Wizard's Heir (A Bard Without a Star, Book 1) (5 page)

“No,” Gwydion replied. “It
doesn’t surprise me that he chose the most inelegant weapon.”

The smile returned, slyly. “It’s
inelegant, is it?” Bran raised his sword with one hand and twirled it like a
staff, stopping with the point aimed directly at Gwydion’s heart. “Only in
inexperienced hands.”

Gwydion had been taking extra
lessons with Bran for a month before Math mentioned it at all. As usual, he
approached the matter bluntly one afternoon as they were training in the tower.

“Bran is tutoring you well, I
hear.” Math said as he stroked his beard. “Why don’t you ask me what you want
to know about the claymore master?”

“What do you mean, uncle?”

“Don’t play the innocent with
me, boy,” Math said sternly. “Bran has talked to me enough to know that you
think he is more than he seems. Yet you ask nothing of me concerning the
matter.”

Gwydion bowed his head. “You
are right as always, uncle. I believe that there is something unusual about
Bran. I cannot gather my information from the wind yet, so I have been listening
in the ways of normal men: a coin or a cup in a tavern or around a good meal
produces many whispers.”

“The source of many winds,”
Math said. “An interesting task you set yourself. But the question remains:
why?”

“Would you have answered me
directly, uncle?”

“Probably not,” Math said.

Gwydion smiled. “I didn’t
think so either. So I have been putting my skills to the test on my own terms.”

Math chuckled into his beard. “An
excellent test of your training so far, even if I didn’t devise it.”

“Thank you, uncle,” Gwydion
said with a bow.

“Have you learned much?”

“Only enough to make me more
confident in my original insight: he is not what he seems. But he is an
excellent teacher.”

Math said nothing for a moment,
his eyes unfocused. Gwydion started to listen to the winds himself, but his
uncle suddenly said, “Do you think you’ve learned enough to defeat Gilventhy?”

Gwydion looked down at the
floor, thinking not only of his uncle’s words, but also the meaning behind
them. “I might have,” he said finally. “But I might choose not to.”

“Explain.”

“By defeating Gilventhy, I
would set myself up as a target. Everyone would want to challenge me, and I
would lose both strength and focus for my other studies.”

Math’s beard twitched in a
smile. “Very good. What will be your next plan of action?”

Again, Gwydion took the time to
think before he answered, looking at the mountains patched with the deep green
of late summer, but seeing the grey stone and brown dirt of the training yard
instead. “I will practice all I can,” he said finally, “and learn to be so good
that nobody notices it, not just in the claymore, but in all weapons.”

“To what end?”

“To fool both my enemies and my
friends, keeping the one unsure of my true abilities, and the other
unthreatened by them.”

“Excellent,” Math said, leaning
back and crossing his hands over his beard. “You have learned well. And
because of that, your restriction to the tower is ended.”

“Thank you uncle.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Tomorrow
your magical training begins in earnest.”

As always, the next morning started with a run, and as
usual, Math floated alongside, peppering Gwydion with questions. Gwydion
noticed that Math quizzed him more closely on what he had learned of magic so
far, but even in his exertion, Gwydion remembered not to mention anything about
bardic magic.

Breakfast was followed by
weapons training, lunch, and then to the tower. This time, though, instead of
standing at the foot of the dais looking up at his uncle, he stood beside him,
looking down on Goewin.

“For magic, you need a new
perspective,” Math said. “Does my foot holder look different from this angle?”

“Of course,” Gwydion said. “She
doesn’t look so disapproving when she looks at you.”

Math’s beard twitched with a
fleeting smile. “Do you see anything else?”

“I can tell that her hair has
more red in it than I thought. I see more of her profile and less of her
face. I can see a large mole on her right hand that I normally don’t see.”

Goewin looked at him sharply,
but Math chuckled gently. “Very good. What benefit is the change?”

“She’s more attractive from
here.”

“Any other reasons?” Math asked
with a slightly exasperated tone.

“I have a more complete idea of
what she looks like, and how she holds your feet.”

“Excellent,” Math said. “That’s
why a wizard needs new perspective often, to gain a better understanding. Are
you ready for this next step?”

“Yes,” Gwydion said, still
looking at Goewin. He saw a flash of red from the corner of his eye, and
turned just in time to see Math bringing a rowan wand down onto his head.

It struck him, and he bent over
double in pain. His insides churned like a pot of boiling water. His skin
began to itch, and then sprout hair. He watched in horrified fascination as
his hand melded together into a cloven hoof, and his forearm thinned and
lengthened. He thought he was falling to his knees, but realized that he was
still standing, just on all four legs. Frightened, he backed away, but his
nose lengthened in front of him, brown with a black tip. He tried to speak,
but the sound that came out was a mournful low.

“Peace, Gwydion,” Math said. “I
have given you the form of a deer to gain another perspective.”

Gwydion pranced off the dais,
shaking his head, saying
no
, but only hearing it in his
head.

Math understood. “A deer you
will remain until your lesson is complete,” his uncle said, lifting the wand
again. “You will not come to harm, but that is all I will promise. Run the
woods, and learn.”

The wand came down, and the
tower disintegrated into a stand of white birch, tall and straight. Gwydion
was immediately assaulted by his new senses. He could smell the bark, which
made his stomach rumble, but he could also smell the earth, and the mice and
insects scampering across it. He smelled water somewhere nearby, a cool scent
laced with moss and stone. And he could smell other deer.

He started to trot through the
forest, amazed and bewildered by the assault on his senses. He had never known
how much life there was, and how it all called to each other. Squirrels tucked
nuts away in piles of pine needles, and bees buzzed around the late summer
flowers in the meadows. He felt the season and how it was changing. Trees
sighed as they readied themselves for their winter naps, except for the
evergreens, which reminded Gwydion of stubborn old men refusing to do what they
were told. Fish spawned in the streams, the last baby birds struck out on
their own, and the badger dug his den a little deeper.

Gwydion viewed it all through
two layers: on the surface, he let the instincts of his new form guide him, but
he also thought human thoughts, analyzing and wondering what his lesson was
supposed to be.

A cracking branch made him
turn, and he saw, not twenty yards off, a young boy with a bow. The noise had
made him wince, but the sight of the deer startled into immobility a smug smile
returned.

The human part of Gwydion
thought, “I wonder what he’s hunting?” The deer part recognized the danger
immediately, however, and took off through the trees.

Gwydion heard the whoosh of the
arrow as it sailed through the brush somewhere behind him, but he had already
forgotten the boy in the exhilaration of running. It was nothing like his
morning jog along the dusty roads. It was more like flying, as he leapt over
logs and streams without apparent effort. His four legs moved in perfect
rhythm, although he had to be careful not to let the human side of his mind
disturb it. His lungs did not burn as they did in his human form, but instead
they filled him with energy and power.

After a while, the same
instincts which had prompted him to run told him to slow down. He found
himself approaching a meadow where several other deer were grazing. They
looked up at him in momentary curiosity, then continued their meal.

Gwydion knew that one of the
does was in heat. He could smell it, like a perfume that made his nerves
quiver. He glanced around again, looking for any other bucks that might
interfere, and approached the deer. The doe looked at him, then turned her
back to him. Gwydion wanted to be offended, but he realized that she was
giving her approval. He missed the thrill of seduction, but her scent was
driving him insane with desire, and his only thought was to mount her.

A new scent interrupted him,
the scent of a buck. Gwydion looked into the wind, but he didn’t see
anything. The doe had the scent as well, and had turned her flank to him,
waiting to see if the newcomer would be better suited as a mate.

The antlers appeared first, a
four foot spread with more points than Gwydion cared to count. He didn’t know
if his spread was bigger than the buck’s, but the doe’s reaction was less
equivocal; she began prancing towards the other deer.

The instinct that pushed
Gwydion forward was one that he recognized and understood: he would fight for
his woman. He galloped past the doe and skidded to a halt in front of the
buck, every muscle taut in the anticipation of battle.

The buck stood a hand taller,
and looked down his muzzle at Gwydion in disdain. Gwydion lowered his head in
an unmistakable challenge. The buck hesitated for only a moment before doing
likewise. Both charged at the same moment.

The shock of the impact knocked
Gwydion back a pace. He was surprisingly unrattled, and the two charged
again. And again, Gwydion lost ground.

The instinct in him said that
he would lose if the buck either wore him down to the point that he couldn’t
fight anymore, or if the buck pushed him out of the meadow. He could still
smell the doe’s heady musk. He didn’t want to lose.

He began to analyze the
situation, even as he continued the mindless battering. There had to be a way.

At first, all he saw was a
powerful, angry animal. The muscles on his neck and shoulders bunched and
flexed as they crashed together again, and he was forced backwards another
foot. He had to study the situation against the instincts making him fight,
but at first, it only made him lose ground faster. But he had been trained by
great warriors in the art of combat, and Bran especially had explained the need
to understand a situation thoroughly before you could affect the outcome. And
this time the goal was crystal clear: beat his rival and win the doe.

He saw it in a flash that felt
almost like the instinct driving him to battle in the first place: the buck
always used his greater antlers to force Gwydion’s down. In the next round,
Gwydion managed to time it so that he caught the buck’s antlers beneath his,
and found that he was in control. With a twist of his neck, he forced the
great animal to take his own step back.

The buck bellowed his rage, but
he couldn’t regain dominance. Gwydion timed his hits for maximum force and
control, forcing the other deer back further and further. The buck made one
last rally, trying to regain his superiority, but Gwydion saw it coming, and
instead of simply forcing the buck backwards, he forced the buck’s head down,
twisted his shoulders and flipped the stag onto its back.

The buck flailed for a moment
before regaining his feet. He looked like he wanted to continue the challenge,
but when Gwydion took a step forward and lowered his head, the buck turned and
walked out of the field, head held high except for the times he turned to make
sure Gwydion wasn’t following him.

Gwydion thought about it for
just a moment, but then the doe passed upwind from him, and all his battle rage
turned to lust in an instant. He ran to the doe, who turned her tail to him,
and mounted her with glee. The mating was rough and frantic, and just as
suddenly as the lust had filled him, it was gone. He felt himself sliding off
her, feeling almost confused by the suddenness of the last few minutes. Lust,
battle, victory, lust, and then he was just standing there, watching the doe
walk away. He looked for tenderness and found none; a growing hunger made him move
a few feet to a particularly green patch of grass which he munched with
contentment.

He spent the night and most of
the next day wandering bemusedly, feeling his human mind slipping into a trance
like state while his deer body functioned efficiently and smoothly. He ate
when needed, drank when he found water, and slept when he felt tired. He
encountered no other does, in heat or otherwise, and he was not challenged by
any other animal. He would have felt like a king of the forest, but he was
feeling little at all in the way of emotion. There was only hunger and
exhaustion and fear.

The sun was descending in the
west, and Gwydion’s senses were heightened for the transition from day to
night, a particularly dangerous time for any animal. He had been trotting
through a thin wood, but a glow to one side caught his eye, and he turned to
see the image of a man floating in a meadow. His deer instincts almost made
him run, but the human part of him shaped the name,
Math
.

He trotted to his uncle
timidly, and stood waiting. Math examined him for many long minutes, while
memory and thought returned to Gwydion. Finally Math nodded, and he said, “You
may now return to me, nephew.”

The woods dissolved, as did his
antlers and hide. He found himself in Math’s throne room, on all fours, trying
to understand his lack of hearing and smell. He shook himself several times,
trying to come to grips not just with his humanity, but also with the lingering
feelings from the last couple of days.

“Well nephew?” Math asked. “What
did you learn?”

Gwydion cleared his throat a
few times, and stood up to look his uncle in the face. “Deer are creatures
without thought,” he said. “They live for the moment, and never think about
what is coming except as it relates to their next meal.”

“And how did you fare?”

Gwydion thought for a moment. “At
first it was easy to assert my humanity, and to think as a man. But as time
went on, I could not keep that consciousness going, and allowed the instinctive
nature of the beast to overwhelm the rational nature of the man.”

Math nodded. “Very good. We
are quite different from most animals, and when you take a form that is not
human, you must strive to retain that difference.”

Gwydion cocked his head. “Can
you train yourself to spend long periods of time as an animal?”

“You can,” Math said. “It may
be part of your training later on, for it is a great lesson in self-control,
but for now, be content with what you receive.”

“Yes, uncle.”