second and then—went out. A hail of what sounded like iron balls hit the ground. He let the magic out in a great rush, panting with the exertion.

Gingerly he squatted down and examined one with his senses. Nothing. Still tentative, he prodded one lightly with a fingertip. Instead of acute pain, he felt the dull ache he always encountered when around iron tools. He picked it up. Creatures made of living iron, his own magic's nemesis. He had never encountered anything like it.

The whole encounter had taken less than a minute but he felt as if he had run thirty miles.

Perhaps that was why it took him so long to realise that he still felt the call, pulling him eastward. Instead of the destination, this had been a detour.