the wizard

Micèl rode on the back of the troll balancing the spear in his right hand; in the other he held the slack reins.

The monstrosity he was directing towards the clump of trees in the hollow of the plain was as cretinous as the rest of his genus. Micèl had been given him as a pet, guardian and transport on his seventh birthday eight years ago. He called him; Puck, because of his wilfulness. His was the perfect example of the mischievously dependent nature of his kind.

They were on the annual hunt – like most boys on Berinus – in search of the predatory, four-legged animal that was never given a name; for fear of increasing his ferocity. The rules of the game were that each of the hunters had to hunt on his own, aided only by a tame animal of his choice. He always took Puck.

Adrenalin flowed freely as each youngster searched in isolation for the big cat. Only one – and at most two – of them would find the man-eater and be locked with it in mortal combat; but it could be anyone. It was often said around the campfire, where the men spoke of their hunting expeditions, that you didn’t find the beast it found you.

Micèl had never seen one; he was always divided between excitement at the prospect of meeting the large cat and the fear of having to fight it, when he went on the hunt. They neared the low-lying wooded area; he took a better grip on his lance-like weapon, wiped the sweat of the midday heat off his brow and carefully spurred the troll forward.

The light was good in the thicket so he urged Puck to move slowly through it. More or less in the middle was a slight clearing of a few feet; here his hunter’s sense flashed a warning. He sniffed, testing the air for wild-animal smell; nothing. As he wanted to move forward again, the troll shifted uneasily beneath him – something was up.

The snarl reached him before the claws and in that small instant; he lifted the spear upwards to the trees where the cat sprang from. The curved point of the spear gashed its shoulder as it knocked Micèl from his perch. He tumbled to his feet just like the great brown cat did, but the cat was faster.

It was up like quicksilver. Just before it reached him – with the dagger like fangs aiming for his jugular – an iron-strong paw swept its hindquarters from under it. Turning to face this new threat it gave Micèl the split second it took to send the spear through the collar-bone straight to the heart; just as he had done in practice a million times before.

The maddened predator gave a tremendous roar and remained on its fours. They each took a few steps backward. Then it swayed and fell, giving a final, lordly, dying growl. Micèl and Puck embraced each other with elation; with Puck lifting him high up into the air and swinging him around until commanded to put him down again. Back on the firm surface he commenced dancing and shouting triumphantly, with the troll needing no coercing to join in.

That was the most glorifilled day of his life. Entering the village like a God, with Puck behind him carrying the slaughtered beast over his shoulder and the womenfolk cheering him. He was too busy being waited on to see the other boys returning with the dismay of failure on their faces, skulking back one after the other.
There was great jubilation among the villagers as they congregated for the feast that night. He sat in the place of honour with Puck beside him on the ground and they were given the hunter’s spoil of the kill to consummate their achievement. What had made his victory so fantastic to the others was, that he only had a few scratches and no serious injuries after his encounter with the beast. Usually after a meeting with the animal a boy is wounded badly – and often he dies.

Everyone was proud of him; even more so when the Archmage of war called him to do an apprenticeship.

He left Puck in his parent’s care and travelled with the Archmage to learn the art of warfare on a far planet. To his primitive people the mages were Gods and as such he was a favourite of the Gods carried off by them to become one of them; or at the very least a valuable servant. This to them was, in essence, all the same. So, after he had left he became a deity in their myths and folklore.

In time he became a powerful mage; proving himself worthy in great and many battles. It was decided he would become the next Archmage. Soon he was called to be blessed by the ailing Archmage and the great secrets and powers were channelled down to him – for; he was told that he would be in charge of the defences of the League when the greatest onslaught they had ever faced came.