The Warlock of Hymal, Book I: A Boy from the Mountains Read online

  Nikko took his time, sauntering more than walking. On the way, he thought about whether his decision to leave the farm again was really a good one. After all, the last time he tried that, it had led him into a series of disasters. Still, Hocatin was not Hymal. And besides, he had the letter for the landgrave, the one he'd taken with him from the pass. If that didn't count as a reason to visit the capital, what did? Perhaps there'd even be a small reward in it … Would the landgrave be so grateful that he might take him into his service? Perhaps they could really use him in Hocatin.

  When he finally reached the old man's home, even from outside, a sorry picture awaited him. The hut had been ransacked, plundered high and low. Whether by the thugs who'd murdered the old man or by the villagers, Nikko did not know. Everything was turned over, the many bottles and jars either broken or stolen. The books torn apart. The crates broken open and emptied. But Nikko still went inside, to see a closer picture of the damage done for himself.

  He looked around carefully. The thieves had left nothing of any value. Pages had been torn out of books and scattered all over the floor. It was clear to Nikko that it would take forever to reassemble them, and many of the pages were singed and filthy.

  When he was about to leave again, his gaze fell on the fireplace, where he spied something red from the corner of his eye. Looking closer, he again recognized the seal of the mysterious letter that had set their calamitous journey in motion. The lad reached carefully into the ashes and took out the two halves of the broken seal. There seemed to be nothing left of the rest of the letter. Had the old man burned it himself?

  Nikko carefully cleared the soot from both halves of the seal, then held them together. Little remained of the many symbols he had seen back then. All he could still make out was a curving P. Was that perhaps a clue to the sender? That would certainly shed some light on things, Nikko thought, and carefully pocketed the two halves of the seal.

  During the evening meal, the entire family was gathered again. His brothers and sisters who spent the days up on the mountain meadows had joined them; Nikko's story had now spread among them, too, and a strange hush had fallen over the dinner table as a result. No doubt it was Gimu's grim expression that silenced them all. Only their mother seemed as tough and unimpressed as usual.

  “Don't you want to at least rest a little longer, my boy?” she asked Nikko, her voice filled with motherly concern. “You were sick so long, and it's a long way to Hocatin.”

  “Thank you, mother. I'm well again, really. And if fat Fodaj can make the trip …” Nikko replied with an impish grin. The remark earned him some laughter from the others at the table, though not from Gimu. His burly brother just sat and glowered at him.

  “Boy, have some sense,” his mother pressed. “What do you think you'll find in the big town?”

  “Let him go, mother,” said Gimu now, his expression exaggerated. “Better for him to fail in Hocatin than go on being a burden on everyone here.”

  “Gimu!” his mother cut in harshly. “Why do you always have to be so hateful! The lad may not be big and strong, but he's a good herdsman.”

  “Oh, yes, hard work, that. Lying around in a field the whole day,” the newly appointed head of the family mocked. “Believe me, mother. It's better this way. One should not hold up a traveler.”

  And that was the end of the discussion. Little more was discussed at the table that evening. It seemed almost as if Nikko's brothers and sisters avoided him out of fear of Gimu. They ate their meal with eyes down, and left the kitchen quickly when they were finished.

  To Nikko's surprise, he was allowed to spend his final night there in his grandfather's room. Nikko suspected that Gimu wanted to keep him away from the others. Perhaps he was afraid that some of them might take the side of the uppity younger brother; the normally so frail lad had openly defied him earlier that day, after all. But as the new master of the farm, Gimu could not afford any weakening of his authority.

  Nikko had been able to enjoy an excellent night's sleep in his grandfather's bed. He was rested and confident when he went down to breakfast the next morning. He went down late, deliberately, so that the rest of the family were already away doing their daily chores. Only his mother was still in the house, bustling diligently in the kitchen.

  He enjoyed a solid breakfast of bread and butter with honey, and even an egg. Only then did he consider what he ought to take with him to Hocatin. The large book, especially, was too heavy for him, and he could not open it in any case. But where was he supposed to store it?

  “I've packed you enough food for a week,” his mother said then, her voice low and gentle. “And a few coins for the big town. It's probably not cheap there.”

  “Thank you, mother. But I still have the coins you gave me last time.”

  “Even so, Hocatin is bound to be expensive,” his mother insisted.

  “Oh, and can you look after something for me while I'm gone?” Nikko asked.

  “Of course, my boy. What is it?”

  “Old Thorodos's big book. It's too heavy to lug around. Can you put it away somewhere safe, please?”

  “Of course. I'll put it in my room. Whatever use the old thing might be …”

  “Thanks, mother. I'll get myself ready for the trip.”

  A little later, Nikko set off. His mother was the only one he said farewell to, and he went out of his way to avoid the rest of the family. He carried Thorodos's backpack on his back; in it he had stowed the leather satchel with the letter, the magic wand, the arrow, and finally his blankets and the provisions his mother had packed for him.

  When he reached the place where the path split, one fork heading westward, down into the valley, the other heading up to the pass in the east, he felt as if a heavy load were weighing on his heart. How might things have turned out if they had taken the path to the west back then? They probably would have run straight into the dark bailiff's clutches, he realized. After all, the men must have come from the west. That accursed little Simoj! Why did the little rat have to see them heading for the pass? If the villagers had sent that band of thugs to Skingár, then everything would have worked out better.

  Taking a deep breath, he shook off his gloomy thoughts and, feeling more resolute, followed the path to the left, down into the valley in the west. In his entire life, he had gone no more than perhaps half an hour in this direction. It frightened him a little, taking this unknown route all by himself. But Fodaj traveled the same road several times a year, he reflected, so the journey could hardly be a dangerous one.

  After a good three hours walking, the path—which, until then, had been following the babbling mountain stream—turned off to the right into the darkness of the spruce forest. Up to that point, the path had skirted the edge of the forest, but when it turned, the trees swallowed down all of the light, and the dense woods felt somehow murky and not to be trusted. But again, he reminded himself that the traders took that same route regularly. He could even make out the tracks of their wheels in the mud, and the sight renewed his confidence. The path began to climb again, which came as a big surprise to Nikko, and the lad wondered how Fodaj could come this way at all with his heavy ox-drawn carts.

  It took perhaps another hour for the lone wanderer to reach the crest of the ridge that the road had been steadily climbing. Moss-covered rocks fringed the little plateau, where only a few small bushes grew and where there were no trees to spoil the view.

  It must have been around midday, and the lad decided to take a short rest. While he ate a few bracing mouthfuls, Nikko stood and admired the stunning panorama that his high perch offered. Off to his left, in the distance, he could see the farms of his home village, and further back the high pass between the snow-capped mountains. Directly ahead of him was a steep ravine. The stream had cut a deep cleft through the rocks there, so deep that Nikko could only just hear a blustering roar far below in the gorge. To his right, the valley continued to fall away, but was overcast with clouds down below, so hazy that he could no
t see far into it.

  When he had recovered a little, he set off again. From that point on, as far ahead as he could see, the path appeared to drop steadily. But Nikko had no real idea what to expect down below. Somewhere, the road would fork, with one path branching off into a neighboring valley, at the end of which lay Skingár. That was all he knew.

  Two hours later, the road suddenly came back to the mountain stream, which was again babbling cheerfully along. From there, both the road and the path descended gradually, side by side.

  Nikko was in a wonderful mood when, late in the afternoon, his route led him out of the woods into a broad clearing with a handsome building in the middle, almost as big as the entire farm back home. This was something he had truly not expected, and particularly not the hustle and bustle going on there.

  As Nikko meekly approached the large building, to his great joy he spied a familiar face. Portly Fodaj was in the middle of an animated discussion with another man. It sounded almost as if the two men were arguing about something. He looked around some more and spotted Fodaj's two sons as well, busily working on their carts.

  “Well who do we have here?” the merchant said with a broad grin when he saw Nikko, and when the lad did not immediately answer, he asked him excitedly, “What are you doing here?”

  “I'm traveling to Hocatin, sir,” Nikko answered plainly.

  “No need to be so formal, lad,” the corpulent trader laughed. “What is it that's got you off to Hocatin?”

  “I found a letter. It looks important.”

  “Ah, a letter. A found letter,” the merchant said. “My boy, once we've sorted out our troubles here, we'll be driving on to Hocatin ourselves. Shall I deliver the letter for you? To whom is it supposed to go?”

  “To the landgrave,” replied Nikko naively, at which Fodaj looked at him in surprise.

  “What's that you say?” he asked in disbelief. “Show it to me!”

  Nikko set down his backpack and dug out the leather satchel with the emblem. The sight of the satchel was enough to make the merchant's eyes open wider. The lad opened the bag and took out the letter, showing it proudly to the merchant. Fodaj examined the seal and the address thoroughly. Then he nodded slowly.

  “The landgrave indeed, my boy. A letter to His Serene Highness. The seal looks to me to be military, but I am really not the person to ask about things like that,” he said. “Where on earth did you get this from?”

  “I found it up in the pass.”

  “The pass?” said Fodaj in surprise. “The pass over to Hymal? By all that's good and holy, what business did you have up there?”

  Nikko did not know what to say to that. Was he supposed to tell the merchant the whole story? But when Nikko did not reply, the merchant went on, “This letter has to get to Hocatin as soon as possible. It will certainly contain important news from Hymal. You'll have to hand it over yourself. They'll want to know exactly how you came to find it.”

  Nikko merely nodded. Fodaj smiled broadly then and said, “I'm sure there'll be a fat reward in it for you. Look, wouldn't you like to come along with us?” he offered. “If the wainwright finishes his work today, we'll be ready to go tomorrow morning.”

  “Gladly,” Nikko answered, with a grateful smile, then added innocently, “But what's a wainwright?”

  “Someone who fixes wagons,” said Fodaj, laughing good-naturedly. “On our way back from Skingár one of our axles broke. We've been stuck here for days. The craftsman from Hocatin just made it up here today to get the cart rolling again.” He sighed. “A real blow, it was. The repairs and the delay are costing me a fortune.”

  “I'm sorry,” Nikko said.

  “It's all right, boy,” Fodaj laughed again. “All that about a fortune was a little over the top, of course. But that's just the way we traders are.” When Nikko again said nothing, he went on, “Go on over to the guesthouse. I still have something to sort out with the wainwright. Then I'll join you and we can talk things through in peace and quiet. I think you need to tell me all about the old pass.”

  “What's a guesthouse?” Nikko asked.

  “Oh, that's right, you don't have anything like that in Vyldoro,” Fodaj joked. “A guesthouse is a place where you eat, drink and sleep for a few coins. But I guess you don't have any money, do you?”

  “Oh, yes! Mother gave me a few copper coins,” Nikko spoke up proudly. “But I have food with me, too. And blankets.”

  “Kid, do you really want to sleep out in the wild like an animal when you can have a warm bed for the price of a few coppers? And the food here in Vylrahdo is very good. Take my word for it.”

  “Vylrahdo?”

  “Oh, one can only love you mountain folk,” the merchant mumbled, shaking his head. “Go to the landlord and tell him I sent you. I'll come along in a minute and then we'll talk.”

  Inside the guesthouse, Nikko found a stout, middle-aged man with a bald head and a black moustache. The landlord was sweeping out a large room in which perhaps a dozen tables stood, and he eyed Nikko curiously when he stepped inside meekly.

  “A new face,” he said finally, with a warm smile. “What can I do for you, young man?”

  “Fodaj the merchant sent me.”

  “I see. Still, the question remains unanswered,” the man said calmly. “What can I do for you?”

  “We … I want to sleep here tonight and have something to eat.”

  “Beds start at three coppers if you share a room. A room to yourself costs twelve. If you eat here tonight, it'll be six, breakfast is four, drinks extra,” the landlord droned. “Do you even have any money, lad?”

  Nikko took the small sack out of his jacket and opened it. It suddenly occurred to him that he had never counted the coins inside. As he was shaking the coins into the palm of his left hand, Fodaj came inside loudly and unexpectedly soon through the large door at the entrance.

  “All done! The wainwright's finished already,” he beamed. “Tomorrow morning we're off to Hocatin.”

  Nikko counted a dozen copper coins in the palm of his hand before Fodaj joined them.

  “Well, you old crook, surely you wouldn't think about hoodwinking my young friend here …” he said, taunting the landlord.

  “What?!” the landlord said in mock indignation. “My prices are more than reasonable!” He paused for a moment, then said, “But for friends of old Fodaj, I'm sure we can find some room for a small discount, no?”

  “Put him in our room. There's a bed free in there, and whatever he eats this evening is on me,” said Fodaj with a smile, and he clapped the scrawny lad on the shoulder.

  The landlord confirmed Fodaj's words with an indifferent nod.

  “So, my boys can take care of everything outside,” the trader said to Nikko. “Time for us to sit and talk.” He turned to the landlord, “Do us a favor and take the boy's things up to the room, all right?” he said, then he turned Nikko toward a table in one corner of the room.

  They made themselves comfortable at a table, and when their host came back downstairs he brought them two large tankards. The trader picked up one of them and immediately took a long draught of the foam-topped contents.

  “Oh, that's good. Good, dark beer from Skingár,” said Fodaj, smacking his lips with satisfaction. Then he smiled wickedly and went on, “Take one guess who delivers it.”

  Nikko, imitating the merchant, also took a good swallow of the beer. It was the first time he'd ever tried the stuff, but he liked what he had in front of him.

  “So tell me,” said Fodaj after attacking his tankard a second time, “what you were doing up on the Vyldam.”

  “The Vyldam?” Nikko asked, though he could imagine that Fodaj was talking about the pass.

  “You mountain folk don't have names for anything, do you?” Fodaj shook his head. “It's a miracle you got around to naming your own village. Vyldam is the name of the pass. And while we're at it, that little river out there is the Vyla.”

  Nikko took another mouthful of his beer and thoug
ht for a moment about how much he really wanted to tell the merchant. The man liked him; that was clear. But could Nikko really trust him? The lad knew too little about Thorodos and what lay behind his sudden death to be able to say with any certainty who played what role in the whole affair.

  “I found the letter in a broken-down hut up in the pass,” he said, hoping to keep the merchant distracted with less important details. “The courier … was frozen to death.”

  “Frozen. Hmm. That means the letter could have been lying there quite a while,” Fodaj deduced, and drained the last of his beer.

  Nikko did the same. It wasn't just that he was thirsty and liked the beer; he also wanted to keep up with the trader. The landlord was there a moment later with two fresh tankards.

  “So how is old Thorodos, by the way?” Fodaj asked.

  “Dead,” answered Nikko, without a second thought. “Ambushed and shot dead.”

  Fodaj peered intently at Nikko, but did not say a word for some time. Nikko was slowly beginning to feel a little strange.

  After a while, Fodaj said, “Then his order must be void,” in a sober tone. He took out his heavy moneybag. “Here. I'm returning the five silver coins that the old man paid in advance.”

  As Fodaj handed the lad the silver coins, Nikko's blue eyes grew wide as saucers. He had no idea that Thorodos had paid so much. He had never seen silver coins in his life, but he knew that each one had to be worth many coppers.

  “Don't gape like that, my lad,” said the trader in a good-natured voice before emptying his second tankard. “I'm an honest man. But you need to look after that silver. That's a respectable sum of money, and it's yours to spend now.”

  Nikko had difficulties finishing his second beer as fast as Fodaj had, but finally managed to drink the last drop. As soon as he looked up, the landlord was at their table with a third. Nikko was feeling rather unfocused and lightheaded. They sat and drank their beer in silence for a while.