Free The Wizard And The Warlord by Elizabeth Boyer

boundaries of the hill fort.”
    Jotull merely sniffed and shrugged. “Can the Scipling be in any danger as long as I am here? If I need to, I shall explain to Halfdane that I am conducting lessons and I don’t tolerate interference and interruptions. Now, sir, are you sufficiently disburdened of your useless admonitions so you can proceed?”
    Mikla patiently levitated a few rocks, sent for some sticks and set them afire without benefit of a tinderbox, found a gold coin that Sigurd hid, and performed other schoolboy tricks, as Jotull disdainfully called them. Then, for good measure, Mikla conjured a fire show, a dazzling production of multicolored flames shooting from an upright stone as if the bare, black surface were exploding with flowers.
    “Very pretty,” Sigurd said admiringly, looking at Mikla with new respect. “That’s real fire, isn’t it, and not just illusion?”
    Mikla crisped several mossy boulders and set a small bush ablaze, which Jotull promptly extinguished. “A Guild apprentice never loses an opportunity to show off,” he said. “That’s quite enough, Mikla. We shall now allow Sigurd to attempt a spell.”
    “I’d like to learn the formula for fire,” Sigurd answered. “I’ve spent many a night shivering and freezing, wishing I could make a fire from nothing.”
    “Fire is better left to the experienced,” Jotull said sharply, just as Mikla began to say, “It’s very easy—” A glance silenced the apprentice. “Now, Sigurd, I shall teach you a simple formula for summoning objects to you. You shall write it in runic in the sand and use your powers of concentration to make it work, as I have taught you.”
    Sigurd tried and tried repeatedly, despite the fact that he felt rather foolish mumbling over some scratches in the dirt and staring hopelessly at a small rock that he hoped to move. The rock did not budge, little to his surprise. He thought he detected a glint of mirth in Mikla’s eye, which made him suddenly furious.
    “I can’t do it with everyone staring at me!” he flared, starting to stamp away, but the rock suddenly flew up in the air and came down nearly on Rolfr’s head. Rolfr sprang away with a yelp, and even Jotull looked astonished, gaping around to see if someone hiding nearby had thrown the rock as a joke. Mikla permitted himself an injudicious chuckle. Sigurd was embarrassed and hastened to apologize.
    “Things like that happen when I get into a black mood,” he said gloomily. “Sometimes I think I’m followed by an evil little sending with a strange sense of humor. When I was a boy, it helped me win a lot of fights, however.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’d rather hoped it wouldn’t follow me into this realm, whether it’s a sending or simply bad luck.”
    “It’s your power trying to help you,” Mikla said excitedly. “All you have to do is get control of it and persuade it to act in your best interests. You say it’s been with you all your life?”
    “Silence, sir,” Jotull interrupted sternly. “I am the practicing wizard here, you might recall. If Sigurd needs any advice, I shall be the one to give it to him. I’ve seen this sort of power before and it’s not the right sort at all. We’ll have to capture it and put it in a safe place where it won’t trouble you any longer, Sigurd. It could be quite dangerous, you know.” He glanced around suspiciously for more dangerous symptoms of Sigurd’s unlucky follower. “Come, it’s time we went back inside.”
    He led the way, and Mikla and Rolfr trailed behind, holding an intense whispered conversation. Sigurd took no notice of them, he was listening to Jotull’s plans for captunng his unruly power and disposing of it. Jotull assured him it would not be painful and that he was better rid of it, since it would only get in the way of his future studies.
    Mikla lingered at the old round tower, allowing Jotull to proceed up the hill to his house alone. “I haven’t had a look at old