A Wolf in Thief's Clothing [Thief of Magic, Ep. 2]
A Thief of Magic Tale
Robin D. Morgan is posing as a wizard, learning magic from books he inherited from a stranger who was murdered before Robin could rob him. If he can make enough money to pay back the Thieves’ Guild without being caught by the City Guard or discovered as an impostor by the Wizards’ Court, he just might pull off the biggest con he’d never dreamed of.
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The mixture in the pot let off a spout of noxious blue steam and turned green. Robin coughed, covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve, and checked the book. Last step. He crushed the lizard egg shells in his pestle and sprinkled them in to the bubbling mixture. He pulled the pot off the fire and waited anxiously until it turned brown. It still smelled like the wrong end of a sick goat.
It had been six months since Robin had inherited the murdered wizard’s belongings and title. He’d spent most of that time studying the wizard’s books. With a little subtle guidance, he’d learned to brew a few potions, and even cast a simple spell or two. He’d packed up the whole place and moved to a new town where no one knew him and opened a magic shop. With luck, it would keep him safe and make enough money to buy him out of trouble.
Robin carried the box of potion bottles out to the front room. He lined them up on the shelf where he’d posted the sign “Plant Growing Potions.” It was right below the “House Cleaning Potions” and above the “Bug Repelling Potions.” He was starting with a ‘household focus.’ Also, those were the simplest potions he could find. He hoped they worked. He knew the cleaning potions worked, because he had used them getting the shop and his upstairs apartment ready.
He took one last look at the front room of the shop before opening his doors for the first time. The wooden floor was clean of dirt. The potions were lined up in neat rows on the shelves. Across the store, many of the little statues from the wizard’s house arranged themselves on their own set of shelves. A cabinet behind the counter at the back held various amulets whose power or purpose he had yet no idea. He’d put a locking charm on the cabinet for safety, but it made for a nice display.
“Time to open up.” He released the lock charm on the door and windows and propped open the shutters, letting in the sunshine, the spring air, and the noise of the village street. The smells from the bakery across the way wasted no time invading his shop, and he wasn’t the least mad about it, other than wishing he could afford to eat there every morning. The ringing sound of hot metal and heavy hammer followed the aroma of sweet cakes. The blacksmith beside the bakery was already at work. The grain mill on the other side sat silent, the water wheel undoubtedly turning in the stream, but the milling stones were not yet engaged today. The buckler next door always slept in. The mercer on the other side was singing softly from within her shop.
The singing was interrupted by a violent sneeze. This was unusual. She sneezed again. Robin leaned out the window on that side.
“Good morrow and bless you, mercer! Are you ill?”
She leaned her own head out the window and waved. “Good morrow, young wizard! Nay, it is the spring flowers that make me sneeze.” She sneezed again, as if to prove the point. “I didn’t realize they were out so strongly this morning.” She withdrew her head and closed up her windows.
Robin walked behind his counter thoughtfully. He pulled one of his magic books from under the counter and leafed through the pages. He was sure he’d seen something about allergies. Had it been a potion? Or a charm? An herbal remedy, perhaps? He found it. A spell, as it turned out, to reduce the effect of allergies. It didn’t look too complicated.
“Egészség,” he sounded out without focusing the magic. Spells could be practiced without applying the magic power, he had learned, which was useful for someone trying to teach themselves! He practiced the hand motions, shaping his fingers just so, and flicking his wrist in the indicated direction. “Egészség.”
He felt that he almost had the casting down when his door opened. The man who entered was easily recognizable, though Robin had never spoken with him. His clothes were of good quality without being luxurious. His boots carried only the faintest trace of dust and mud, likely from walking down this very street.
“Good morrow, wizard. Welcome to Dragon Glen. I am Sir Theodore Penwold, burgomaster of the village.”
“Yes, my lord, I know.”
Sir Penwold glanced in the corner at the crystal ball on a shrouded table full of tarot cards. “Ah, yes, of course.” Robin had no idea how to use anything on that table. Such an important person was easy to spot in town, and had been pointed out to him by his neighbors.
“Well, I come to welcome you to town, of course, and wish you luck with your store, but also to bring you a bit of work.”
“Work?” Sir Penwold had his attention now. Work meant money. It also likely meant using magic. He had not yet enough of either for his comfort.
“Yes, nothing grand or impressive, mind you, sorry. It’s actually a rather mundane task. Our city guard would normally handle it, but we don’t currently have one.”
“I’m sorry, did you say the town is currently without any law enforcement? None at all?”
“Well, I mean, let’s not spread that about, of course!” Penwold moved further into the shop, away from the open door and windows. He lowered his voice. “We’re just temporarily without a captain of the guard, but one should be appointed very soon.”
“What about the guards under the captain?”
“Well, as it happens, by law, only the captain of the guard can appoint the guards, so until he arrives, we are a little short.” He wrung his hands together, and Robin could see his concern hiding under his joviality. “But we have you!” His charming smile returned. “Which brings me back to why I am here. Will you take the job?”
Robin considered himself a quick thinker and astute listener, but Penwold’s speech patterns seemed to jump over important details. “I’m sorry, what did you say the actual job is again?”
“Oh, did I forget to mention? Just some pesky animals on the south side of town. They’re bothering the cattle and sheep and such on the farms. We’d like you to make them go away.”
“You want me to make the cattle and sheep go away?”
“What? No, no, the wolves, my boy.”
“W-wolves?” Wolves were by no means on the same level as dragons, but neither were they field mice.
“Yes, whole pack of them it seems. A couple of our hunters tried to take them down, but the rest of the pack makes that a tricky business. I’m sure the boys will be hunting again in no time. So, how much?”
How much to face a full pack of wolves by himself? He might start with a new pair of pants. His rent was 25 silver crowns a month, so he’d need to make a little over five crowns a week.
“Six silver crowns, my lord.” He was no stranger to negotiating.
“That seems a bit steep for just a few wild dogs, don’t you think?” The charming smile was still in place, but the eyes sized up Robin’s height, weight, and wallet. “I was thinking more five shillings, and a good word about town for any who might need a little magic, eh?”
“I’m the only wizard in town, sir,” Robin pointed out. “As you’re my first customer, I can do four crowns, and I thought you said they were wolves?”
“Yes, wolves, but I don’t think there are very many of them. Perhaps we can do 2 crowns, but they’d have to be well and truly gone.”
“Not many you say?” Robin suspected there would be more than enough wolves. “Would you prefer to pay a crown per wolf, instead? If there are not many…”
“No need to go through the trouble of counting them. Here, I have three crowns right here.” He withdrew 3 shiny silver crowns from the purse at his waist. Robin noticed that the bulk of the purse did not change significantly by removing them.
“Three crowns, and a meal? It’s very difficult to work on an empty stomach.” Penwold’s stomach looked likely to agree with him. A simple meal would only be a few pennies, a shilling or two at most, but he did not want to be seen as an easy negotiator with his very first job. It would not set a good precedent.
“Done. I’ll tell Rose at the tavern to expect you after you’ve handled the wolves.”
“Deal. A pleasure doing business with you, my lord.”
Sir Penwold turned over the silver crowns and left in good spirits. Robin suspected he could have charged more than he’d ended up with, but the good will with the head of the village was no bad price either. Now to figure out what to do about a pack of wily, territorial wolves.
Robin headed upstairs and into the books. He would certainly need some shields. He’d already been working on those. He could usually do them when he was focusing. He’d need some kind of attack, too. The books often seemed to turn to the right pages for him, particularly with the hand bearing the little dragon ring. It had been on his finger since the day everything changed, and he still understood almost nothing about it. But he could feel its influence when he was practicing. He turned yellowed pages and suddenly paused. The open page read Chapter 4: Direct Magical Attacks. The following pages detailed how to apply magic in various ways for physical attacks. Directing air currents, pure magical energy, flame and ice casting, stone conjuration…
“Everything looks so complicated. And dangerous.”
The dragon ring flicked his hand to the edge of the page, and he flipped back through the spellcraft. The page stopped on directing air currents.
“That does sound less dangerous, but can air stop wolves?”
The ring did not respond.
Robin shrugged and set the book on the reading stand next to the dormer window. He read the instructions and warnings carefully. This was the most complicated spell he’d attempted so far. It had an ‘activation’ component, and then a ‘control’ component.
“Loftveldi,” he intoned under his breath and practiced the hand motion. When he thought he had it, he focused, shutting out the world around him, and pushed power into his words and actions.
“Loftveldi.” He felt the air around his hands change. It felt firmer, like moving his hands through water. He held the focused power, widened the blade of his hand and swept his arm across his body. A wind tore across the window in front of him. The book tumbled to the floor and the stand with it. The curtains whipped the wall, one tearing itself half loose. The shutter banged against the latch that held it shut. Robin closed his hand slowly into a fist and then relaxed.
“Wow.” He looked down at his empty hand with new admiration. “So, move slower in confined spaces. Got it.”
He repeated the exercise, this time moving very slowly and gently, and was rewarded with a light breeze in his closed bedroom. He resolved to practice the spell more on his way to the farms. He turned to the section on shield wards and reviewed that exercise before getting ready to leave.
“Sciath!” He waved an arm in an arc in front of him, and could feel the magic form a shield. He said the word again and waved the shield away.
Robin threw his cloak around his shoulders, his hat on his head, and hefted the wizard staff, which so far had been just a walking stick for him, but he was sure it had its own uses. Out the door he went, placing a quick locking charm as he left.
“Loftveldi.” He intoned and stirred little whirlwinds of leaves and dust as he walked. Crossing the river bridge around the corner from his shop, he wondered how he might affect the water and called up the spell again. “Egészség,” he said, and formed the motion with his hand. The air did not change. “Oh, wrong spell. Have to watch that.” He shook his head, mildly frustrated with his error, and tried again. “Loftveldi.” This time, he managed to cause small waves to lap the edge of the river by stirring the air above them. In too short a walk, he arrived at the farms south of town.
The sun was setting on the mountains to the west. Robin walked along the fence that kept the cows in place, looking for signs of wolves. He bent next to the eastern corner of the fence to examine the mud in which a cluster of wild flowers grew. There were prints there, but he wasn’t sure they were wolf prints. For that matter, he wasn’t sure what wolf prints looked like in the first place.
A low growl behind him caught his attention. Success; he’d found the wolves. Robin turned to find a full pack of nearly a dozen toothy beasts. Each one looked like it weighed as much as he did. The setting sun drew their long shadows right to his feet.
“Sciath.” He moved the wizard staff slowly across him with his left hand to create the magical shield. The wolves began to spread out, each one of them keeping two eyes on him. All the winds he had crafted had been of narrow breadth. He didn’t know if he could make a wind that would affect all of them, especially with enough power to drive them away. He would have to try.
“Egészség!” He positioned his hand and swept across the widening arc of wolves. He felt the shield slip as he focused on the spell. He pushed focus back into the shield, and realized he’d never before tried to do two spells at the same time. The wolves looked unaffected. Not even the grass had moved. Then he realized his mistake. Wrong spell again. He’d tried to cure the wolves of allergies. “Stupid stupid,” he mumbled to himself. “Loftveldi!” He again swept his hand in a wide arc, and struggled to divide his focus between the two spells. The grass stirred. Leaves fluttered into the air. The flowers danced in the stiff breeze, and the raised hackles of the wolves fluttered slightly. They didn’t even look concerned, much less intimidated or frightened. It wasn’t strong enough. How could he have thought he could take on a pack of wolves after an afternoon’s study? He was a fool, and in moments, he’d be a bloody dead one.
The pack of wolves had completed the semi circle, trapping him with his back against the fence. The sun was setting, and Robin couldn’t help but acknowledge the symbolism of the scene. The center wolf, the one closest to him, was the largest. It’s shoulders were just above his waist, and the massive grizzled head would have little trouble licking his cheek, but Robin was sure that wasn’t what it had in mind. It stepped forward, and if Robin had doubted its leadership position before, seeing the entire line step forward to follow suite convinced him.
Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. A wolf on his right was rushing forward. He swept his flat hand through the air in an upward arc and the wind surged forward. The wolf was hit in the chest and lifted into the air. It flipped over on its back and scrambled to get back on its feet and return to the circle. Focusing on the wind caused his shield to flicker, and he refocused energy toward it.
There was the sound of scuffed dirt behind him. He couldn’t turn fast enough. The wolves had him flanked, and they knew it. The attacking wolf yelped as it smashed it’s muzzle into the invisible shield, knocking it back onto its haunches. It shook its head and slowly backed up, sniffing the air and growling.
There was a snort behind him again, on the left side, and he turned, facing the center, and whipped his head back and forth, trying to keep all of the wolves in view. He’d no idea where the next attack would come from, and he wasn’t sure how long he could focus on two spells at once.
The leader of the pack suddenly sneezed violently. Robin stared. He hadn’t known wolves could sneeze. The wolf looked rather surprised, too. Another wolf, three members to the right, sneezed. Most of the pack had stopped growling and several were pawing at their muzzles. A third sneeze seemed to settle the issue. The leader of the pack backed up several steps, growling at Robin, and then turned tail and ran. The others followed his example, and the entire pack loped off towards the woods. The sound of lupine sneezes echoed back through the rising moonlight.
Robin watched them run off, bemused. Then he realized; he’d managed to give the wolves allergies instead of curing them. His wind had stirred up the flowers growing under the fence. “I guess better a lucky fool than a dead one.” He would have to tell the farmers to plant the flowers all along their fences. He headed back toward the road, and his well-earned dinner.
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