The Gidderland Initiatve
Dan Owens let the softly glowing sphere in his hand dissipate and slipped the parchment into his pocket. He had no real need of the orb in the late afternoon sun, but it felt good to let the magic course through his veins again, if only for a moment. Too much and the Orbitrar's men would find him, since trained magic had a far different signature than the kind used by farmers and villagemen.
He snorted. The idiots at the High Commission had no idea the kind of dangers they were allowing to walk free in the general populace, the amount of untapped magic that was straining to be used in even the most banal of villages. They were afraid of those who had been trained in magic's use, those who understood how to replenish their supply. Daniel had kept his peace and learned his lessons as instructed, until he discovered the plans of the Commission for the current class of graduates – an attack on Gidderland was ill-conceived no matter what supposed slight had been received, but the reprisal would likely kill most of those responsible for throwing magic against the Gidderland's shining walls. Though hails of fireballs and icelances might break through the blue barrier around that nation's capital, Daniel's classmates didn't seem to understand that they would be sold out to the Giddlandians the moment they came looking for revenge – the Commission was far more concerned about protecting itself than those who served it.
He should have known better than to speak so loudly in public, and to hold sessions detailing his concern at the behest of his “friends”. Some had been genuinely interested in what he had to say, but others were in the direct employ of the Commission, goons that had been planted once word of his displeasure got around. Being branded as a traitor and an illegal user of magic took only a few weeks once they had his words on paper, and he'd been forced to flee before they caught up with him and stripped him of the ability to touch magic, let alone sense its use. Daniel had hoped that his leaving would be enough to put the matter to rest – and damn the fools who chose to go along with the Gidderland plan – but he'd begun to see warrants for his arrest popping up in even tiny farming towns. The Commission was not about to let him get away that easily.
“Ahoy!” A voice called out, and Daniel spun on his heel, slipping both hands into his pockets. Only a residue of light remained, but he had no desire to show off any innate skill in the magical arts to whoever was wandering down the country road.
It was tall man, alone, with cropped gray hair and a long walking stick. His age was the most startling thing about him; in the Hinterlands, most men lived into their fifties and then died of one disease or another – whichever one was currently most virulent. The man in front of Daniel, however, was at least sixty-five, and seemed as healthy as anyone the young magician had come across.
“Ahoy,” Daniel said in return, bowing. “How fare you, father?” Age meant much when dealing with the Commission, and old habits died hard.
The old man laughed, a sparkling sort of sound that Daniel found infectious. It wasn't laughter at another man's expense, but rather joy at a meeting, humor in the situation. He straightened.
“Tamus Shaldon, boy – and where ye be heading?”
“Daren Tarlin,” he responded with a name in kind – not a true one, however. “Just a traveler, curious about the Hinterlands.”
Tamus laughed again. “Not much out here, boy! Long stretches of country and the occasional beastie you don't want to run afoul of, but that's about it! I'd suggest you turn around, maybe try your luck with the Glarrowfields or the Mountains of Morrow, if you're of a mind for adventure.”
“Thank you, Tamus,” Daniel said with a quick nod of his head, “but I'm afraid I must continue.” He held up the small leather-bound book he had purchased before leaving the capital. “A scholar’s lament – I must know as much as I can, even if others consider it not worth knowing.” He was fortunate; roving scholarship had become common in recent years as the kingdom became a safer and safer place under the Obitrar. The small book in his hands had headed off any number of possibily damning discussions.
“Well, Daren,” the old man said, “I won't keep ye, then. You have a long journey ahead and precious little to see – you may still have pages in that notebook when you return.”
Daniel smiled. “Perhaps, but I am sure I will find something to keep me interested. Good luck on your journey, Tamus.”
“The same to you, Daren.”
He moved away quickly, long stride leaving the older man behind. Tamus hadn't had the look of a spy, but Daniel wouldn't put it past the Commission to use such a one to track him down.
Before he could tuck it back into his pocket, a gust of wind caught his notebook and flipped the front cover open. He hadn't written a thing inside, but there was a scrawl across it, a fine script in ink not yet dried.
“Be careful, Daniel,” it said, “they have spies everywhere. You are not alone in your beliefs, simply foolish to have spoken them so openly. If you wish our help, we are willing to give it – for a price. Kingstown, Tower Tavern. Ask for Bemauris.”
Underneath was a hasty signature: Tamus.
He cursed. The man had been a country magician, and Daniel hadn't even noticed, hadn't even bothered to dowse him. Kingstown was not far – perhaps he would find more help there than he had expected.
- D
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