Forest Mage

“So. What brings you to visit me?” I asked him.

He grinned. “Told you before. Renegade.” He snorted a laugh at his tired joke, and then said, “You were probably asking me why I come here, right?”

I nodded and tried not to scowl. It irritated me when he used language that made him sound like an ignorant fool. I knew it was a masquerade. Why did he continue to mask himself before me?

A second smile flitted across his face, and I suddenly knew why he did it. To needle me. To remind me that I, too, pretended that I was not the soldier son of a noble family.

“I come to let you know that I delivered your little present bag to Amzil.”

My interest leapt. “Did she like it?”

“Can’t say. She made me leave it on her doorstep; said she’d take it in after I rode away.” He shook his head. “She’s cut a new hole by her door. A horizontal slot that she can poke that old gun out of and threaten people without opening the door.”

Unease replaced my anticipation of pleasure. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“No, it doesn’t. And it isn’t good.” He watched my face as he said, “Probably the only thing more unlucky than being the poorest family in a poor town is being the richest family in a poor town.”

“What do you mean? I didn’t send her that much; certainly nothing that could be considered riches.”

“Well, it doesn’t take much to be the richest family in a poor town. A few bulging sacks of potatoes, a cold bin full of cabbages and carrots, and the like…that might wake the avarice in your neighbors. Folk have been known to kill over a lot less than food.”

If he had hit me in the belly, the spreading pain could not have been worse. I felt my heart lurch and then thud on unevenly. “What have I done?” I asked myself softly. The vegetable garden intended to tide her over through a harsh winter had made her a target among her neighbors. Why could I not foresee that would happen?

“You used the magic for your own ends, and it hit back at you. I warned you about that. ’Course, I warned you about that after you’d done it, so I can’t really say, ‘I told you so.’ Only, learn from it, old son, and don’t let it happen again.”

“How bad is it for her? Is she all right?”

“All I saw of her was the business end of her gun, and it seemed just fine to me. Ever noticed how much bigger the muzzle of a gun looks when it’s pointed at you? I swear, she stuck that thing out the hole, and it looked just like a cannon to me. She’s smart. She cut that hole at gut level. Biggest target on a man, and the worst way to die that I know.”

My question had gone unanswered, but my imagination was glad to supply a hundred dark possibilities. I wondered if my good deed had had the worst possible consequences for her and her children. Did she sleep always with one eye open, afraid to leave her children for even a few moments? The cynical side of my mind asked me if she had not always done that.

I couldn’t bear to think about it anymore. My mind leapt sideways and I found myself asking, “What did you mean when you said the forest breathed terror today?”

He looked at me curiously. “How is it possible you don’t know? You live right on the edge of it here, where most men can’t stand to be for long. Except for people like us, of course.” He suddenly dropped his voice a note and looked at me with sadness in his eyes. “The magic owns us, Nevare. I can warn you not to do foolish things with it. But nothing I can say will save you from the things it can make you do. I can’t even save myself from that.”

I couldn’t decide if he was being dramatic or deeply sincere. I leaned back in my chair and balanced my coffee cup on top of the swell of my belly. “Hitch, I’m not going to drag it out of you. Either you explain it or you don’t.”

He leaned forward for the pot, poured himself more coffee, and then settled back in his chair with a groan. “Spoil all my fun,” he complained. “Oh, very well. I know you’ve been to the end of the road, so you know the terror that’s there. It’s worst there, and always there. The rest of the forest isn’t so bad. Sometimes the forest breathes terror. Other times, it’s utter weariness. And over all, always there is discouragement and despair. That flows over all the land surrounding the King’s Road. You have to ride for at least two days before you get away from it. Three if you’re following the road itself. Some people are more vulnerable to it than others, but no one, not even us, is completely immune.”

I tried Epiny’s theory on him. “That’s what is wrong with the morale at Gettys. That’s why top regiments come here and within a year become slovenly and prey to desertion.”