The Legend of the Kithara

Two members of the kitchen staff entered the stables, descending to the stalls with waterskins and three saddlebags apiece, all bulging with provisions. They handed their burdens to Cirus and Wells, who took them for their respective mounts.

"Thanks," Wells said, setting about the task of securing the bags to Solea's saddle. He had to learn the proper knotting technique from the stable lads, a method he quickly committed to memory before hoisting himself into the plush leather seat.

"Ready, Wells?" Cirus asked.

Wells nodded.

"Open their gates, please," Cirus instructed the lads. Once the men had helped Situs and Solea from their pens, Cirus urged his horse into a canter. Wells, still clumsy with the commands, managed to get Solea to follow.

They bounded from the stables and thundered down the lane at a breakneck pace. Wells was pleased to find that Solea kept up with Situs effortlessly. After thirty minutes of riding this way across grassy fields and through small copses of trees, Cirus slowed them to a steady trot.

"The journey to Holtwood is two days on horseback," he announced. "But that doesn't mean we can afford to dawdle."

"Alright, what am I learning first?" Wells inquired, shifting in his saddle. He knew the ache in his backside was only going to intensify over the next two days.

"You can't perform magic yet—" Cirus began, but Wells cut him off loudly.

"Yes, I can! What about being sent to Remira? The crest on the balcony?" he demanded, his voice laced with irritation.

"Let me rephrase," Cirus said, unbothered by the interruption. "You cannot yet use magic to its fullest potential. For that, you will need an animal guardian."

"What in the world is that?" Wells asked.

"Have you ever heard of... what was the term Jonas used?" Cirus mused for a moment as his horse stepped gingerly over a boulder the size of Wells's head. "Ah, I remember. Are you familiar with the concept of familiars?"

"Yeah," Wells replied. "From Macbeth, I think."

"Ah, yes," Cirus nodded. "That famous playwright. I have read a few of Jonas's volumes. But that's beside the point. An animal guardian is much like a familiar. It allows a wizard to gather far more myran than they could alone, which in turn facilitates the use of magic."

"Does every wizard have one?"

"Not all. Most in the Order of Sorcerers consider it an antiquated practice," Cirus remarked. "But I believe an animal guardian would be a great asset for you. That is why we are riding to Holtwood. You can acquire one there."

"Do you have one?" Wells asked.

"I did," Cirus said, his tone suddenly flat.

"What happened to it?" Wells pressed.

"He died," Cirus replied curtly.

"Oh," Wells said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was long before your time."

They rode on in an uneasy silence, though Wells found himself captivated by the scenery. They were utterly alone in the wilderness; no roads scarred the fields, no aircraft streaked across the sky, no houses marred the landscape. It was an endless panorama of grass and sky.

As dusk began to settle, they spurred their horses on to steal a few more hours of daylight. To Wells's chagrin, Cirus and Situs shot forward, forcing him and Solea to scramble to keep pace. By the time they caught up again, he decided it was high time to make camp for the night.

They dismounted and tied their horses to a tree. Cirus produced a bedroll from his saddlebags, informing Wells that he had one for him as well. The wave of relief that washed over Wells was immense; he had no desire to sleep on the hard ground again. Yet, when he lay down, sleep was elusive. He stared up at the night sky, a canvas painted with alien constellations.

He eventually drifted off, but his sleep was restless, plagued by strange dreams. Each time he awoke with a start, the sky to the east seemed a shade pinker. Finally, after one last nightmare, he opened his eyes to find the sun fully cresting the horizon. Cirus was already awake.

"Here, eat," Cirus said, handing him a piece of dried fruit and what looked like hardtack. It tasted better than it looked. "If we push ourselves today, we should reach Holtwood before nightfall." After helping Wells resaddle Solea, they set off once more.

Wells's assumption that they would spend the day in silence was mistaken. Cirus immediately began instructing him on the history of wizardry in Remira, a lecture that lasted for hours. He covered everything from the discovery of the Greatwood to the exodus of the Sirunai from the east. They paused only for a brief lunch and dinner, but there was always more history to relate. Cirus spoke most of all about Astalor, the first High Wizard of Remira.

"So Astalor founded the Order of Sorcerers?" Wells asked as they finished watering their horses at a small creek.

"He did, after fighting in the War of Wizards, which occurred just before the establishment of the Auran Empire. He was a hero on the battlefield," Cirus explained, climbing back onto Situs. "He then journeyed to the Greatwood and discovered the caves hidden beneath its roots. It was there he forged the Astaloran Rings."

"Then why do you always say 'Astalor's hoof'?" Wells asked, mounting his own horse.

"It's just an expression, like some of your slang," Cirus shrugged. "What is important for you to know is that Astalor vanished. No one knows his fate, but it was sometime in the second century DE—"

"DE?"

"During the Empire. It is a way of marking time. The current year is 710 AE—After the Empire," Cirus clarified. "As I was saying, Astalor disappeared sometime in the second century DE, and Lord Valerion the Wise became the second High Wizard of Remira." He then proceeded to list the High Wizards who followed.

"The Elder Crewe? Are you related to him?" Wells asked when Cirus had finished.

Cirus chuckled. "I am. I am a descendant of his grandson, Iresil Crewe. The fourth of Iresil's eight children is my ancestor."

He persisted with the history lesson. Several hours later, Wells sighed with relief when he finally spotted a fringe of trees on the distant horizon. "Oh, good, we're almost there," he said. "I'm getting sore from all this riding."

Cirus laughed. "Wells, you have no concept of how large the trees in Holtwood are, do you?"

"No," Wells answered warily. "Why?"

"They are the largest in the world. The greatest of them can reach five hundred feet tall. We are still an hour from Holtwood," Cirus said. "Now, let us continue your lesson."

The next hour felt eternal as Wells resigned himself to memorizing more names and dates. When they finally did arrive at the forest's edge, he was left speechless. The trees soared from the earth as if to pierce the heavens, rising into infinity. He had to crane his neck back so far to see the specks of green foliage at their crowns that he nearly toppled from his horse.

He let out a low whistle. "Wow," he breathed. "That's... impressive."

"Isn't it?" Cirus replied. "Now, follow me. The clearing where we must perform the rite is not far inside."

A fresh wave of anxiety churned in Wells's stomach at the thought of what he was about to do. He guided Solea into the woods with some hesitation, immediately noticing a change in the light and temperature. Though the sun still shone outside the forest, beneath the dense canopy it was much colder, as if twilight were already approaching. There was also a strange, buzzing sensation in the air. Most peculiar of all, Wells thought, was the profound silence—a complete absence of animal sounds.

He mentioned this to Cirus. "The animals in Holtwood are gifted with intelligence far beyond those outside it," Cirus explained. "They tend to avoid the forest's edge."

"And the tingling?"

"That is myran you are feeling," Cirus said. "I am glad you can finally sense it. This place has the greatest concentration of myran in the world."

Wells nodded, and they rode in silence for another five minutes. The forest floor was a rich tapestry of shrubs, ferns, and even exotic flowers that bloomed in the rare shafts of sunlight filtering through the canopy five hundred feet above. He could hear a river flowing nearby, though he could not tell how far off it was. As they drew closer to their destination, he caught fleeting glimpses of indistinct creatures darting out of sight.

"We're here," Cirus whispered, dismounting from Situs.

Wells looked around. They had entered a small, perfectly round clearing perhaps a hundred feet in diameter. In its very center stood a large, flat tree stump, from which radiated a breathtaking assortment of every flower imaginable, covering the inner half of the circle in a blaze of color. Here, Wells felt the myran surge, as if someone had unmuted a pair of headphones and cranked the volume to its maximum.

"You feel that?" Cirus asked. "Excellent. Now, dismount and join me."

Wells slid off Solea and followed Cirus to the stump. At Cirus's direction, he stepped onto it. "What we are about to do involves what is likely the most powerful spell an untrained wizard can cast," Cirus explained. "But you must speak it in Vaenyari, the language of the centaurs. This is their ancestral home, so the power here, and the language, belong to them."

"Okay," Wells said uneasily. "What do I say?"

"Repeat after me," Cirus instructed. "First, say this: Erí amboreth imaya!"

"Erí amboreth imaya," Wells echoed. "What does it mean?"

"Roughly, 'Oh, animals!'" Cirus said. "That is the first of three phrases. The second is: Amboreth váshe etherima."

Wells stared at him blankly. "Could you say that again? Slower, please." Cirus repeated it twice. "Alright. Amboreth váshe etherima. What's that mean?"

"'Come, animal,' essentially," Cirus explained. "Now, say the first two phrases together."

"Erí amboreth imaya! Amboreth váshe etherima!" Wells declared, his heart pounding with anticipation. He had never managed to do well in his mandatory Spanish classes in middle school, yet suddenly he could speak this ancient tongue almost as fluently as Cirus.

"Good, good," Cirus praised. "There are some minor issues with stress and pronunciation, but most animal guardians will be able to tell you are not a native speaker. The final phrase is Amboreth filori váshe kuma. 'I need an animal protector.' Say it."

"Amboreth filori váshe kuma," Wells recited. He then repeated the entire three-part invocation several times until Cirus was satisfied.

"Alright, that will do," Cirus said. "Now, when you speak it, you must also release your magic. You must unleash your particular myran, but on a massive scale. Convince yourself that you can and will move that tingling sensation around you. I do not care if it takes you several tries."

"Should I try it now?" Wells asked warily.

"If you are ready."

Wells took a deep breath. "Alright." He closed his eyes, and the tingling of the myran in the air intensified. To his astonishment, he could pinpoint where it was more concentrated. "Cirus, I can feel... like, spikes of it," Wells announced, opening his eyes. The sensation immediately vanished, though he knew it was still there.

"Good. You must find the greatest concentration of power in this area and, as you shout the incantation, call it to you," Cirus instructed.

"Alright," Wells said, closing his eyes again. He focused, searching with his mind for the largest surge of myran. He felt smaller pockets, like lumps in the air, but none seemed large enough. Then he found it: a colossal pillar of energy that felt as vast as one of the giant trees surrounding them. It was so tangible he felt he could reach out and touch it. "I feel it!" Wells cried out, afraid to open his eyes lest he lose his grip on it. "Cirus, I feel it! I think I can grab it."

"Excellent!" Cirus's voice was electric. "Now, say the words and do exactly that—but with your mind."

"Okay, here goes," Wells whispered to himself. Visualizing his thoughts closing around the pillar of myran, he shouted with all his might, "Erí amboreth imaya! Amboreth váshe etherima! Amboreth filori váshe kuma!"

Instantly, the pillar of energy rushed toward him, but it was slick, like trying to grasp water. It was slipping through his mental fingers. His dismay must have been plain on his face, for Cirus began shouting advice.

"Concentrate harder! Say it again!"

"Erí amboreth imaya! Amboreth váshe etherima! Amboreth filori váshe kuma!" Wells roared, so loudly he vaguely thought he might have been heard all the way back in Tor Alian. This time, the pillar felt less slippery. He drew it inward, pulling with the sheer force of his will.

His eyes snapped open. A dazzling burst of blue light erupted from the stump as a bird's shrill cry echoed from somewhere high above. He stood frozen, unsure what to do, until Cirus yelled, "Wells! Hold out your arm!"

He obeyed instantly, extending his arm. He heard another piercing cry, much closer this time. A moment later, as the light faded, he felt something descend onto his outstretched limb, its talons clutching his sleeve gently but firmly.

It was a hawk.