The Wand-Maker's Debate: Osric's Wand: Book One Read online

  Osric's Wand

  The Wand-Maker's Debate

  Jack D. Albrecht Jr.

  &

  Ashley Delay

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  Preface

  There is a time when history begins; a time when those who live feel the need to write their story, for those who come after them to read. When recollection of events of importance cannot be left to one's offspring alone, but must be shared with all.

  Then there is a time where history transcends into legend; when strongly held beliefs are tried by fire, and traditions are questioned. There are beginnings that truly are beginnings and those that were only thought to be.

  This is that world; this is truly their beginning. What they thought was knowledge, was only a foundation. They will delve into a depth they have never known, discover things they never thought imaginable, and struggle to uphold the truth rather than be consumed by it. With magic in its infancy, and a world in turmoil, an endless chain of possibilities lie dormant. Rousing them has the potential for paragon or chaos, and only time will tell.

  Just as Leonardo da Vinci has mapped out the human body, and the world has begun to discover the mysteries within, so it is on Archana. With the rudimentary structure in place, they now have what it takes to discover what magic can do; both the mundane and the divine. Lore begins in these days, and mythology will forever echo their names.

  1 – At Round's End

  A large explosion ignited the sky in a vibrant display of color. Osric looked up and smiled as he walked into the market district. A crowd of upturned faces surrounded him, all with expressions of awe and excitement at the sight. Three giants were hurling boulders a hundred strides into the air, while an enchantress waved her wand to trigger the eruption of the rock into light and ash. Osric took a few more steps toward the square and felt a tug from under his boot, accompanied by a loud squeal.

  “Hey, watch where you are stepping! Damn humans!”

  Osric looked down in embarrassment and lifted his foot off of the tail of an angry squirrel. It took a swig from a thimble of mead and staggered away, obviously intoxicated.

  “My apologies, with all that is going on, I allowed myself to be distracted for a moment.” He would have to pay more attention to where he was walking through the remnants of the merriment.

  The morning parade had left remains of jubilation on the ground. Food vendors wheeled their carts wherever a crowd could still be found. The entertainment and creativity displayed at such an unprecedented occasion were spectacular. The duels and displays of unique magical gifts were awe inspiring. The noise could be heard for miles, and crowds here and there were amused by the activities still taking place.

  Wizards and witches were trying to make a name for themselves with their most impressive feats of magic, giants were arm wrestling, and kids were playing carnival games. A crowd of children surrounded the most popular game, which involved levitating a shaking bucket full of water and trying to fill up a moving bottle.

  Near the end of the market district on the way to the palace, Osric slowed to watch as a lion demonstrated his ability of fire-telling. His deep voice rumbled as it captured the imagination of the children watching his story come alive in the flames of the nearby fire. He was walking around the fire pit near the middle of the square, placing his massive paws carefully to avoid the toes of the children that eagerly awaited his words. The inflections of his voice guided the figures and images created by the flames, and shadows played on the buildings and shops surrounding the show. The lion was telling a traditional story of how men and lions learned to respect each other from witnessing the hunt that each performed.

  Osric had been captivated by fire-tellings since he was a child, and it was one of his favorite stories. He had loved watching it each year at the start of hunting season. As young boys, he and Kenneth had been taught by the traditional fire-tellings to always behave honorably in a hunt and to respect the last wishes of their prey. They had loved to sit for hours watching the figures of flame act out the narration in the fire. Then they would sneak away with their fathers' spare bows, and practice until their mothers called them in for bed. His childhood had been fun and carefree, although brief.

  The scene brought back memories of his parents, who had both been killed when he was fifteen by a lion hunting to feed his family. They had been traveling to Lothaine, the small town just a day's walk from Stanton where Osric's parents were raised. Once a year they had traveled back to the Lothaine Temple to give thanks to Archana for their blessings, and confer an offering of gold to the Temple Attendants.

  That year, they had left Osric behind in Stanton, and prey had been scarce on the grasslands. Osric had been in the training arena, sparring with Kenneth. They were practicing DuJok, a form of unarmed combat that all Vigiles had to be proficient in, when the lion had come to thank him for the sacrifice that fed his hungry family. He had brought Osric his father's short sword and returned the gold that they had planned to leave in tribute at the temple. It had been a considerate gesture, maybe, but a devastating moment for a young Vigile recruit. Osric acknowledged the lion's gratitude stoically, while inside he wailed with the agony of being left alone to face the world. His parents would never see him achieve his goal of becoming a Vigile, or be there to guide him when he had children of his own. Osric was glad he had been training in DuJok, for if he had been armed he may have given into the temptation to avenge his parents, rather than afford the lion the respect of a grateful hunter.

  Osric had mourned his parents in private, then poured his grief and frustration into his training. He had quickly become the best swordsman in his class of recruits; and with his best friend Kenneth training with him, he soon had his sense of humor back, along with a sense of purpose. Kenneth's skills with a bow and arrow always surpassed Osric's, and they made a formidable pair. Later that year, they both joined the force of Stanton's Vigiles.

  Osric had matured under the guidance of his Vigile superiors in the absence of his parents. Mid-way through his twenties and half a head taller than most people in his town, Osric was the Contege; the leader of the Vigiles. He swept his sandy hair back from his jade green eyes and paused to watch his favorite part of the tale dance through the flames. Resuming his patrol through the square, he stretched his arms behind his back. His lean muscular build from years of DuJok and swordsmanship, paired with a personable smile, made him stand out in the crowd. The eyes of every available young woman followed him as he crossed the square to the outpost, and he nodded his head to the lion as he walked by.

  His promotion to Contege had come abruptly. Contege Thamas went missing just after Stanton's Ryhain, Domnall, announced the Ratification Ceremony would be held in their palace. Osric was contacted by the Hain of Domnall's staff, and informed that he was being promoted to Contege for his outstanding performance and loyalty to the Vigiles. As Ryhain, Domnall was the highest authority; it was an honor to be called into his company and accept the position directly from him.

  Osric did, at times, feel as though the position was a bit much for a young man to handle, but his concern was quickly dismissed by his superiors. They assured him that he would grow into the job. Still, he sometimes wondered why they had chosen him to lead an elite team of security officers.

  Osric had been serving with the Vigiles, in one form or another, for ten years. Although he felt confident in the performance of his
job, the leadership was not something he was accustomed to. The Vigiles were professionals, and they carried out their duties relentlessly. Commanding men more than ten years his senior was not an agreeable feeling, and Osric would rather be taking the orders than giving them. His skill in sword play and hunting had contributed, yet if promotions depended on skill alone, they would have chosen his friend Kenneth. There was, of course, his innate magical ability to consider. It had certainly served him well as a Vigile.

  His magical gift was of great use as a security officer, and he was superb in its execution. Osric was a Portentist. He had the ability to know when something was about to happen, something momentous or dangerous. He could even feel the threatening intentions of others. A Portentist was a rarity and most often found in security of some sort.

  Several murderers had been caught due to his diligence. In fact, an attempted assassination of the Chancellor of the Wizardly Union had been foiled by him, just months before. That, more than anything else, had led to his new position. He was proud of his advancement, even if he couldn't quite shake the suspicion that his superiors weren't telling him everything.

  The night was cold, but that was to be expected in early fall. He wondered if he would wake up to snow the next morning. Osric was looking forward to warming up after his rounds with a hot mug of rulha. His broad shoulders fit well in his new, dark brown tunic. The ornate letter V stitched on the upper right breast indicated his rank, and paired with his standard issue tan breeches, he cut an impressive figure. His heavy, leather boots crunched on gravel as he skirted the crowd, preferring to scan the shadows with both his gift and his highly trained eyes. Most criminals could easily blend into a crowd, but they tended to slink along the perimeter where there were multiple escape routes and less people to bring attention to them. That kept them isolated and made it easier to pin-point them as the source of a potential threat.

  Passing by the cart of a young Wand-Maker, he ran his finger along the hilt of his short sword. He had gotten into the habit of making sure his stick wand was still securely bound to the hilt. It was an Eni wand; a gift from the Chancellor for saving his life. He had been meaning to buy a leather pouch to carry it in, but since the promotion, he had been tied up with all of the preparations and had neglected to buy one. So, he bound it to the hilt of his short sword by winding a leather cord around them both. Unfortunately, it had a habit of coming unbound. He made a mental note to seek out a leather vendor after the signing; the new wand was too expensive to risk losing. His wand securely in place, Osric felt the pride of the day coursing through him. He walked into the last security outpost on his way to the palace and warmed his hands at the fire by the door.

  “Report!” He demanded with a stern look. Osric watched as the two Vigiles, dressed in light tan tunics with a small brown V on the breast, jerked around with wide eyes. They had been watching the lion's fire-telling out a back window, across the small room from the door.

  “Archana's bones!” Gordyn's voice rumbled from his barrel chest as he swore at Osric. He had been standing guard since before his new Contege could draw a bowstring, but Osric knew he meant no disrespect. Gordyn had never been one to hold Osric's age or inexperience against him. “You shouldn't sneak up on new recruits, Sir, they may wet themselves.”

  By the nervous look on the other Vigile's face, Osric was afraid that may have been more truth than jest. He allowed a smile to return to his face and let out a warm laugh. Slapping the young man on the back, Osric felt a pang of pity for the harassment the recruit likely suffered from Gordyn.

  “Relax gentlemen. It's been a long day. It won't hurt to enjoy the last few hours.” He kept his hand on the young man's shoulder. “What is your name?”

  “Dru, Sir, from Dangsten.”

  Osric hadn't heard of the town, but he imagined it must be small. He got the impression that Dru wasn't used to the city yet.

  “Well, Dru from Dangsten, if Gordyn gives you too hard of a time, you just let me know and I will deal with him. It wouldn't be the first time. He may have helped train me in DuJok, but it's been years since he could beat me.” Gordyn's only retort was a loud grunt and an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

  “Yes, Sir,” Dru replied, grinning shyly.

  As Osric crossed the room to warm his hands near the hearth, he heard Gordyn grumbling under his breath to Dru.

  “Don't believe that dribble, I let ‘im win to build his confidence. I could pin ‘im with one hand behind me back. Taught ‘im everything he knows, and look where it got ‘im. He should be thanking me for that pretty new tunic.” Dru laughed, and they went back to watching the celebrations out the window, both with one eye on the door. They wouldn't be caught off guard again.

  Running the security for the peace ratification was a great endeavor. Osric was proud of his men; they had done a superb job. Thankfully, there had been only minor issues. One irate woman had caused a scene when she caught her large, hairy husband looking at another witch. It took five Vigiles to get her off of him. The witch's wand was confiscated until the next morning, when she could pick it up after paying her fine.

  There was a theft of herbs at one of the shops, as well as a stolen wand at another, but both crimes had been resolved quickly. The culprit had been discovered when an odd limp was witnessed by an observant Vigile. It turned out to be a man with an umbrella wand stuffed down his pants. In a strange turn, he had stolen the herbs as well. Massive puss filled boils covered half of his body as the result of an anti-theft charm at the herb shop. He had then stolen the wand from the esteemed Wand-Maker Eni, because his own wand would not channel magic well enough to heal himself. Yet, why had he chosen an umbrella wand? Osric thought he would have been better suited stealing a quill, spatula, or knife wand; he may have gotten away with the theft if he had. Osric could understand the man's desire to have an Eni wand. He had owned a wand from an unknown maker; no wonder he could not heal himself. It looked as if it were a child's attempt at a wand; just a stick by any true way of measurement. No finish, no style, and no autograph.

  Most of the best Wand-Makers liked to leave their autographs or initials on their product so people knew who made them. Well, except for Gus, of course. Though Gus didn't need to sign his wands, one could tell a true Gus by the bolt symbol. A few peddlers here and there claimed to sell them, but the bolt never looked quite right. Everyone knew that a true Gus wand could only be purchased from Gus himself. He could afford to be that picky, as he was the world's best Wand-Maker, and his wands were quite valuable.

  Osric had spent enough time by the fire. His hands were warm and he needed to be in the throne room before the signing took place. All was well at the outpost, so he would leave the men to enjoy the story.

  Gasps of excitement and awe came from the crowd, which Osric guessed was due to a display in the fire. He pulled his leather gloves on tighter, hoping to keep the warmth in longer on the last stretch up to the palace.

  He approached the cart of a portly man he knew well. James had red cheeks and big brown eyes with more eyebrow than mustache. He waved and smiled at Osric, drawing attention to a disproportionately small chin for such a large man. He had an odd looking cart that he had made himself years before. It didn't look terribly sturdy, but James liked to brag about how he had reinforced the corners and walls with metal bars. That had allowed him to make a larger cart that was much lighter than that of his competitors. The sign, however, simply said “MEAT”. When Osric had asked about the sign several years back, James told him he had made it as a child with the help of his father. It was out of sentiment that he had never replaced it.

  Frequenters of his cart knew that James sold a whole lot more than meat. His four course meals were known to be the best in the region. James was, in fact, also a trustworthy source of intelligence for Osric. He had provided him with a great deal of information on the assassination attempt that led to his promotion to Vigile Contege. Nobody is afraid to talk to a man behind a cart.

  “I'm n
ot used to seeing you so far from the dragon platform, James, but a scent that enticing can only come from one cart. How are you my friend?”

  “Thriving, Sir! I haven't seen a crowd this merry, or this hungry, in years. It was well worth rolling this beauty to the market. Have you time for a meal?” James motioned to a large slab of meat and a pot of vegetables. Osric's stomach grumbled at the scent of succulent tubers, sweet young corn and earthy green beans mingling together in the pot, with the subtle aroma of thyme and rosemary, and just a hint of lemon.

  “To my despair, not now. It's about time for the signing, so I must head up to the palace.” Osric smiled back and leaned in to examine the food, and he whispered, “Have you heard anything of note?” In a city the size of Stanton there was always a criminal population. Most of them were rather boastful of their intentions unless there was a Vigile nearby.

  “Not a peep, good Sir. Are you sure you are not hungry?” James was a great salesman and had worn down many customers with tenacity alone, as if the food was not good enough already. “As you can see, I have one of the best cuts of meat I have had in some time, as well as greens. I'll even throw in a honey cake. For you, free of charge; for the cake that is.”

  “I never said I wasn't hungry.” Osric shook his head while speaking. “To be truthful, I am famished. However, I don't have time; that is the issue. Would you mind coming up by the palace in a bit? I am sure there are more than enough customers up there for you, and when I am done with my rounds, I will be one as well.”

  “Thank you, Osric. You are a good man. I will be there. You can count on me.” James put a thick hand over his heart in a dramatic display, and smiled his most thankful smile. After all, no carts had been allowed up by the palace all day; just another layer of security added for the occasion.

  Osric said his farewell and began to walk to the palace, his stomach objecting to leaving behind such impressive fare.