Doran stared at his son in shocked disbelief.
Chapter Two
Doran of Shiphaven had not given his son an immediate answer. When pressed, he had limited himself to a noncommital, “We’ll see.”
In the days following the show at the Arena he thought the matter over carefully.
There could be no doubt at all that the boy was serious. Dumery had never been one to take things lightly; when he asked for something he meant it, it wasn’t just a passing whim. And he had been obsessed with magic for years now.
That wasn’t unusual, in a boy his age, and somehow Doran hadn’t realized just how obsessed Dumery was. The child didn’t just want tosee a wizard, he wanted tobe one.
That took some thought.
In theory, wizardry was a perfectly respectable profession, and Doran should have no objection to seeing his youngest son pursue it, but somehow he just wasn’t comfortable with the idea. Wizards were such strange people, either showy braggarts or ill-tempered recluses, from what he’d seen. And wasn’t magic supposed to be dangerous stuff? All that messing around with unseen forces simply didn’t seem safe.
It could be worse, of course, it could easily bemuch worse. The boy might have wanted to be a demonologist. Nowthat was dangerous work, dealing with the forces of evil themselves, and trying to wring good from them!
Or maybe not trying to wring good from them, for that matter; Doran had certainly heard plenty of rumors about demonologists performing assassinations and the like. And nobody ever denied that they laid curses on people. And every so often demonologists would disappear, leaving only the most bizarre and fragmentary evidence behind, and nobody really knew whether they’d lost control of their demons, or lost out in a dispute with other magicians, or maybe been struck dead by the gods for their tampering in places where humans weren’t supposed to meddle.
At least Dumery wasn’t interested inthat!
And he wasn’t interested in witchcraft, which was such a peasantish sort of magic, or sorcery, which still had a rather unsavory reputation even though the Great War had been over for centuries, or warlockry, which was new and strange and whose practitioners all seemed to make everybody very nervous.
Theurgy, though-that was respectable enough, and nobody ever heard about theurgists getting a spell wrong and vanishing in a puff of purple smoke.
Talking to gods seemed a lot healthier than messing around with runes and powders and so forth.
He suggested it at dinner one night, and Dumery sat silently for a moment, pushing his greens around his plate with his fork.
“Well?” Doran demanded at last.
“I don’t know, Dad,” Dumery replied. “I mean, it just doesn’t interest me the way wizardry does. None of the other magicks do-at least, not the ones I’ve heard of.”
Doran was baffled. “What’s so special about wizardry, then?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Dumery replied. “It just... I mean, it... it just is, that’s all.”
Doran sighed. He knew he couldn’t argue with that. It rarely did any good to argue withanything Dumery said.
“We’ll see what we can do,” he said.
He tried to think of an alternative, or an excuse for delay, but nothing came, and three days later he and Dumery slogged through muddy streets in a steady spring downpour, hats pulled down tight on their heads, on their way to an interview with Thetheran the Mage.
“Spoiled,” Doran muttered under his breath as yet another puddle turned out to be deeper than it looked, “I’ve spoiled the boy. Wizardry-ha!”
Dumery could hear that his father was muttering, but couldn’t make out the words, and took it for curses directed against the gods of weather.
He didn’t mind the rain, not really-the important thing was that he was going to be a wizard! He really was!
Oh, he’d start out as a mere apprentice, of course, and he’d have to work harder than he ever had in his life, and study night and day, and practice, but after six years-or nine, or twelve, depending-he’d be a wizard! A real wizard!
They were on Wizard Street now, and Dumery pushed his hat back a little, so that he could see the signboards better as they walked along. He didn’t want to miss Thetheran’s place.
“There it is!” he called, pointing.
His father looked up. “Yes,” he agreed, “that’s it.”
As they approached the little shop the door swung open; Dumery felt a tingle of excitement run through him, and he shivered with anticipation.
A tall, gaunt man in a midnight-blue robe appeared in the doorway, then stepped back to make room for them as they crossed the threshold.
Something Dumery couldn’t see snatched their hats away, sprinkling his face with cold rainwater spilled from the brim.
“Come in,” the tall man said. “Come in and dry off.”
Dumery looked up at him expectantly, thinking that their clothes were about to be dried magically, but the wizard-if this was he-performed no magic, he merely gestured toward a half-circle of velvet-upholstered chairs arranged around the hearth, where a fire was crackling comfortably.
Mildly disappointed, Dumery followed along and slid onto one of the chairs.
His father took the next, and the tall man the one beyond.
“So you’re Dumery,” the tall man said, staring at him intently.
Dumery stared back, but said nothing.
“I am Thetheran the Mage, master wizard and master of this house, and I bid you welcome,” the tall man said.
Doran discreetly prodded his son with an elbow. “I’m Dumery of Shiphaven,”
Dumery said, remembering his manners. “Thank you for making us welcome.”
“I understand that you wish to apprentice yourself to me, to learn the wizardly arts,” Thetheran said, still staring him in the eye.
Dumery threw his father a glance, then looked back at the wizard. “That’s right,” he said. “I want to be a wizard.”
Thetheran finally removed his gaze from Dumery’s face, looking instead at Doran. “If you will forgive me, sir, I must speak to the lad in private, and see whether he has the makings of an apprentice. You may wait here, or go where you will and return in an hour’s time.” He raised one hand in a peculiar way, the wrist twisted in what looked to Dumery like a very uncomfortable fashion, and added, “Should you choose to stay, you will be brought food and drink, if you wish. Simply call out what you want; I haveoushka, if the rain has chilled you, and ale, to wash theoushka down or merely to slake your thirst, and a well of clear water that I keep pure by my magic. To eat, I fear I have little to spare at present but good bread and a fine wheel of Shannan red cheese.”
Doran nodded politely, and was about to say something, when the wizard stood, staring at Dumery again and obviously no longer interested in anything the boy’s father might have to say.
He reached out, and Dumery stood as well.
The wizard started to lead the boy toward a curtained doorway in the rear wall of the shop-if a shop it actually was, with no merchandise nor displays of any kind, but only the furnishings that one might find in an ordinary parlor.
“Wait a minute,” Doran called.
Thetheran turned back toward him.
So did Dumery, and for a moment the boy thought his father looked uneasy, though he knew that couldn’t be true; nothing ever bothered Doran of Shiphaven, master of the sixth-largest trading fleet in the city’s harbor.
“Just call?” he asked.
Thetheran nodded.
“Call who?” Doran asked.
Thetheran sighed. “What would you like?” he asked.