Ravens, Owls and a nightingale

4. Teacher & Disciple

Only a narrow slice of the moon was visible to shed its light on the ramparts and towers of the huge castle. In the western horizon, the last glow of the sun still colored the sky slightly purple, but the night was going to be dark even without heavy clouds. It was still early in the spring, and the lighter nights of summer wouldn't properly begin until several weeks later.

The noises from the courtyard and the buildings along the walls of the bailey had already died down for the night. Only some thumps and snorts could still be heard from the stables, almost directly behind him. The eternal cold wind was blowing, this time from the west, from upstream, as if wanting to hasten the waters of River Czorhass onwards. Moonlight reflected from the gleaming stream that at this point looked like a wide, long bay, resembling more a lake than a river. But the smoothness of the waters was deceptive, as anyone living by it knew. If one looked at it long enough, one could see here and there a convulsion disturbing the smooth surface, when a particularly powerful undercurrent decided to make itself known. This was a mighty river, a giant not to be played with.

A dark shape emerged from the shadows and proceeded to walk slowly along the passage on top of the wall: a tall figure, broad shoulders a little hunched against the bite of the wind. A man. He stopped to listen, and raised a hand to sweep away bangs that the wind kept pushing over his eyes. With mindless persistence the wind tossed them back and he shrugged and gave in.

He walked a little further still, then stopped and rounded his mouth to let out a soft hoot. Not a sound greeted him, but then, he wasn't expecting any. He knew better. They wouldn't make a sound as they came, just glide across the expanse of open ground that separated the mountain of a castle from the houses, sheds, enclosures and huts of the village standing at a respectful distance from it.

Then his eyes, already used to the dark, caught the first signs of their approach: a flash of something pale there, to his left. And still his favorite managed to surprise him like it always did, talons scraping against stone as it landed to sit about two yards from him and folded its down-soft wings. The round head tilted, turning an expectant heart-shaped face towards him, and he smiled to the bird that dwelled in the uppermost floor of the left Portal Tower.

His favorite, his first friend... A narrow beak opened to reveal an enormous mouth, and he chuckled, dug a dead rat from the pouch hanging on his belt, threw it closer to the owl. He didn't even try to feed it from his hand; in its eagerness it had already made too many aching dents to his fingers.

Another owl, this one slightly larger, joined the first one. The two faced each other with angry hisses and spread their wings to look bigger, more imposing. He shook his head and threw another rat to the other side of the newcomer. It attacked the easy prey with a slight cackle, tore eagerly into still soft flesh and blinked round, yellow eyes at him. He smiled again.

More owls joined the banquet: a third one of the same variety, and a couple of small, brown ones that he favored with mice instead of rats. Even his rarest, most revered visitor chose to honor the company with its presence. The man ducked warily as an enormous eagle owl glided like a ghost above his head to land on a protruding stone on top of the outside wall. It was wilder than the others, less used to him, but hunger had pushed it to join the others at some point during the previous winter, so that it had slowly come to accept his presence as inevitable. Now it came occasionally even though snow had already mostly melted. Maybe it was feeling lazy, or maybe it was getting old and less efficient at hunting?

He watched the feeding owls, tossed a rat here, a mouse there, until the birds had gorged themselves properly and were just lazily nibbling on the treats, too sated to swallow them any more. Well, if they left something behind, the ravens and gulls would take care of the rest as soon as dawn broke again. There was no need to clean the place after them. The man wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself, pulled the hood deeper and walked slowly, head bowed, past the birds that were now just sitting on top of the wall and regarding him with enormous, shining eyes. There was no need to agitate them with sudden movements; he didn't want talons sinking through skin all the way to scratch bone, as had happened once. He had learned his lesson.

He walked with a deliberate step to the Ghost Tower, opened the door and glanced up. The staircase curved gracefully to the right, the wall on the left was plastered stark white, and he could see ink-blue sky through the open window holes higher up. In the winter this staircase was always freezing cold, and slippery with snow blown in through cracks in the shutters. Now it was merely cool, even though the day had been sunny and warm for this time of the year. But then, even in summer the heat never really permeated through the thick stone, and what little warmth seeped in through those very same windows didn't make much difference inside the mostly dark corridor.

A torch was stuck to its wall holder down below, near the ground level, and the white walls reflected some of the light. But he didn't need any, for he knew every step by heart. He'd climbed them so many times before, in light and darkness but mostly in the night, usually having to feel his way up. Now he knew the way all right, not really needing the support, but still his fingers caressed the wrought iron railing that had been worn smooth by innumerable hands. The tower had been built to be defended to the last man standing, so the railing was on his right. Someone backing up the stairs could hold on to it with his left hand while using the sword with his right, while an attacker's sword would easily get tangled in the vertical bars of solid metal. Unless, of course, the attacker could swing a blade equally well with both hands, a feat that very few men could accomplish.

The heavy oaken door on top of the stairs looked forbidding enough, and most of the inhabitants of the castle would've never gone there voluntarily. The man just knocked briefly, then pushed it open and stepped inside. He wasn't asking for permission, anyway, merely signaling his arrival.

Inside the room the air was heavy and hot, it rolled over him in a comforting wave. It smelled of smoke and herbs, of something sweet but mostly pungent, bitter and enticing. A man was sitting in an old, worn chair, leafing a book. He looked up and a smile creased his narrow face.

"Ah, my boy, have you fed your owls?"

"Yes," the newcomer said and pulled the hood back, shrugged off the cloak and threw it on a bench. "They're happy now."

The older man nodded and closed the well-worn book. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No."

"Then sit down and have your share. There's plenty enough for you as well."

"Thank you."

The other man sat down and peered into the basket on the bench, then dug up a chunk of dark, fresh bread. He sank his teeth through its surface dotted with sweet-tasting seeds, picked up a long, dry sausage, and flashed a grin to his companion who just smiled and crossed his fingers, watching.

The man seated in the chair was not very old, perhaps not even fifty yet, but his face had been wizened way beyond his years. He wore a short, wispy beard that was streaked with gray and gave him an oddly birdlike look. If he had been standing upright, he would've been rather tall, but a stoop between his shoulders told that he was more used to bowing down, to study things, to look at them closely. Being somewhat short-sighted didn't help at all.

By contrast, the younger man sitting on the bench and munching the meal carried his tall body proudly upright even now. He had a broad, angular face, long limbs, and curly black hair that hung raggedly down to almost hide strong, curving eyebrows. They shadowed eyes so dark brown that they looked nearly black, too. Handsome young beast, the Wizard thought fondly.

The younger man glanced questioningly up and stuffed the rest of the sausage into his mouth. "What is it?"

"Do you have any news from the castle?"

"Nothing much, I'm afraid. The Ranea is still the same. Not better, not worse."

"Hm." The Wizard sighed and shook his head. "I wish we knew more."

"Yeah, me too. But I'll keep on trying."

The young man didn't call the Wizard his 'master', for that wasn't true. Contrary to common belief, he was no apprentice. Just a friend, and some kind of a student. But no apprentice, because he had no intention of one day becoming the Wizard himself.

This was an unspoken agreement between them, and the Wizard respected it. For one thing, he had decided a long time ago that he'd never force anyone who didn't have the true desire to dedicate his life to the ancient craft. Not that he himself would've been forced... but he'd been far too young to really understand what it meant, anyway. He'd been barely thirteen when he had encountered the Wizard of Deleon, and a few months later his parents, wearied by his relentless pestering, had agreed to go and talk to the old man. Thus he'd become first an apprentice, then the Wizard; and although he didn't regret the decision, still he was convinced that some waiting wouldn't have done any harm, either.

Besides, he knew the young man far too well. The Wizard had practically brought the boy up, nurtured his curiosity and encouraged him to apply his sharp intellect to learning, but the required passion just wasn't there. Or, more precisely, it was there, but it wasn't directed towards the Craft. Ever since he'd first seen the chubby, black-haired infant, the Wizard had known that he was faced with a true Revnashi in both good and bad, a hot-blooded thing with enough passion inside him to move mountains. He had watched the boy grow, watched him learn everything at hand with voracious energy, and accepted that this was no future Wizard. Such a life would be far too limited, and safe, for his Karos. The boy was forever helping his older friend, dutifully collecting plants, learning about their powers, grinding and drying and catching and working, and he knew a great deal about the Craft already. But to give his entire life to it? Oh no.

So he needed a real apprentice to teach, someone to whom he could eventually leave the robes of the Wizard of Deleon. And he would have to start doing something about the matter soon. He wasn't growing any younger, and even the Wizard wasn't immune to illness or old age. But not now, because there were other, even more pressing concerns weighing on his mind and taking up his time. This was not the time to go about searching. He was needed right here, and it was best if he didn't leave the castle or even his rooms for the time being.

Karos finished his third piece of bread and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand.

"It's too bad that there's almost always someone in the chamber," he said, disgruntled. "Makes this too damn difficult. I've only got inside twice."

"You must be very careful, my boy," the Wizard said gravely. "I don't want to lose you. What would I do then?"

"Oh, don't you worry!" The young man shook his head with determination. "I won't be caught. You've taught me far too well for that."

"Most of the things you need for that task you've taught to yourself," the Wizard corrected with a small smile. "But still I remind you. You're treading dangerous paths. Your life will be worth naught if someone sees you there or finds tracks that you've been inside."

"Don't I know that." Karos snorted. "And I am being very, very cautious, take my word for it. But I want to find out, and I'm sure the answer is somewhere inside that room. There's no other place where such stuff could be kept."

"There we agree completely."

"Rhamirr... can't you do anything more about the Ranea?"

The Wizard nearly smiled again. Karos was the only one, apart from his mother, who still called him by the name his parents had once given him, and hearing it warmed him inside, every time. He could only wish he had something equally heart-warming to say, but alas, no such luck.

"No, I'm afraid I can't. I must tread carefully as well. As long as we don't know what exactly is going on, I cannot resort to anything stronger." The Wizard stroked his beard thoughtfully and then added: "Are you absolutely sure that they don't know anything?"

"As sure as I can be," Karos said confidently. "At least I haven't observed any signs that anyone would be getting suspicious. No, we are still on the safe side."

"That is good. That is very good. As long as they don't know, everything is well."

"What do you think of that minstrel of his?"

"Hmm?" The Wizard looked quizzically at the young man. "The minstrel? What about him?"

"What do you think of him?"

"I reserve judgement," the Wizard said and folded his arms inside the loose sleeves of his long robe. "What is your opinion?"

"I'm not sure," Karos admitted with a moody pout. "I've been trying to keep an eye on him, too, but he's mostly with the Ranea. Looks pretty harmless."

"That's what they look like..." The Wizard stood up, pushed the ancient volume back into its small cabinet, which really was just a hole in the wall, and closed the wooden door. "But we mustn't forget the skills of his people. They aren't merely players and singers and bearers of gossip, with lovely voices and faces that are pretty to look at."

"But he's so young. Way younger than me."

"Oh, don't let that sweet face lead you astray!" The Wizard chuckled and shook his finger at the young man. Karos huffed and made one more attempt to still find something edible in the basket. "He may look like a young boy, but that's the way they are, the fair men from the south. I'm willing to bet that the two of you are about the same age, or that he might in fact even be your senior."

The Wizard nodded, smiling at Karos' incredulous smirk. "And what does age mean, anyway? Are you saying that for example you should perhaps be taken less seriously, merely because you have barely seen your twentieth birthday? ... no, I didn't think so!" He winked at the affronted snort. "Make no mistake, Karos. His folks know a great deal about healing and herbs and how they work. Yes, even the young ones who haven't yet spent decades roaming — their people wouldn't let them go five leagues from the village if they didn't!"

Karos shot him a narrow glance. "Do you mean that he could..."

"I'm not accusing him of anything," the Wizard said emphatically. "I'm just saying that nobody, no matter how harmless they look, should be left out of the count just because they look harmless."

"Well, I'm not leaving him out, take my word for it!" The young man began to peel off his fingerless gloves, then stopped and looked towards the fireplace. "Ah, you need more firewood... I'll go get some."

"Aren't you going to sleep here?" the Wizard asked. Karos shook his head.

"Maybe later. I'm not feeling too sleepy yet. I'll bring more wood and water in, and take that basket away."

"It's still way too early in the spring for you to go sleep in the store room," the older man said reproachfully. "You'll catch your death, and then what? Your mother will lock me up here until I starve to death!"

"Oh no she won't!" Karos laughed. "She knows how stubborn I am, she wouldn't blame you. Besides, I'm not going to sleep there. I think I'll go to the walls some more, and then sleep in the morning."

He disappeared, and the Wizard shook his head with a long-suffering sigh. Really, the boy was a handful and then some... but a very precious handful. He loved Karos like his own son, and often cursed his attachment. Without it, his life would've been much more peaceful, with less anxiety and far fewer worries. Not to mention how much more boring.