In Others’ Footsteps
A Partial Memoir of Uthacalthing of Corbán
T
o those seeking insights into the grand secrets of magic, beware!
I am not a great wizard. I am not yet fully a wizard at all. This is not the
tome of the lordly Silaqu or the great Mailee. Nor is it an homage to Boccob,
the god of wizards.
It is but a modest offering from a wizard apprentice.
Please, do not mistake its purpose. This collection merely gathers the musings of
a soul wandering in a vast forest, of elves, of humans, of powerful sorcerers and
wizards, fighters, mercenaries, children of the Holy Words, and many, many
others.
I am but a small sapling in an immense grove.
But even the tiniest things may leave their mark. That, at least, is my hope.
*****
I
am Uthacalthing. I was born 153 years ago in the small enclave called
Corbán, beyond the far outskirts of Alaghôn. It is a quiet place, perfect
for the contemplation and concentration of those seeking inner
knowledge and outward peace. Many pass its wondrous trees, flowers,
creepers, and remarkable fauna without a glance.
So much the better.
In my youngest years, I played with my kin and thought little of the
world outside the short hike to the river. Ah, the river was marvelous. Its
sparkling blue water flowed leisurely through a channel in the canopy, as if
permission were required from the ancient trees. I spent many days
watching all manner of leaves, sticks, and flower petals float gently away.
I often thought about where those living waters traveled.
But for many years my dreams of faraway forests, grand valleys and
majestic mountains were enough to satisfy me. My feet did not carry me far
away from my home. I did not let them.
Was I afraid? Probably. I was quiet young. The elders had seen distant
lands and studied in exotic cities. They told me of Alaghôn. Then, it
seemed a fanciful place, a place not of reality but of imagination.
I asked about it sometimes. The elders talked of its inhabitants – all sorts
of odd creatures there! – and described the wonders of its bazaars, guildsmen
and artisans.
But I always felt that I was not told all. What knowledge I lacked I did
not know. I could not truly guess.
I was not bitter. The elders were wise, and I had precious little
experience outside of the warm and welcoming confines of Corbán. If they
deemed it wise to leave certain things unspoken, I would not quibble.
But mystery can fuel a drive so strong that it cannot be stopped. I
became determined to know more about the world around me. I could not
mention this to Miercadas, my closest friend, nor my family. Nor did I
truly know what to do.
When I finally summoned the courage, I consulted Heianah. While other
elders’ stories contained the mystery – and omnipresent menace – of the
outside, he was more sanguine. The world was to be lived in and
experienced, not so much to be feared. There were dangers, yes. But one
could prepare for danger and meet its challenge.
He traveled no more. His body cared not for the rough business of
moving from town to town. Instead he could travel to distant places in his
mind.
His mind was so alive!
Alaghôn had been his home for many years. He seemed to favor it most
of all, even though it was not too distant from Corbán. Its curiosities and
vibrancy had held him in a comfortable embrace. Only after many seasons
did he long for the peace of the trees once again.
He spoke of one of his dearest friends, Ijucian. I came to learn that
Ijucian was a wizard. I could not help but ask about his feats of conjuration.
But Heianah patiently explained that wizards worshipped the magical
energy, that they did not waste it on petty tricks. At least not the good
ones.
And in his estimation, Ijucian was a good wizard. He crafted swords
and armor of the highest quality. Better still, he minded his own business.
Heianah did not tell me to seek Ijucian. Nor did he tell me not to. The
stories were enough.
*****
I
said before that Corbán, my birthplace, was graced with peace and
serenity. It attracted little attention, being far enough off the southern
road into Alaghôn. Those moving south out of the city were anxious to
be on their way; those coming in wanted nothing more than to finish their
journey and enjoy the comforts of a warm mug and a soft bed.
Corbán and its people were content to let them pass.
That is not to say that we never met outsiders. On occasion, wayward
knots of city dwellers ventured into our midst seeking protection from the
unknowns in the deep, dark forest. Their fears were well-founded. Great
beasts and marauding hosts (smaller than armies but dangerous
nonetheless) lurked at the edge of vision and hearing. We had learned to
live and thrive in those environs. They had not.
Such contacts were not always pleasant. One particular event shall be
forever etched upon my mind.
The young of our community were taught to avoid the main road. One
never knew who might be traveling upon it. Even in broad daylight,
danger could lurk.
One day a small band of men was riding south on the road. Their black
steeds were not well-groomed, and the men looked none better. They rode
with purpose, to what end I did not know. But their attention fixed on a
small group of my kin that were playing near the forest’s edge.
The men must have known that these young elves had no treasure, no
hoard to fatten their purses. Perhaps they meant to make them hostages
and thereby enrich themselves. Fortunately, we never had to find out.
The young elves saw the men, who by then were wheeling towards
them. Their calls of distress penetrated the forest, raising a mighty ruckus.
Even the eldest felt the chill of fear deep in their bones.
I was practicing with my bow in a grove not far from the commotion. I
leaped away instantly to defend Corbán, not knowing then what dreadful
attackers had set upon us. I had never fought in open combat, and I had no
time to think on it then, though my heart pounded violently in my chest.
I came up behind a great tree and saw the young elves running and
screaming, chased by large men on snorting horses. A young female had
already been swept up by an ugly vagabond wearing a soiled red cape. She
was bent low over the saddle, the rider seemingly unconcerned by her
screams. He watched and laughed as his compatriots failed to catch the
others, who grew ever more tired as they dodged and weaved.
My blood was hot, and I immediately shot at him. The first arrow
missed him by several yards. But in the commotion he did not hear the
whistling of the bolt. I shot again, narrowly missing his left shoulder.
Aroused from his reverie, he wheeled his horse toward the road to flee
with his prisoner.
This time I did not miss, a clean shot passing through his neck. The
horse began to slow as the reins loosened. The man’s head lolled to one
side, and then his body slumped to the ground. The frightened elf jumped
off the horse and ran back toward the forest.
By then, help had arrived. Another man was downed by a shot in the
chest. A third was grazed on the arm. They saw their downed companions
and sped back toward the road, south again.
I will never forget that gruesome scene. I had killed a man, but I took no
great pride in it. I had merely acted in defense of others.
Understandably, my thoughts of the outside world were soured for
some time.
*****
W
hen I felt ready, I asked Heianah to introduce me to Ijucian. I
wanted him to take me to Alaghôn, where he could show me his
city and the places he had been. And I wanted to meet the
wizard who would teach me the skills of wizardry.
But Heianah would not go. Even worse, he shooed me away, ordering
me to return tomorrow. I was stricken! How could he reject my wish, when
he had told me so many stories? It had taken me so long to prepare finally
to go.
I was young and foolish, and my emotions had clouded my judgment.
When I arrived the next day, Heianah handed me a scroll sealed with wax.
With a wry smile, he told me that the words were for Ijucian alone. Boccob
be praised! I was going to Alaghôn.
*****
As I studied with Ijucian, I occasionally returned to Corbán to visit
family and friends. I always sought out Heianah, to let him know my
progress. He listened patiently. Sometimes he would pass on a word of
wisdom, interpreting the lessons Ijucian was trying to teach me.
On one such visit, though, I learned of Heianah’s death.
I knew I was not alone in the world. But an important connection had
been severed. I had felt myself almost as much a servant, an extension of
Heianah, as the apprentice of Ijucian. Now Heianah was gone.
I thought that Heianah would leave me something. Why I felt that I
deserved some favor from him I do not know. I can only blame vanity and
pride. He had been old; nearly eight centuries had passed during his
lifetime. He had surely seen many like me. I had no reason to expect
anything from him.
When I returned to the city, I told Ijucian the sorrowful news. Like
Heianah, Ijucian had seen many years. But he was not unmoved by the loss
of his friend. After we had talked long into the night, Ijucian gave me a roll
of parchment. It was Heianah’s letter of introduction.
As I unrolled it I saw that most of the writing was in Common. But at
the bottom, in tightly scrawled Elven, Heianah had written the following
words:
Listen, young Elf! You are curious about the world, and for that I commend
you. But heed your teachers. Their wise counsel may one day save your life.
Such was my farewell from Heianah.
*****
Ijucian had a cat familiar, Nesthi. A long-haired breed, it had been with
Ijucian many years. During the days, it followed the wizard wherever he
went, sleeping at his feet when the man stopped wandering about.
At night, Nesthi would appear nervous. Its movements were light,
soundless, and it stalked shadows. Occasionally, Ijucian would let it out
into the Alaghôn night. In seconds it would be gone from sight.
It seemed only natural behavior for a cat to prowl the deep shadows
after the sun set. Later, I began to wonder where he went.
“He hunts,” Ijucian told me, “as all cats do.” He paused, then: “But he
rarely goes to the same place. He is adventurous, that one.”
I knew that familiars were much smarter than others of their species,
and Nesthi had looked at me more than once with eyes that hinted at both
knowledge and wisdom. But what did this cat know of adventure?
As if reading my mind, Ijucian continued. “He yearns to see the world,
just as you do. He followed me everywhere, in my adventuring days. He
misses those strange places.”
I grew quite found of Nesthi, but he showed no great love for me. Only
Ijucian was worthy of adoration.
“Someday you will have a familiar, too,” Ijucian told me. “And then you
will set out on your own path.”
After many more months of studying and practicing, Ijucian took me to
a bazaar on the east side of the city, near the ports. Exotic smells and even
more exotic beings worked their way up the narrow street. The air rang
with the shouts of hawkers and the murmuring of the crowd.
As we worked our way through the stalls we encountered a small child.
She was standing near an old wooden table under a tattered maroon
canopy. On the table was a straw-filled box. The box moved.
Then we saw that the child was holding a small animal with smooth
brown fur. She giggled and squealed as it tried to climb out of her hands.
Suddenly, as she opened her hands slightly, it leaped away.
My reflexes were true, and I caught the weasel in midair. In the flicker of
an eye it scrambled up my arm and around my neck. It peered from atop
my shoulder at the child, who looked at me curiously. The weasel then
searched up and down my body, its small nose sniffing as it went. It found
a bit of food in one of my pockets and set to eating, the morsel held in its
tiny paws.
The child giggled again, holding her hand over her mouth.
Ijucian patted me on the back and paid the girl for the weasel.
“I think you just found a friend,” he said.
*****
Ijucian was sitting in his large oak chair when I entered his study. It was
highly unusual for him to be there so early. Usually I had a least an hour’s
worth of studying and meditation to do before he arrived.
He fixed his gaze on me but said nothing. I stood, suddenly chilled by
his odd manner, but I calmed myself quickly. The faintest tick of a smile
curled his lips at the edges.
“The snows of winter are receding,” he finally said.
I said nothing, for I knew not what to say.
“It is time for you to see some of the world.”
Despite my best efforts, my heart raced. I had longed for this day to
come. I grew tired of the monotonous studying and the long hours of
copying ancient texts. But now my blood ran cold as I suddenly felt
unprepared to face the physical world.
Sensing the abrupt change of mood, Wendal scrambled up my vest and
curled around my neck. His wet nose brushed my hot ear, and his
breathing seemed to reverberate around the entire room. I turned slightly
as his head came up under my chin.
“Well,” Ijucian said, stifling a laugh. “At least Wendal will be there to
protect you!”
I did not find this amusing. “Am I really ready?” My voice was
tentative.
Ijucian rose from the creaking chair to stand in front of me. He put a
hand on my shoulder, gently nudging Wendal out of the way.
“My young friend, you are older than I am. It’s time for you to see some
of the world and use your talents for greater things.”
He handed me a scroll. “Take this with you to the Adventurer’s Guild. If
they want credentials, give them this.”
He patted my shoulder and smiled. “We’ll talk when you get back.”
Then he disappeared down the spiraling stairs.