A Clash of Magics by Guy Antibes (read this if txt) 📕

He looked up at a lowering sky. Trevor could see wisps of fog moving through the streets. No one seemed alarmed, so he guessed this was a common thing in Khartoo. Lissa knocked on the door and opened it a crack. “Do you smell the ocean?” she asked.

“I do,” Trevor said. “The fog looks inviting too.”

Lissa shivered. “Fog can turn a summer day into fall.”

“How often does this occur?” Trevor asked.

Lissa shrugged. “I’m not sure, but a few times a week, I guess. Did you smell the air?” She made a face. “It smells the same here as it does in Sirland. Father said it was all the rotten seaweed, but,” she shrugged her shoulders, “how would I know? I was only twelve.”

“There are smart twelve-year-olds. I’ll bet you were smart then,” Trevor said.

“Were you smart?”

Trevor laughed. “A sword had already been placed in my hand. I learned what I could from Brother Yvan, but most of my time was spent on the practice field. I wouldn’t consider myself dumb, and I can remember most of what I read.”

“You aren’t dumb, in a bookish sense.”

“But I’m dumb in other ways?” Trevor asked.

“We are all dumb in other ways. I can’t wield a sword like you, and you can’t wield a thunderbolt.”

“That is why we are a team,” Trevor said, putting his arms around Lissa.

Potur poked his head in the doorway. “Time for dinner and then a long walk,” he said before closing the door gently.

“A long walk?” Lissa asked. “I hope I have something warm enough.”

~

Trevor shivered in the foggy night air. He envied the thick wool coat that Potur seemed to have acquired since they arrived that afternoon in Khartoo. They walked through damp streets until he found a shop that appeared to be closed. Potur took them around to the back and softly knocked while Trevor held the pack animal’s reins.

An old man almost as tall as Trevor let them in.

“Potur! This is unexpected.”

“For me, as well,” Potur said.

“You have goods for me?”

“I managed to acquire some before I left the border. We have the shipment outside, but I thought we could talk first. Sometimes you are too busy during the day.”

“And that is a bad thing?” the man said.

“No. I brought an important person with me.”

“And an important young lady, too, I can see,” the old man said with nothing but courtesy in his voice.

“This is Des Boxster,” Potur said. He looked at Trevor. “Show him your token.”

Trevor pulled out the little metal plate. It had the name and his birthdate. The old man took the token and lit a ball of magic light, and examined it. He looked at Trevor. “A mountain boy, eh?”

“I’ve been called other things too,” Trevor said.

“This is my half sister, Lissa Lott. She’s full Jarkanese.”

Lissa handed over her token. The old man examined it, handed it back, and said, “What can I help you with?”

Trevor didn’t have an answer. All he wanted to do was to learn about the magicians.

“My sister’s boyfriend would like to know about the magic practiced at the magicians’ enclave. He wants to see if he might qualify.”

Trevor still didn’t know what was being discussed. He had to hold on until some indicator was mentioned.

“Can you find someone to take the two of them across the bay and educate them? The boy, especially. The local cleric has told him he’s got a special talent, but the only talent I’ve been able to figure out is that he carries around a sword that he can hardly swing.”

The old man looked at the handle poking out Trevor’s shoulder. “Pull it out, boy.”

Trevor did as the man said and laid it on the old man’s lap.

“Jarkanese ceremonial sword. It could even be an old focus sword. No question about that, but someone has fiddled with it.” He looked up at Trevor. “Is this your work?”

“No, sir,” Trevor said. “My daddy had it reworked by an old army friend in a border town.”

“Excellent work. This can absorb magic, you know?”

“I heard, but I can’t do anything like that. I’d like to learn how they do such a thing from the western magicians.”

“Western magicians. I don’t know where you pick this tripe up, Potur.” The old man leaned toward Trevor. “Let me tell you about enclave magicians. They aren’t a single group. There are fifteen or twenty cabals all vying for primacy, although there is talk of there being alliances in place for the last five or six years. I wouldn’t know about that. I have a contact which is connected to a recruiting service. I can get you inside to be tested. They are always interested in talent with a penchant for real arms and magic, but there are no guarantees. Most applicants are rejected, if they come out of the enclave, at all.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Trevor said, trying to sound like an eager village boy.

“What is in it for you, Potur?”

The scout sighed. “Lissa and Des are aiming to get married, and the girl wants to make sure Des has done what he can do on the magic side.”

Lissa sat with her hands folded on her lap and smiled.

“I’ll do that if your merchandise is up to its regular quality.”

“It is,” Potur said.

“Then I’ll arrange a boat for the day after tomorrow. It’s always better to arrive by sea at the enclave.” The old man yawned. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my old bones need their rest.”

“Thank you for your time,” Potur said.

The old man nodded and ushered them out the back door and took possession of Potur’s goods.

“You played that nicely. I thought you’d seem more genuine if I sprung old Mak on you without rehearsal. He’s