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  * * *

  School of Wizardry

  by Debra Doyle & James D MacDonald

  A Visitor at Castle Doun

  The Road to Tarnsberg

  Schola Sorceriae

  Sorcerers’ Apprentices

  Hue and Cry

  Storm Clouds Gathering

  One More Chance

  Sword and Circle

  Wizard’s Blood

  The Open Gate

  School of Wizardry

  by Debra Doyle & James D MacDonald

  * * *

  Randal thought he wanted to be a wizard. …

  As a young squire, Randal seems assured of a future as a knight—until a mysterious wizard enters the castle gates.

  To his astonishment, Randal discovers that he himself possesses special powers. He leaves the security of life as a squire to become a student at the School of Wizardry.

  Once his training in the mystic arts has begun, however, Randal soon learns that there are many perils—and one deadly enemy—to be overcome before he can advance from sorcerer’s apprentice to journeyman wizard….

  * * *

  I. A Visitor at Castle Doun

  “I TOLD YOU it was going to rain,” said Randal. He frowned at the drops spotting the dusty flagstones of the courtyard of Castle Doun. In a minute or two, a layer of slick mud would be covering the pavement.

  “And I told you Sir Palamon would have us out here anyway,” said his cousin Walter as he strode off toward the pells—thick, man-high poles of wood, notched and chipped from taking sword blows from Castle Doun’s knights and squires.

  Walter was sixteen and already wearing metal armor. Randal, at twelve and a bit, still practiced in padded cloth and leather. He watched his cousin cutting high and low, left and right, at the pells, and wondered if armor made a difference.

  The sound of spurs clinking on the pavement made him turn around. Sir Palamon, master-at-arms for Castle Doun, stood with his thumbs hooked into his belt. “Good to see you boys out here,” he said. “Carry on with your practice.”

  Randal gripped his sword. Again and again he swung the heavy blade above his head, snapped it forward past his shoulder, and thrust with all his weight behind it. Sir Palamon’s hoarse voice interrupted him in mid-motion. “Let’s see that last move again—and this time step forward into it!”

  Randal thrust with the sword.

  Sir Palamon looked disgusted. “What do you think you’re doing—poking holes in a sack of flour? Do it again.”

  Randal tried again. Sir Palamon shook his head and drew his own sword.

  “The day may come,” said the master-at-arms, “when you won’t have your shield, and you won’t have your armor, and you won’t have your friends beside you—but you’ll have your sword and your skill. Those will always be with you. Now watch.”

  The master-at-arms swung his blade as if cutting at an enemy’s leg. At the last moment, he straightened his arm and stepped forward with his rear foot, turning the thrust into a deadly lunge.

  “Like that,” said Palamon. “Aim for a spot somewhere beyond the other man’s back. Now you try.”

  Randal hefted his sword. Frowning, he tried to see an enemy standing in front of him—no taller than this, no farther than that. He could see where his blow would have to end up, on the other side of the imaginary figure; he thrust and put the sword point there.

  “That’s more like it,” said Palamon. “Keep practicing and don’t let your mind wander, and we’ll make a knight of you yet.”

  A shout came from the castle gate. “Stranger coming up the road!”

  The wind gusted harder, making the rain sting against Randal’s face. “All right, lads,” he heard Palamon saying as he headed toward the gate. “The weather’s turning nasty—in you go.”

  Randal took his time getting out of the quilted practice armor; he wanted to see who was coming just as much as Sir Palamon did. These days, with no true king in the land and the great nobles fighting for power, not many people traveled the roads alone.

  The newcomer wasn’t much to look at: a man about forty years old with a short dark beard, carrying a walking staff taller than he was. He wore a loose shirt of faded yellow linen and a rough kilt of gray wool, belted around his waist and folded up over one shoulder. He’s a long way from home, thought Randal. Only the half-civilized tribesmen of the north country dressed like that.

  Indeed, when the stranger spoke, his accent had a northern lilt. “Greetings to you! Madoc the Wayfarer, at your service.”

  Sir Palamon looked the stranger up and down. “And what sort of service might that be?”

  “News,” said Madoc. “And wonders for my supper.”

  Randal saw Sir Palamon begin to smile. “A magician, eh?”

  “A wizard,” corrected Madoc.

  Randal stared. For all that the northerner went unarmed and on foot, he’d spoken back to Sir Palamon as if he were an equal. Even Walter, who was the lord’s son and almost a knight, couldn’t get away with talking to the master-at-arms like that.

  Sir Palamon only nodded, though. “Then you’re doubly welcome, Master Madoc.”

  The two men walked together past the stables and the smithy to the castle tower, leaving Randal staring. So that’s a real wizard, he thought. He’d never seen a wizard before—unless he counted the healwife down in the village—and Madoc’s arrival filled him with a strange kind of prickly excitement, like life returning to an arm or leg that had gone to sleep.

  That night, in the smoky great hall of Castle Doun, it was Randal’s turn to wait on the high table, where Lord Alyen had given the wizard an honored place beside Sir Iohan, the oldest of the castle knights. All through dinner everyone talked about politics and looked grim. Randal supposed there might have been a time when the state of the kingdom didn’t make people frown and shake their heads, but he couldn’t remember things being any other way. King Robert’s only daughter had vanished mysteriously from her cradle the year before Randal was born, the king himself had died the year after, and the dukes and earls had been quarreling over the crown ever since.

  As soon as Randal had cleared away the empty plates, Lord Alyen turned to the wizard and said, “Our table talk’s been gloomy tonight, Master Madoc. If your spells can lighten the air somewhat, the rest of us will be grateful.”

  Randal felt his skin tingle with excitement. This was what he’d been hoping for ever since Madoc had spoken back to Sir Palamon and named himself a wizard—magic. True magic.

  The wizard stood up and bowed to Lord Alyen and to the ladies present. Then he came out from behind the high table to the middle of the hall and spoke a sharp word of command. All the torches in the hall went out.

  For a moment darkness reigned. Then, out of nowhere, colored lights appeared. Music sounded, softly at first and growing louder, unearthly melodies played on instruments Randal had never heard before. Colored globes and streamers materialized and danced about in time to the music, weaving patterns of light up and down the length of the great hall. The music ended on a final haunting chord, the lights faded away, and Madoc spoke another word. The torches flamed into life again.

  The men and women in the great hall burst into applause, but Randal stood motionless, still caught up in the wizard’s creation. A great sense of awe and wonder swept over him, making him almost lightheaded for a moment. How does it feel, he wondered, to call something like that out of the thin air?

  At the high table Lord Alyen nodded his approval and said, “You’ve given us beauty, Master Madoc, and I’d be the first to call that more than enough— but these are troubled times. Can you give us a glimpse of the future as well?”

  “Usually,” said Madoc, “the future is something better left unseen, and most prophecies are too obscure to be useful. But for you and your household, Lord Alyen, I’ll do my best.” The wizard looked around the hall. “Could someone fetch me a bowl? Wide and shallow, if you have one.”

  Before any of the other squires could move, Randal had already ducked into the alcove off the side of the great hall. He went straight for the wooden cupboard that held all the serving dishes, and pulled out a large platter of dark earthenware. He carried the platter back into the hall.

  “Will this do, Master Madoc?”

  The wizard gave the platter a quick glance. “Excellent,” he said. “Hold it for me, would you? There’s a good lad.”

  Madoc opened the leather pouch at his belt and took out something small—a piece of crystal, Randal thought. Keeping the small object clenched in his right hand, the wizard moved his closed fist over the empty dish and began to chant in a language Randal had never heard.

  The platter turned cold in Randal’s hands, and a mist formed above the dark surface. Beyond the wizard, the candles on the high table flickered and burned blue. Randal felt a cold wind ruffle his hair. The gray mist thickened and swirled, and the dish grew suddenly heavier—water filled it up to the brim.

  The candles on the table burned high again. Their reflections danced on the surface of the water. Under the lights, the water was dark … No, wait. I see some color, Randal thought.

  Green—it was deep green, rich as a field after a summer rain, bright as a jewel. The patch of green spread until it covered the bottom of the bowl. Randal saw that the color was the bright green of close-cropped turf, and across the turf hooves were pounding, the hooves of black horses. Time passed while Madoc’s deep voice rose and fell in meaningless words, and the black horses continued to gallop without sound against the field of green.

  The wizard uttered one final harsh syllable. The picture vanished, leaving Randal staring into the empty dish. He shook his head and looked up. Madoc was standing beside him, and the others in the great hall were gazing at the kilted northerner with expressions ranging from amusement to barely concealed awe.

  Randal’s hands shook. This hadn’t been like watching the display of colored lights; this time, the magic had called to something within him, and something had answered.

  At a nod from Lord Alyen, Randal returned the platter to the cupboard and resumed his usual place next to Walter. As the noise in the hall grew louder, Randal nudged his cousin and whispered, “Did you see it?”

  He waited, still shaking a little, for the answer— he didn’t know what had happened, but he knew he had to find out if his cousin had seen the same vision. What if he hadn’t, Randal wondered. What if nobody else saw it but Madoc … or what if nobody saw it but me?

  But Walter only gave him an odd look. “See what? Were you daydreaming again?”

  He didn’t see anything, thought Randal. And I did. The knowledge made him uneasy; he didn’t know what it meant, but he knew it was important. Aloud, he said only, “I guess I wasn’t paying attention. What happened?”

  “What else is new?” asked Walter. “All right … the wizard gave a little speech about everybody here. You should have seen Sir Palamon grin when the wizard told him he was going to be in a battle that would gain him fame enough to last to the end of his days.”

  Randal wasn’t so sure that was a good fortune— not without a prediction of just how many those days were going to be—but he knew from experience that Walter wouldn’t see it that way. “Did he say anything about me?” Randal asked.

  “No, he didn’t say anything about you,” answered his cousin. “Most of the stuff he did say was good, though—Father was pleased.”

  After dinner, Randal sat down and waited at the foot of the winding stair that led to the upper floors of the tower. Lord Alyen had given his unexpected guest a room upstairs, not just sleeping space on the hall floor; Randal planned to catch the wizard on his way up to bed. Before too long, the wizard came out of the great hall and paused at the foot of the stairs.

  “Good evening, lad,” said Madoc. “What’s on your mind?”

  Randal stood up. “When you looked into the water tonight, Master Madoc, what did you see?”

  “What did I see? The future, of course.”

  Randal felt his ears beginning to burn with embarrassment, but he’d already said too much to stop now. “Yes—but what did it look like? All I saw was green fields and black horses.”

  “Not surprising,” said Madoc, “with your upbringing.”

  “But nobody else saw anything at all!” Randal’s voice squeaked on the last syllable, and he blushed even redder.

  Madoc sighed. “Tell me about the horses, then.”

  “It was just black horses running,” said Randal. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to remember the picture. A little to his surprise, it came back to him as bright and sharp-edged as before. He watched the scene for a while, and then opened his eyes again. “On a field someplace. Does that mean anything, Master Madoc?”

  “Maybe,” said the wizard. “Why are you so curious about those horses of yours?”

  “Because I saw them,” Randal said. “Because nobody else but you saw anything.” He paused, took a deep breath, and then went on, feeling foolish and excited at the same time. “Because maybe it means that I can be a wizard, too.”

  He stopped and stood looking down toward the floor. A moment passed, and then he heard the wizard’s gentle laugh. “If I’d juggled three balls after dinner, lad, would you have wanted to be a juggler? Not everyone who sees visions in clear water is meant to work magic. Now run along to bed.” With a sigh, Randal did as he’d been told.

  Morning came, gray and chilly. Rain fell in sheets across the courtyard of Castle Doun—there would be no sword practice today. Inside the castle, the great hall was busy and crowded, but Madoc didn’t seem to want the warmth and company. Randal searched every part of the big, noisy room without luck.

  Just before noon, he found the wizard at a turn of the tower stair. Madoc sat in the niche formed by one of the high, narrow windows, reading a small leather-bound book by the light of the gray day outside. No rain blew in—the outer walls of the castle were more than a yard thick—but the cold wind made Randal’s teeth chatter. He wondered how the wizard endured it.

  Randal asked, “How much longer will you be here?”

  The wizard shrugged without turning around. “Until I get tired of staying or Lord Alyen gets tired of having me, whichever comes first.” He paused. “One more day, I think.”

  Only one more day, thought Randal. He got a sinking feeling when he thought of the wizard leaving. Madoc had gone back to his reading; Randal watched him for a while, and then asked, “Do wizards have to read a lot?”

  “I never met one who didn’t,” said Madoc.

  “Oh,” said Randal. Nobody at Castle Doun could read, except, perhaps, Lord Alyen. “I suppose I could learn.”

  “Still wanting to be a wizard, are you?”

  Randal nodded. “Yes, sir. Will you teach me?”

  The wizard closed his book with a sigh. “Stay here at Doun,” he advised. “You’ve got a bright future ahead of you.”

  “You never read my future at all,” Randal said. “Walter told me so.”

  “Some things,” said the wizard, “are clear enough without needing to look in a puddle of water for the answers. Sir Palamon thinks you’ll do well.”

  “Maybe I don’t want Sir Palamon’s future,” Randal said. “Maybe I want one like yours.”

  “How can you want to be a wizard, boy? You haven’t got the foggiest idea of what it’s all about.” The wizard rose and stood, glaring down at Randal. The northerner wasn’t as tall as Lord Alyen or Sir Iohan, but this close to him, Randal still had to look up to meet his eyes. “You’ll spend most of your life with just enough power to get you into trouble. You’ll be hungry more often than you’re fed, and spend more time in danger on the road than safe under a roof. And maybe you’ll survive it all and live to be old and white-bearded and wise—but if you do, most of your friends will have died a long time before. Go back downstairs to your uncle, lad. This is no life for you.”

  “But—” Randal protested.

  “Go downstairs, I said!”

  Randal went. The rainy day dragged on, and Randal didn’t see the wizard again until dinner.

  When the meal was over, Madoc gave the hall a new display of lights and sounds. They were even more beautiful than before, but this time the music was sad. Then a glowing point appeared in front of the wizard, and another and another, shifting and sparkling until they seemed to make a golden tree, with its top three times the height of a tall man.

  The tree of light stood for a moment at the height of its glory, its branches full of blossoms. Then, as Randal watched in dismay, it shrank to a gnarled old age, shed its glittering leaves, and decayed into darkness.

  Instead of seeking out company after supper, Randal headed for the small room that he shared with Walter. He flung himself down on the bed without bothering to undress, and lay staring up into the dark. Madoc’s illusion had made him feel restless and uneasy—he couldn’t help feeling that there was a message in it for him somehow.

  But what kind of message? he wondered. Does it mean that if I study magic my life will come to nothing? Or does it mean just the opposite?

  Randal turned the question over and over in his mind, but found no answer. He was still thinking when he fell asleep.

  By next morning, the rain had stopped. Randal could smell the clear day coming almost before he awoke: a mixture of clean-washed stone, new grass, and damp earth drying in the sun. He rolled out of bed and stood for a moment, blinking at an empty room.

 

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