Gestation by John Gold (love books to read .txt) 📗

in the local branch of the Academy of Magic. That’s where my supplies are all enchanted. I saw this one venerable mage today. He scornfully declined to buy anything I have! Can you believe what a fool he was?”

That was more than enough. There was a tiny chance I could pick up some spells, but how do you find a mage in a crowd of craftsmen? It’s simple. He was wearing a blue coat marked on the back with the glistening sun, and he was standing by an empty enclosure. There was no staff in his hand, though his gray hair and intelligent face told me that I was looking at a mage. Before I had the chance to get close to him, I realized that he was already staring at me.

“Hello there! I’m sorry to bother you, but it looks like you’re a mage. I’d like to learn some spells, and I’m prepared to pay.”

The mage doesn’t laugh; he snorts like a horse. Soon, nobody’s left around us. They’re afraid to even look in our direction.

“What an uppity little kid! You’re just going to traipse over and bother me while I’m busy? How did you even know that I’m a mage? And why aren’t you scared?” He’s standing just a meter and a half away from me.

“What’s there to be afraid of? You aren’t being aggressive, and the guards are right over there. I recognized your gray hair and the way your face looks.”

The mage is perking up. “Hm, you had a good teacher. Or are you from a family of assassins?”

“Neither. My father is a fisherman, and everything else comes with experience.”

“You don’t speak like a child.”

Suddenly, some hidden aggression does appear in the mage’s voice.

“You aren’t a normal mage.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You talk and react differently.”

“Again, very adult-like of you.” The mage takes a step back and holds his hands at his belt, almost as though there are two pistols there that he’s ready to draw. He’s on his guard.

“My age is just a number. Consciousness develops in step with life experience and your body only has a little to do with it.”

“Are you an illusion? Are you using longspeech, maybe?”

“If I kick you, will you believe that I’m a normal kid?” I flash an easy, childlike smile, and the mage relaxes.

“I believe you, no need for that. What do you want?”

“I want to learn magic. I mean, spells.”

“You’re no mage. They’ll only let you be one in…” He takes a closer look at me. “It’ll be at least a couple of years. If you were from a family of mages, they’d have taught you from when you were little. You really must be the son of a fisherman if you don’t know that—everybody knows that.”

I’m embarrassed by my stupidity and by the way he’s treating me like dirt.

“You’re right, I’m from a village, but that doesn’t change the fact that I can learn spells now. My father is a fisherman, and he knows two!”

“Your father is an exception. A ve-e-ery rare exception—mages don’t teach spells to other classes. I’d imagine your old man helped somebody high up out and asked for them as a reward. He didn’t become a mage, and they couldn’t have taught him much without a class and skills anyway. Maybe arrow of fire, air fist, or something like that. Something easy. And that’s it.”

“I want to learn them. Could you help me? I can pay!”

“You little snot!” Suddenly, he looks threatening, his fingers covered in sparks. The air grows thick, and a wave of fear rushes through me. “Do you know how much it costs to teach a non-mage spells? You don’t see magic; you don’t know anything about it. At your level, they’re just teaching you how to use the power you have. You non-mages can’t even pour your mana into the spark to boost your damage. Take your ordinary wizard—they have no idea what they’re working with. And you don’t even know what spells look like! You want me to teach you?!” The mage’s eyes narrow, he peers at me. “Although, there is one way, and I’m prepared to use it, but I don’t care about your money.”

The mage looks over at the enclosure, where warriors are gathering.

“My name’s Bernard.”

The same appears above his head. Cool! Level 500.

“I came here to bet on the battle. It’s a folk fair, so they’re only allowed to use their fists. When you’ve lived as many centuries as I have, you start looking around for new ways to amuse yourself. Here are my conditions: for every battle you win, I’ll teach you a spell. If I have a good time watching, I’ll even tell you a few things about the life of a mage. You won’t get anything that complex, just easy things.”

“Agreed.”

Bernard sure can inspire terror. When you feel power so far beyond your own, fear courses through you and paralyseis your reason. I’ve only felt this once before, back when I came across a bloody man in the lower levels wielding a plasma knife. Bernard is a lot like that guy.

∞ ∞ ∞

I don’t even remember how I got back to the orphanage. It was only a month later that I could overcome my fear and go back down there. “Warriors up to Level 20 participate in the tournament. There’s one Level 16 friar, too, a wanderer like you.” The mage notices my wide eyes. “Oh, I know about your kind. There have been a lot of you this week, though that’s nothing new.”

“Are there a lot like me in the tournament?”

You need to know who your enemy is.

“There are three of you. One is a fifteen-year-old kid, the second is a friar, and you’re the third. There’s a total of sixty-four warriors,” he continues with a sly glance. “Why? Scared?”

“Nope.”

Okay, so I’m not going to get a second chance. I don’t know how father learned his spells, but I need them, too.

“I have a small request for you.”

“What? Scrolls, maybe, or mithril