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Chapter 2 - Mages Smell Funny
Horses…Alyce decided, smelled funny. Her experience of equines to date were distant, slow-moving farm animals or elegant things of white china; sculpted muscle and flowing manes, hooves rearing midair, striking sparks into the wind…not repositories of excrement and urine. The first time she'd seen a horse relieve itself, she'd been almost hit by the arc of streaming, steaming liquid and she had as yet to scrape allof the other stuff from the bottom of her boot. Horses sweated - and they bit and they complained all the time, huffing and puffing in indignation. Not that she could blame them. If she had to have a great big metal cage with a man in it riding on her back all day, she'd be pretty irritable too.
The horses weren't the only irritated ones. Even though Ser Greagoir allowed her to ride with him, he avoided her when they stopped to camp for the night. It might have had something to do with…
"Have you thought of something yet?"
She hadn't forgotten Ser Greagoir's promise. She intended to make him stand by it. He was a Knight of the Prophet Andraste. They weren't supposed to lie, or make empty promises, were they?
"I'm…still thinking…" the templar growled at her, but Alyce Amell was not afraid of his frowns and his short temper. In a way, he was a bit like a bearded Aunt Mildred and it made her feel like being at home, but with less china and more horse wee.
"You'll let me know when you think of something?" she persisted.
Ser Greagoir simply growled at her, but Alyce smiled and turned away, eager to find something to keep her busy. She found an old tree stump to sit upon and with a stick, worked away at the rest of the horse poo on the bottom of her boot. The stuff had dried on the bottom of the sole, but from the look of the sky, she knew it would rain soon. Rain meant lots of puddles to soak dried excrement in and then all she needed was a bit of grass and hoorah! Clean boots again.
Throwing the stick into the scrub behind her, Alyce looked about the camp. She spotted a kettle by the fire, picking it up and looking around. Over the sound of the snorting horses, the Templars talking in low voices and the call of morning birdlife, she could hear running water. Just over there…she deduced, turning towards the sound. She had barely made a few metres when one of the Templars stepped in front of her.
"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded. She held up the kettle as explanation.
"I'm going to fill this," she said.
"You are not to leave camp," the Templar snapped at her, giving her shoulder a shake.
"You don't want a cup of tea?" she asked. Everyone needed a cup of tea in the morning. Aunt Mildred wouldn't let anyone speak to her until after she'd had her first cup.
"Idiot child…!" he raised a hand to strike her, but another intervened. She found Ser Greagoir stepping between the Templar and herself.
"We do not hit children, Ser Alaric."
"This is not a child, Ser Greagoir," Ser Alaric replied self-righteously. "It's a mage…"
"She is not a mage until she undergoes her Harrowing," Ser Greagoir explained in a patient voice, as though addressing an idiot, hard of hearing. "Until then she is merely an apprentice. In the meantime, we Templars are to keep her safe." Even from herself…Alyce could hear the words in her head, even though Ser Greagoir didn't voice them. She'd always been good at hearing things others couldn't, even though she sometimes had to strain to hear conversations held outside the cottage front door.
Deep in thought, Alyce was startled when Ser Alaric snatched the kettle from her hand, armour clanking angrily as he strode off towards the source of water. Alyce switched her attention back to Ser Greagoir. Despite the heavy plate and the tall pauldrons, she could see Ser Greagoir's shoulders slump. When he turned to her, his face was grim. "It is as Ser Alaric says," he told her sternly. "You are not to stray from our sight. If you do so again, my men will think you are attempting to escape and will take measures."
Measures…Alyce turned the word over in her mind, wondering what reason the Templars could have to take her measurements. It seemed an odd thing to do, if they thought she was attempting to escape them. Perhaps they needed them for rope to tie her up with. She wanted to ask him, but there were more pressing concerns on her mind. As he turned to leave, she reached out for his hand.
"What!" he snapped at her; a sound that felt comforting and homey.
"Do you think Aunt Mildred is alright?" she asked, worry written in every dirt smear on her face. "Have you thought of something yet?"
Ser Greagoir sighed, rubbing at his temples as though he had a headache coming on. Alyce knew a good remedy for headache. It involved mint leaves and crushed lavender from the garden, but Aunt Mildred's useful garden was miles away now and she felt sorry for the Templar, if his head was beginning to hurt.
"Does your Aunt not have any other relatives living?" he sighed again.
Alyce shrugged. She'd heard of relatives living in the Free Marches, but she didn't know where. Aunt Mildred never really spoke of them as though they were close and she told him so, causing his peppery eyebrows to draw downwards. He looked even more exasperated and annoyed at her after this piece of information than before.
"So…" Alyce followed him towards the empty fire. "You'll think of something? For Aunt Mildred?"
Kicking at the remains of the fire, Ser Greagoir only glared.
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It was dark and raining by the time they reached the shores of Lake Calenhad; but not too late and stormy to cross the churning lake. The ferryman, Kester was chatty and friendly, despite the dark skies and the grey rain, handing Alyce a waxed paper bag to pick a couple of boiled sweets from. With one stuffed in each cheek, she found herself being herded onto the boat. Kester chatted to Ser Greagoir most of the way while Alyce crunched on her boiled sweets, leaning over the edge of the wide-bottomed boat. She almost choked on her mouthful of sugar shards when she caught sight of something dark moving in the water beneath them. It slithered under the hull; a long tentacled thing that broke the surface of the water briefly with a soundless splash. She looked back at the Templars, but no one seemed particular perturbed.
Perhaps they were used to strange things in the water, or perhaps they didn't care? The closer to the tower they travelled, the more at ease they became. When at last they were on the other side, the boat hitting a pylon bumped Alyce awake. Rough hands hauled her shivering, bedraggled form onto dry land. Confused by the rain and the darkness, Alyce stared blearily about her, stumbling tiredly up the stairs into the tower itself. It was colder inside than out and there was a strange smell in the air that tickled her nose; unfamiliar, disorienting and unpleasant.
The high stone walls were grand, just itching to be counted, but she lost her place when Ser Greagoir propelled her forward towards the carved metal doors at the far end of the room. She tried not to drip on the clean floor but realised it was a battle she would have to resign herself to lose. Aunt Mildred would never have let her drip muddy rainwater onto her floors and Alyce was deeply uncomfortable about the trail of footprints she left behind, wondering if she would get a chance to come back later with a pail of water and a scrubbing brush...
The Templars continued on and she with them, the dim corridors sucking out what little warmth was left in her flesh.
Tired and cold, she found it hard to keep track of where they were taking her. It felt like they had been walking in circles forever, unable to determine whether this was the cause of her dizziness or whether it was the dizziness that was causing her to feel as though they were travelling in circles.
Contemplating this conundrum, she found her escort stopping at the entrance to a room. The door swung ponderously open, revealing other children inside, along with a couple of adults in colourful robes. The other children regarded her with open curiosity, leading her to wonder whether she'd grown an extra head. Are these mages, she wondered? They looked like birds, colourful ones from Antiva she had once seen in one of Aunt Mildred's books.
Directed to join the other children, Alyce reluctantly walked towards the group. They didn't speak to her; they had no reason to – or an opportunity. The door opened again, admitting a square-shouldered older man in robes of such flamboyance and colour, Alyce found herself shielding her eyes from the sight. Introduced to them all as the First Enchanter, he said a few words of welcome in a gentle, fatherly voice. He approached the nearest child, Templars closing in around him in a solid wall of metal and cloth.
Alyce stepped closer, trying to get a better view. The child was older than she and when the curtain of Templars parted, the child was led silently away by one of the mages. The First Enchanter approached her next, smiling – but Alyce never trusted people with smiles or kindness – and she didn't trust the First Enchanter now.
"Come now child…" the First Enchanter tried in a cajoling voice, but Alyce kept retreating; her back colliding with Ser Greagoir's knees. The Templar seized her arms, forcing to stand still. Looking up into his face - because she trusted him and knew that he would protect her – she didn't realise what was happening until pain sliced across her arm. She only screamed from surprise, strong arms preventing her from struggling as blood flowed down her forearm into the open mouth of a small glass bottle.
The collection done, the First Enchanter muttered something under his breath. The wound closed and Alyce realised then that the smell she had detected when she first entered the Tower was the smell of magic. It was not a smell that she liked, feeling her stomach wobble unpleasantly.
The First Enchanter smiled at her again, but she returned a glare, deciding then and there that she did not like magic, almost as much as she didn't like the First Enchanter. He must have been used to animosity from newcomers because when he straightened, he gazed upon her with an indulgent expression on his craggy face, placing a hand atop her head. His image swayed and only for the barest moment, did Alyce see his lips move before black tendrils of sleep snaked into her brain; her last thought one of annoyance...He hadn't needed to magic her to sleep; she'd been practically falling over from tiredness..
-oo-
"Hey…you're the new kid." Something sharp poked her in the arm, not unlike the knife when her blood had been taken from her. "Come on. If you don't wake up, you'll miss breakfast."
Alyce's eyes opened slowly. Above her stretched a high stone ceiling; fuzzy in detail and foggy with candle smoke. There were no windows in the room but there was still light; flat and resentful as it was. The boy tugging at her sleeve was small and skinny; with a brown face and hair black as a raven's wing. He spoke as though he had been here a long time, so she followed him out of the room, the two of them walking through the curved corridors.
In the light of day Alyce discovered why it felt as though they had been walking in circles, feeling stupid for not realising before that a tower would have circular paths inside. The boy led her to a great, central area filled with noise and bustle. Seeing so many people in one place was a shock and Alyce baulked at the entry, buffeted by others as they pushed impatiently past her into the room.
There were Templars along the walls, helmeted ones, standing statuelike and unmoving with an air of watchfulness about them. There was warmth in the room, but it was not her kind of warmth, missing the silence of the cottage, the smell of the morning air; damp and fresh. By now farmer Wallis would have milked all his cows and left a pail of milk by the cottage door on their way to the east paddock. Tucking herself into the tiny space beside a suit of armour, Alyce watched the rapidly filling rows of benches and tables anxiously. At the back of her mind she knew that she had a duty not to disappoint Aunt Mildred. Hiding never did anyone any good and she knew that sooner or later she would have to dive into the sea of people and either learn to swim amongst them, or drown…but not…this…morning.
Her first morning truly away from Aunt Mildred. Out in the wide open spaces she still felt close to the old cottage. In this alien, grey place Alyce felt her courage falter. Sinking to the ground, she drew her knees into her chest, wishing the wall could swallow her whole and magically return her to Highever.
But it didn't.
Her stomach grumbled and she ignored the conspicuous noise, telling herself that that the growl in her stomach was mere coincidence. Then a bowl of something lumpy was thrust into her face.
A hand rested lightly on her shoulder.
"You'll get used to it," the little boy from before told her in a confident voice. "It was a bit much for me too, at first."
Alyce regarded at the contents of the bowl critically. It was porridge. She hated porridge, but ate it anyway, grateful to have anything to take her mind off the feeling of being overwhelmed by the noise and bustle. The boy must have put a lot of sugar it, feeling her jaw ache from the overwhelming sweetness, swallowing her first mouthful with difficulty.
"I'm Jowan, by the way."
The little boy extracted a half-eaten bread crust from an inside pocket, settling down beside her on the floor.
"Do you have a name?" he enquired, crumbs spilling from his mouth.
Alyce winced on another mouthful, sucking at her back teeth quietly, because there really was far too much sugar in her porridge. "Alyce Amell," she manages eventually.
He chuckles at that. "Funny name. I've decided that my name is just going to be Jowan. Your name gets shortened anyway, once you undergo the Harrowing," he added knowledgeably. "That's the ceremony all apprentices have to go through to become a mage. Then you just get addressed as 'Mage' or 'Enchanter' or 'Senior Enchanter'. I'm going to be First Enchanter one day."
Lowering the bowl to her lap, Alyce looked at the boy. She couldn't imagine anyone wanting to be a mage.
"I'd rather be a Templar," she informed him.
"A Templar?" he scoffed. "They eat mages and spit their bones out. Templars don't like mages," he said with a superior sniff.
"If they don't like mages, why would they eat them?" Alyce reasoned. "Wouldn't they be afraid of getting stomachache?"
Jowan looked at her oddly, then stood up. "You're a very strange girl," he said and walked away. Alyce watched him go, glad because Jowan seemed to her to be much like the porridge…lumpy, uninteresting and unpalatable. She didn't like him either.
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