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    The Defender Chronicles: Volume 1
    The Defender Chronicles: Volume 1
    The Defender Chronicles: Volume 1
    Ebook876 pages12 hours

    The Defender Chronicles: Volume 1

    By Robert Collins

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    About this ebook

    Allan began life poor, and knowing that magic was the stuff of ancient legends. One day he discovers that the magic never went away, and that he has the gift of using magic.

    He decides to fight injustice as The Defender, and fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. His wife Nancy joins him as The Moon Spirit. Although she can’t cast spells, she can fight and use the enchanted equipment Allan crafts.

    This volume contains Defender stories 1 to 10. They tell of Allan’s rise as the Defender, and how he and Nancy began their fight against injustice. Their struggles take them from the streets, to the halls of power, and to a distant land.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRobert Collins
    Release dateMay 1, 2016
    ISBN9781310326783
    The Defender Chronicles: Volume 1
    Author

    Robert Collins

    Two people with different cultural backgrounds and ethnicities met at a European and Balkan music and dance ensemble named Koroyar and their lives became intertwined, combining their gifts to continue exploring life as an avenue of creative expression. Robert Collins has a Bachelor of Arts in Anthropology, and has been an educator in the Los Angeles area for thirty years. He studied writing with Joan Oppenheimer in San Diego, with Cork Millner privately, and also in the Santa Barbara Writer's Conferences. Elizabeth Herrera Sabido, at the age of sixteen years, began working as a secretary at the Secretaria de Industria y Comercio in Mexico City where she was born, then she was an educator for twenty-six years, and a teacher of international dance for The Los Angeles Unified School District. She has also studied Traditional Chinese Medicine, and is a Reiki Master Teacher. Attracted by the Unknown, the Forces of the Universe, and the human psyche, during their lives they have studied several different philosophies. Elizabeth has been involved with various religions, Asian studies, and Gnosticism with SamaelAun Weor, and Robert has explored spiritual healing practices in Mexico, and studied with Carlos Castaneda's Cleargreen and Tensegrity. Elizabeth and Robert start their day at four-thirty in the morning. They enjoy playing volleyball and tennis, and in the afternoons play music, alternating between seven different instruments each. Their philosophy of Personal Evolution has led them to explore over 110 countries between the two of them such as Japan, Nepal, Egypt, Bosnia- Herzegovina, the Philippines, Turkey,Russia, etc.

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      Book preview

      The Defender Chronicles - Robert Collins

      INTRODUCTION

      Welcome to this ebook collection of the first ten Defender tales. These stories range from short-novel to novella length. If you haven’t yet read about the mysterious mage known as The Defender, read on!

      The ebook edition of first book in the series is still free, in case a reader prefers to dip their toe into the adventures of The Defender, rather than leap in all at once. Whether you’re dipping your toe in, or taking the plunge, I hope you enjoy these tales, and you’ll want to keep reading more.

      And yes, there are more. There will be at least two more of these ebook collections. There might also be more, as well as some stories set in the distant past (before the first Defender story), and perhaps some other stories featuring other characters.

      Thanks for your support!

      Robert Collins

      THE DEFENDER

      NUMBER ONE: ELDERWOOD

      ONE

      Allan ran.

      He’d been running for three days. He thought at the end of the first day the guards would give up. Early into the second day of his flight from Elderwood Ford, he passed by a village. He didn’t know the name of the village, but he did know that it was at the far western edge of the domain of the Lord of Elderwood. Beyond that the Lord, and the Lord’s guardsmen, had no authority. Or so Allan had hoped.

      By the middle of the morning, Allan saw that his hope was dashed. Six guardsmen were still following him, five on foot, and their leader on horseback. They had left moving steadily west, trying to pick up his trail. Allen kept running.

      He slept as best he could up in a tree that night. The next morning he decided to keep running. He wasn’t going to waste time with hope and observation. He would keep going.

      He wished he could stop running. He wished he could turn himself into the guards. He wished he could return to the city, and make his case. Foolish wishes all, he told himself. The man who killed Elena because she refused him did nothing of the sort. If I hadn’t avenged her, no one else would have.

      On the third day of his escape from Elderwood Ford, Allan stopped late in the afternoon. Unlike his stop on the second day, it wasn’t to look behind him. He’d picked up the rough outline of an old road earlier that day. The road dated back to the time of the mages, and the wars to end their terror. The road consisted of paving stones, and sections of dirt where stones had been removed. It was regular enough to follow, and smooth enough that he could make good time.

      Allan stopped because the road had almost come to an end. Ahead of him was a castle, or more truthfully, the ruins of a castle. Allan had no idea what it looked like when it was in use, but it didn’t appear impressive to him. Certainly not as impressive as the castle of the Lord of Elderwood.

      The first sight of the castle Allan got was of the stone walls that had protected it. In its prime, the walls were twice as tall as the tallest man. Some sections of the walls were still that high, but most were much shorter. The walls surrounded a rectangular stone building three floors high. Half of the end of the structure that Allan was approaching had fallen in. Only a small portion of the roof was still intact.

      From the instant he saw the castle, Allan knew what it was. It has to have been the home of a mage. Everyone knows the mages lived out in the country. That was so they could protect themselves from soldiers sent by Lords or Princes.

      Allan glanced around. The trees here are fairly tall. Maybe, back then, the land was cleared. Maybe the mages had spells that protected them.

      He heard a voice on the wind. The guards are following the road, just like me!

      He turned back to the castle. There might still be spells there. There could be traps.

      It’s going to be night soon. I need a place to hide, and rest, and eat the last of my food. There’s not another place to hide anywhere around here, except up a tree again. If the guards are on the old road, then they’ll know to look around here. If I climb a tree tonight, they’re bound to find me this time.

      They’re bound to search the castle, too.

      Well, I know how to hide within a building. This is another building, yes? If I hide here, and they don’t find me, maybe they’ll give up.

      The noise from the guards got louder. I have to take that chance. I don’t have any other places to hide.

      Allan advanced on the castle. He found a section of wall that he didn’t have to struggle to clear. He scrambled from the wall to a window that had long since been broken out. He slipped through empty hole in the castle wall. He entered a wide room centered on a long stone table. There were no chairs around the table, and there was no decoration on the walls.

      He saw a door leading out of the room as he heard the sound of a horse’s hooves clattering around the outer wall. He dashed to the door and pushed. It didn’t move. He glanced down and saw a doorknob. He turned it; it moved after a couple of tries.

      The door opened into a hallway. I don’t think the bedrooms would be down here. I’ll see if there’s a way up. He walked down the hallway. He passed two pairs of doors on either side, then came to a narrow, circular stairway. He paused long enough to catch his breath, then walked up the stairs.

      The stairway led to another corridor. The corridor seemed wide enough for two men to walk beside each other without touching themselves or the walls. In the dim light, he could see more doors on either side. Most, though, were open. He decided to follow the corridor to see where it led.

      He peeked past the first open door he came to. He saw what appeared to be the remains of a bed and blankets. The posts stood, but the canopy was gone and the cloth was in tatters. He found similar scenes of decay in the other rooms he looked into.

      Halfway down the corridor, on his right, was another stairway. It was narrower than the one he came up. He decided not to go further up, but to keep searching the rooms on this floor.

      Past the second stairway was a row of doors to his left, but nothing to his right. He pushed open the first door he came to. Inside the room was a tub, a toilet, a basin, and the remains of a waist-high cabinet. A bathing room.

      A memory rose up in Allan’s mind. It was cool autumn night, several months ago. He and Elena found the home of a wealthy merchant. It was vacant; the merchant and his family were away on some personal errand. He and his sister had never been in such a residence before. They were aware of some of how the wealthy lived, but never had firsthand experience. One of their discoveries was that not all the rooms inside the home had doors that locked. Indeed, only two did: the parents’ bedroom, and the bathing room.

      Allan looked at the door of this bathing room. There was a lock he could turn. He turned it; it moved after two attempts.

      The guards might be suspicious of a locked door. Or, they might assume that if they can’t get in, I couldn’t. He leaned through the doorway; he could barely hear footsteps from below. I can’t keep wandering around. I’ll have to try it.

      He closed the door and turned the lock. He found a piece of the cabinet that he could pick up. He moved it so that it could block the door if the lock was forced. He edged down behind the tub. I suppose, this time, it’s good that I haven’t yet become a man. A man might not fit down here.

      Allan waited. Time passed before he heard footsteps on the floor of the corridor. More time passed before someone took hold of the doorknob to open the door. The man on the other end of the door tried a few times. When the door didn’t open, he walked away. More time went by, followed by the sound of footsteps passing the bathing room door.

      The boy doesn’t seem to be here, Sergeant, a man said. Allan was surprised he could hear the voice so clearly. They must be in front of that second stairway.

      Still one more floor to search, a second man replied.

      Sergeant, this was a mage’s castle. I don’t like the idea of being in this place after dark.

      The magic’s gone away, a third man said.

      So’s part of this building, the first man replied.

      You’re right, said the second man. If the boy’s here, he could sneak up on us at night. If he isn’t, we could still get hurt by something falling. Right, men, we’ll camp outside, and search the grounds tomorrow.

      If we don’t find him? the third man asked.

      We’ve been at this three days, and we’re in the wilderness. If we can’t find him, maybe some wild beast will. We got this far. We’ll head home tomorrow, after we look up some trees around here.

      Allan sighed to himself, but he didn’t relax until the footsteps went away. He closed his eyes for what he thought would be a few moments of rest. When he woke up, he used the empty toilet. He decided to see where the guards were camped, so he’d know to sleep on the opposite side of the castle. He walked down the corridor to a bedroom door. There was a vacant spot on the wall where a window had been. He approached the window slowly so as not to be heard.

      He was stunned when he got to the window. It’s the middle of the morning! He looked outside the window. Halfway between the castle’s front gate and the road leading here were the remains of a campfire. He listened for voices for a time, and heard nothing. The guards are heading back. I’m safe!

      Well, safe from them, at least. I need food and water if I’m going to survive.

      He left the castle and explored the land around it. Years ago, he and his sister had learned that they could hide out in the wilderness outside the city during the summer, if the struggle on the streets became too risky. Finding that out meant that they had to learn how to survive in the wilderness. They found a reliable man who taught them how to hunt for game, and how to scavenge for fruits and vegetables.

      All Allan had on him to hunt with was his knife. Without his sister, hunting wasn’t going to be easy. He decided to assemble a couple of traps for smaller wildlife, and hope for the best.

      Finding vegetables turned out to be easy. There had been a garden along the back of the castle. Although it hadn’t been tended in ages, the vegetables and herbs raised there continued to grow. Some had spread beyond the original garden patch.

      Allan found apples in the wilderness near the old road. The lines of apple trees told him that, when this castle had been occupied, there had been an orchard here. There were no other fruits to be found, and if there had ever been a field of grain, shrubs and weeds had displaced it.

      A short distance from the ruined castle was a stream. The water seemed good enough to drink, so Allan filled his canteen. The moment it was full he realized that he’d have to find something larger, or he’d be walking to the stream several times a day. An instant later he wondered if the castle had its own water well.

      He took time to eat and drink before exploring the castle to locate the well. He climbed through the open window to the dining room, then began searching the ground floor. He found a reception room, a kitchen with much of the cookware intact, a wide room with overturned tables, and another room with ruined planks of wood. In that room he came across a door that opened onto a dark stairway leading down.

      That leads under the castle. That might be where the well is. Allan peered down the stairway. Even after a moment, it’s still dark. I’d better make a torch.

      It took time to find a piece of wood that would make a usable torch. Finding it caused him to explore the second floor. He found another bathing room, and two rooms with scraps of cloth on the floor. He wrapped a few scraps around a strip salvaged from a bedpost. He located other bits of wood, and started a fire. He touched the wrapped end of the post to the flames. He tapped out the tiny fire, then headed back downstairs.

      The stairway leading below the castle ended in a short corridor barely wide enough for a man to walk down. On either side of the corridor were closed doors. Ahead of him was an open entranceway. He sniffed the air and smelled water. He walked to the entranceway.

      As he passed the door closed doors, Allan felt an odd sensation. It wasn’t fear, or hunger, or grief. It wasn’t anything he’d ever felt before. He dismissed the feeling; he needed to find the well.

      He found it past the entranceway. It opened into a circular room. Metal bars were stuck into the stone floor framing a circle cut into the floor. The bars held up a water basket, and a pulley system to raise and lower the basket. Instead of rope, metal chains were used to raise and lower the basket.

      He peered down the opening. His easily saw the reflection of his improvised torch; water was not that far down.

      He examined the well apparatus. The basket was secured to the chair with a hook, which meant it could be removed and water carried anywhere. The basket itself was also metal. Noticing that caused him to examine the chains, the basket, and the bars holding everything up.

      You’d think they’d have rusted by now, but they appear to be fine. Well, if they’re fine, then I should use them.

      Allan lowered the basket into the well to fill it. It took him some effort to pull the basket up once it was full. He struggled with the basket for a moment before he unhooked it. Realizing how heavy it was going to be, he dumped about half the water in the basket back down the well. He picked up the lightened basket by the hook with his right hand, and the torch with his left.

      As he walked down the narrow corridor, he felt the same sensation as he did when he first passed the pair of doors. There was no space to put anything down, and the torch was getting low. He decided to come back once he’d settled himself upstairs.

      He took over one of the bedrooms on the second floor. He brought in the basins from the bathing rooms. He poured some of the water from the basket into one. He found a thick enough scrap of cloth so that he could give himself a quick wash.

      He took the other basin to the garden and filled it with vegetables and herbs. He brought that back to the bedroom. He went to the kitchen and found a pot and a wide metal pan. Both had a bit of rust on them, but otherwise appeared solid. He took them to the bedroom, then found more scrap wood and cloth. He started another fire, this one on the pan. He filled the pot with water halfway. He cut up the vegetables and dumped them into the pot. He returned to the kitchen for a bowl and a spoon.

      It’s going to take time for the soup to cook. Everything seems safe, so I guess I can figure out what happened down by the well.

      Allan improvised a second torch and lit it with his cooking fire. He headed back down the narrow stairway. Once again, when he passed by the rooms he felt something.

      He edged to his right. The sensation felt stronger. He reached for the door and put his hand on the knob.

      Suddenly, the knob and his hand glowed with a blue light. It wasn’t painful; in fact, it felt good, like the way he felt after a full meal, or getting a compliment from his sister. He turned the knob; it moved without resistance.

      The door opened onto a room a few times wider than the door. The room was dark as the door opened, but once Allan stepped through the doorway, a globe in the ceiling came alive with a bright yellow glow.

      Facing him were three rows of shelves set into the wall. The other walls were empty. On the top shelf, at about shoulder level, was a short staff of wood. On the second shelf was a row of books. On the bottom shelf were rings and jewels.

      I’m rich!

      Allan reached for the nearest ring. As soon as his hand was over the shelf, it felt warm. He continued to reach for it, but his hand got warmer. He jerked his hand back, and the warmth was gone.

      A magical trap.

      He reached for the sword. Again his hand warmed as it got closer, and cooled once he pulled it back.

      He decided to try for the books. He knew how to read. When their parents were alive, they had taught him and Elena to read. It hadn’t seemed to be a useful skill after they died. One day Elena was telling Allan what a sign meant. A man overheard them, and asked if they could read. Elena said they could. He hired her to carry a letter to another man. The man had a small shop on a side street, and the shop could only be found by reading the signs.

      Elena carried out the job. She had no choice; there was the money, but the man who hired her kept Allan at his shop as a guarantee that she’d return. She did return, and with another letter. The man paid her for the errand. It was then that they understood that reading was useful. Any skill that keeps us from stealing is a good one, she’d told Allan.

      Allan reached for the nearest book. This time, his hand felt cold. He moved his hand to the right; it felt colder. He reached to his left. His hand slowly warmed, until he came to a book on the far left end. He touched the spine of the book and felt nothing.

      He pulled the book from the shelf; still nothing. There was nothing on the cover to say what the book was about. He opened the book to the first page.

      "This is the testimony of Damien, one of the last of the great mages," was what the writing on the page said. It was handwritten, in a flowing script Allan thought belonged to a nobleman. There was nothing else on the page, so he turned it.

      At first glance, there was nothing on the page but twisted lines. Then other lines appeared, and the whole formed into letters and words. Allan was stunned for an instant, then he read what the words said.

      "My name is Damien, and I have lived what I believe to be a good and proper life as a mage, a caster of spells. I am writing this book to preserve the knowledge I have gained. The power of magic, ‘magus,’ is fading fast now. My fellow mages are unwisely fighting over the centers of magus that remain. Various nobles and princes are using this as a chance to seize land and power. In time someone will cast their eye on me. I cannot resist every foe, so I shall use the time I have left to make this testimony, so that someday the truth about magic will be known.

      "This testimony, along with a selected few items, should be able to survive the time to come. To you who finds this, I encourage you to read on. Learn the spells within the books. Understand the power of magic. Above all, absorb the history of this time. Know the mistakes that were made, the abuses committed, and the schemes that formed and collapsed.

      "The Second Age of Magic is coming to an end. As there was a First, so there will likely be a Third. It is up to you, of that later age, to see what those of this Age did wrong. You must learn to use magic more wisely than we have. You must resist the temptation to use magic for personal gain. Too many in this Age failed to do so. Their folly has led to the time we are in.

      "However, I am moving too far ahead in this story. Allow me to give you a brief sketch of the First Age and the Second Age. This will help you to understand these times, and what I have to say."

      Allan closed the book, then opened it again. This time the words were clear as a sunny day. Knowing that it would take him time to read the book, and remembering his soup, left the treasure room and returned to the bedroom. He read more while he ate his soup.

      "If you can read this tome, it means you have the ability to use magus to cast spells. I doubt magus will ever entirely go away. Even now, as its power wanes, children are still brought into this world with the ability to invoke it.

      "Your talent will not go to waste. I will secure my tomes of spells so that you will be able to use them. You must, however, read this volume first. I have cast spells upon the books, and the other items I am preserving, to prevent you from using them before you are ready. This first volume will not only help you to understand history, but also to understand magus itself. You will need to know what it before you can know how to invoke it.

      "You must also heed the warnings I give in this testimony. A great deal of wisdom is required in the use of this power and the casting of spells. There is your protection to consider. I trust you are reading this in a time where magic is rare, if not entirely unknown. If you are seen to cast spells, you will be known as a mage. That will paint a target on your back for all to fire at, from princes to common thugs.

      "You must also see to your character. My fellow mages are being laid low because they abused the skills they learned. It is quite tempting to cast spells to exert your dominance over others. It is tempting to cast spells to make your life easier, without regard to anyone else. These temptations create resentment and jealousy. They create an opening by which you can be attacked by men stirred by angry passion.

      "You may not think such a message is worth heeding. Remember that you are probably alone in the world with this ability. One man, or one woman, cannot resist the whole world for very long."

      Allan set aside the book for a moment. Jealousy and resentment, he thought. That is how I feel right now. My sister was murdered because she wouldn’t submit to a man’s lust. That man wasn’t punished because of his wealth, and his connection to Lord Gillam’s family. That made me angry, so I killed him.

      Where did those feelings get me? Chased from the city I was raised in. Made an outlaw. Living even more hand-to-mouth in a ruined castle. Maybe magic will help me live a little better. Beyond that, though?

      He looked at the book, sitting open at his side. Maybe this man from the past can guide to something better. He sounds like a good soul. Maybe he’ll help me find a use for this new power I have.

      Maybe he’ll be the teacher Elena always wanted us to find.

      TWO

      Allan flew.

      He’d come to enjoy flying to get around over long distances, like that from the castle to Elderwood Ford. He grew up poor, so he never had the chance to ride a horse, or ride in a carriage. He and his sister had to walk to get anywhere. Occasionally they had to run to get away from something or someone. He’d had to run to flee the city, almost a year ago. Being on foot reminded Allan of being poor.

      Not that he’d become rich. He had become a mage, at least by the standard of having read all of Damien’s books and learned to cast the spells within them. Learning magic gave Allan certain freedoms. He could use spells to find and kill game. He could use spells to keep himself warm. He could use spells to fly. Freedom wasn’t quite the same as having coins in your pocket, but for Allan it was close enough, and it felt good.

      He could savor the pleasure of flying only for so long. Flying required concentration. The first spell needed was to lift a body into the air. It took a little more energy for Allan to cast that spell on himself than on something or someone else, but not so much that he couldn’t move once he was in the air. The next spell was to move through the air. There was a spell for speeding up and slowing down. Turning required an adjustment by his body through the movement spell.

      Damien offered advice from the past on such combinations of spells. In one of his books he suggested that the mage cast spells into an object. Activation of spells cast into objects, or enchantments, could be controlled through spoken words or carved symbols, or runes. It would take a simple word or gesture to enact the desired enchantment.

      Allan chose to enchant a wooden rod with runes for flying any distance. All he had to do was move his thumb over the correct rune, tap it twice to activate the spell, and concentrate. He made a strap for his left forearm, so he could tuck the rod there once he arrived at his destination.

      It took him just over an hour to reach Elderwood Ford. Even though it was after dark, Allan had no trouble seeing the whole of the city. The first time he had flown here, everything was a surprise. There were the patterns of the fields and pastures leading to the city. There were the straight lines of the city streets, some wide, some narrow. The buildings were squares and rectangles, with the odd circle here and there.

      Some parts of the city were better lit at night than others. The Lord’s manor and the wall surrounding it were marked by the lanterns and torches carried by the guards. The river district, with its taverns and brothels, cast its own glow, brighter than the manor’s. The trades district, with its merchant and craftsman shops, had some building lights, but was also lit by guard lanterns.

      The only residential district that had any light was the one bounded by the trades district and the Lord’s manor. That was where the wealthiest members of the city lived. They had the only homes that His Lordship felt needed to be protected. Guard lanterns marked the patrol routes that tried to keep those homes safe from ruffians.

      Ruffians like Elena and I, Allan noted.

      He searched for a place to land. He would need water before he could continue. He saw the Temple of the Moon Goddess below him. He steered to the roof and came down as much like a leaf as he could.

      Part of him felt bad using the Temple as a landing spot. The priestesses there were kind to people like him and his sister.

      It related to their doctrine. They preached that the Moon had given birth to the Sun. The Sun, being a rebellious boy, out-shined his mother and demanded she be humble to his brightness and warmth. The Moon chose to make her son happy, but always reminded him of who came first, and who gave birth to whom. The priestesses had to be humble before the larger Church of the Sun, but that made them into humble servants of their goddess. As their goddess was a mother, so to did they have to be mothers. That meant, among other things, caring for the poor.

      Allan never felt much of a religious calling growing up. Gods and goddesses were unseen things, and therefore didn’t matter as much as food and shelter. Even now he wasn’t certain if anything preached by any priest or priestess was entirely true. He was more concerned about being seen as a poor guest of the Temple, by landing on its roof, than by offending any goddess.

      He used the pause in his flight to look around. He wasn’t sure if he would find anything to do from that vantage point. It was well above the streets, and afforded a wide view. It would be a shame to waste this chance.

      As he learned to cast spells from Damien’s old tomes, Allan wondered what he would do with the skills and spells he was acquiring. Clearly he couldn’t simply return to Elderwood Ford and become a mage. For one thing, mages hadn’t existed for centuries. People might try to kill him the moment he cast a spell in front of them.

      For another thing, he was might still be a wanted young man. A year of better eating had filled out his arms and legs. He’d also grown an extra half-palm of height, and he could now grown a beard and mustache. His face hadn’t changed all that much, though. He also couldn’t be certain that, by killing a man of wealth, he had a bounty placed on his head, or that it was still in place, waiting for him.

      Yet the advice given by the ancient mage in his first book, about using magic for good and selfless purposes, kept with Allan over the days and weeks that followed. So did the memory of his sister. The more he thought of her, the more he could hear her telling him that he ought to use his new talents to help people. She believed their survival depended on them not breaking the law whenever they had a choice. That they had to thank those that helped them. That if they had the chance to help others, they ought to, because those others might be willing to help them back.

      Allan had wondered about those notions his sister had. He stopped wondering and began to accept them as he read Damien’s narrative on the history of magic, and the little stories he’d drop in between the lessons on casting spells. Time and again, Damien would relate how using magic to benefit people resulted in benefits to the mage, while being selfish led to trouble. Damien was humble enough to relate his own mistakes in that regard, which made Allan trust the mage’s and his sister’s beliefs that much more.

      Allan understood that he had a way to help people that he didn’t before he’d fled the city. He had returned to Elderwood Ford for a few nights now, and had found no one to assist. True, he was coming at night. There might be more to help during the day. But at night his face would be harder to see, as it would when he cast spells.

      He saw nothing untoward going on from the roof of the Temple. No longer thirsty, he took his flying rod from its place and tapped the rune to lift him into the air. Moments after he rose upward, he heard a shout. He flew in the direction of the sound.

      A few streets away, he saw two men with their arms around a third man. The pair were dragging the third man through an alley. A piece of cloth was in the third man’s mouth. One of the pair said something to the third man, but Allan was too high to hear the man whisper.

      Allan lowered himself to get a better look at the men. The third man’s clothes were newer than the ones the pair wore. The pair of men had both drawn and sheathed daggers.

      When he saw the weapons, Allan knew what was going on. Every so often, someone would hire men like the pair to capture a man and hold him for ransom. While he and his sister lived on the streets, he remembered hearing a few times of a herald’s report of a disappearance, followed a day or so later with news that the disappeared had returned home. The word on the street about the incident was always the same: someone had collected a ransom for the life of the man who’d gone missing.

      Allan was aware that it was a crime, and that the kidnappers made coins from the act, but he never learned why anyone would commit such a deed. It seemed risky: taking a man off the streets, hiding him, telling his family that he’d be returned if the kidnappers were given enough money, and letting the man go once the money was paid. There was so much that could go wrong.

      Maybe if I stop that kidnapping, I’ll find out something.

      Allan knew he couldn’t just land and start a fight. The kidnappers were armed, and he wasn’t. He would need time, and magic, to make any fight more even. He listed the possible spells in his head as quickly as he could.

      He settled on a spell to blow a concentrated blast of wind at the trio. He focused on the men as they were about to leave the alley. He cast the spell.

      The burst of wind sent the men sprawling into the next street. Allan aimed for the larger of the two kidnappers. He aimed his body and flew. As the man was getting up, Allan kicked at the man. His foot struck the man in the upper chest.

      For an instant Allan lost control of his flight after striking the blow. He got his focus back, and landed on the street. His foot stung a bit, but otherwise he felt fine.

      He glanced at the scene. The man being kidnapped was lying in the street, his eyes wide. The man Allan had just kicked was also in the street, gasping for air. His accomplice was turning to face Allan. He’d dropped one of his daggers, but had drawn another.

      Allan decided that another blow of air might knock the second man down. He focused his attention on the spell, raised his right arm, and pushed his fist at the other man.

      His blow landed in the man’s belly. The man staggered back a couple of steps and bent over. Allan dashed at the man. He grabbed the man’s right arm so he couldn’t use his dagger. He yanked the man’s arm. As the man fell forward, Allan pushed up his knee. His knee hit the man in the lower gut, just above the groin.

      Allan jerked the man’s knife from him, then turned to the other kidnapper. The man had gotten to his feet, but was still gasping. He started towards Allan with an uncertain stride.

      Allan cast a third blast of air. The impact sent the man down with a loud groan of pain. Allan turned back to the second man; he was still down, and holding his body.

      Allan stepped to the man the kidnappers had captured. He pulled the cloth out of the man’s mouth. He went behind the man.

      Why were you being kidnapped? he asked.

      The man didn’t reply. Allan saw that the man’s wrists had been bound quickly with twine. He used the knife he’d take from the second man to cut the twine.

      Who are you? Allan asked. Why were you being kidnapped?

      The man stood up. He looked at Allan for an instant, shook his head, and ran away down the street.

      Allan shook his head. Not even a word of thanks.

      A wave of exhaustion fell over him. He heard himself start to gasp. A moment later he realized that two men were slowly recovering from his blows. He drew his flying rod, tapped it, and rose into the air. As he turned away he heard voices below. He saw a lantern in the distance.

      He flew away from the scene as fast as he could. He headed back to the Temple. This time he landed behind the structure. Patches of grass ran around the sides and rear of the Temple. The priestesses frowned on people trampling on the grass, but he’d never known them to force someone off if they were resting on it.

      Besides, it’s night. No one will be out tending the grounds at night.

      Allan cast a shielding spell before trying to go to sleep. He was vaguely aware that, if someone found him and tried to touch him, they’d hit the shield, and that might not be a good thing. But he was tired. More tired than he’d been in weeks. He needed sleep, and he needed to be safe.

      When he woke up, the first light of dawn was coming over the city. It took him a few moments to realize where he was, and what time it was. He knew he couldn’t fly out of the city. People were waking up, like him, and would see him.

      I’m at the Temple. Maybe I should hide here until tonight.

      Allan stepped off the grass. He walked around to the front of the building. He waited on the sidewalk for several moments. Finally the main doors of the Temple opened.

      An older woman in white and yellow robes saw him. Yes, young man?

      Could I trouble you for some breakfast, Lady of the Moon?

      She looked him up and down. Are you certain that’s all you need, young man?

      What do you mean?

      You look like you need a bath, and new clothes.

      Allan hadn’t realized how ragged he appeared. He’d had to fix, then replace, his clothes with bits of hide from the game he’d killed for food. Occasionally he went to the nearby stream for a bath, but he hadn’t used soap in ages.

      I suppose I do need a little more help, Lady.

      Come in, then. We’ll see what we can do.

      ***

      Allan left the Temple a few hours later with a full belly, a new shirt, new leggings, new shoes, and a clean body. He’d had the chance to shave, but chose to only trim the small beard he had. His face might still be on a wanted poster in town.

      Once back on the street, he pondered his actions the previous night. I was adequate during that fight, he noted, but I had to rely on magic. I got winded pretty fast, from both the fighting and the casting.

      He’d learned to fight living on the streets. He and his sister had to if they were to stay alive. What they’d learned, though, was no so much how to win, but how to disable an opponent enough to get away.

      That sort of fighting doesn’t really put a man down. It knocks him over long enough for you to run. If I’d have fought more men, or had to fight to escape, I might not have gotten away.

      He looked at his body. I suppose I’m not quite built for fighting, either. Maybe I should learn a thing or two about fighting before I come back and try to help someone else.

      It seemed to him that, aside from a guard or a mercenary, the best man to ask about fighting was a weapon-smith. Allan went to the nearest shop, but was told, Beggars aren’t welcome. The smiths at the next two shops told him they didn’t have time for boys and their questions.

      The fourth shop was tucked away along a quiet street next to a large blacksmith shop. Inside the shop was a solitary smith. The man was tall, a head taller than Allan, with dark hair, dirty clothes, huge arms, and a patch over his left eye. He was hammering on the point of a spear.

      Yes, lad? he asked. His voice was loud and raspy.

      I wonder if I might trouble you for a bit of your time, Allan said.

      Time, lad?

      Yes. I have some questions about learning to fight.

      And you chose to ask me? He stopped hammering. Couldn’t ask a guard, could you?

      Maybe not.

      Fair enough. Lucky for you that I don’t need that much work.

      You don’t? Why?

      I own the blacksmith shop next door, and the stable next to it.

      How did you do that?

      By being good at one I do. This patch notwithstanding.

      Oh.

      So, what’s on your mind?

      Well, sir, first, how does a man get the strength to wield a sword, or a spear?

      The name’s Owen, young man.

      Pleased to meet you, Master Owen. I’m Allan.

      Owen nodded. Allan. He stopped hammering again. Practice, young Allan. You get good with a weapon by using it. You get strong by using it.

      Allan let out a laugh and shook his head. Of course.

      Well, you being a young man, and not the son of a nobleman or mercenary, it wouldn’t seem obvious till you gave it a moment’s thought.

      No, I guess not.

      Any reason why you want to know about fighting?

      Just curious.

      I see. Is that all you wished to ask?

      What’s a good weapon for a young man like me to carry?

      Depends on why you need a weapon.

      To defend myself.

      A dagger’s as good as anything.

      Really? I thought it was just for poor folk and criminals.

      It is. But a dagger is easy to hide. It’s also easy to get good at. Owen waved his hammer at the wall, away from his anvil and forge. See those swords? Pick one of them.

      Allan picked a sword at random. Yes?

      Stand there, and swing it around a bit.

      Allan did so for a few moments.

      Feel your arm getting tired, lad?

      Yes, now that you mention it. Allan put the sword back on the weapons rack.

      That’s the bad thing about any weapon bigger than a knife, lad. You use it long enough, and it’ll tire you out. That’s why it takes years to get good with a sword, or a spear, or something like that. A dagger, on the other hand, won’t tire you out as fast, so it’s easy to get good with it.

      How do you get good with it?

      Like anything. Practice.

      I mean, what do you do with it, other than stab someone?

      There’s your trouble right there, lad. Let’s say I come at you with this hammer, and you’ve got your dagger. I’m taller than you, so my reach is longer than yours, yes?

      Yes.

      I’m stronger than you, so my blows are going to hit you hard.

      Sure.

      But, if you dodge my first blow, and slash at my arm, you’ll take me down. Think about it an instant or two.

      Allan pictured the scene in his mind. He nodded once he saw what Owen meant. Yes, I see what you mean.

      That’s how you learn to use a dagger, lad. Learn to move, learn to slash, learn to block, and learn to thrust effectively. Thing is, it’s not a skill you can find a teacher for.

      You have to learn on your own.

      Right. If you do, you’ll be ahead of most men. Most of them that has a dagger never learns more than to stick into someone else. You learn to fight with it, and you’ll keep yourself alive. Most of the time.

      What do you mean, most of the time, Master Owen?

      A good weapon isn’t worth much without skill. A good man with a weapon won’t last long without armor.

      Armor? Allan nodded again. Do folk like me wear armor?

      They could, if they gave it much thought. I say armor, and you think of chest plates and leg guards and shields, yes?

      Yes.

      What about leather?

      Leather armor?

      Sure. Guards and mercenaries wear leather under plate or mail. Reinforce the leather with a bit of padding, and you’re safe from glancing blows.

      Maybe magic can make leather even better protection. What about the arms and legs?

      Good boots will protect your lower legs. You can fashion arm guards out of leather to protect your wrists. Owen looked Allan in the eyes. You sure you’re only asking to protect yourself, lad?

      Yes, sir, I am.

      What are you protecting yourself from?

      Danger. Shouldn’t every young man be worried enough to live to old age?

      Owen let out a gruff laugh. I suppose. Is that the last of your questions?

      For now, Master Owen. I may come back.

      Come back to buy, and I’ll answer any question you have.

      I’ll keep that in mind. Good day.

      Good day to you, lad.

      Allan walked out of the shop. Well, I have the dagger, and I can get the hides to make leather. I’ll need to know about making boots and leather armor.

      He looked up at the sky. It’s almost midday. Looks like I’ve found a way to spend the day. So long as I don’t attract any attention, I should learn what I need to know, and then I can return to the castle. Then what?

      Then come back and be better at helping people.

      THREE

      Allan paused.

      In his right hand was a coin purse. It belonged to an older man standing a few paces away. It had been stolen from the man.

      A more accurate statement of the facts was that the man had given it to a young man. That young man had put a knife to the man’s back and demanded his coins. Allan had landed behind the young man, after following him for a few blocks.

      Allan didn’t have time to challenge the thief. He came at Allan with his knife. Allan brushed the knife back with the leather gauntlet on his right arm. He used a wind spell to blow the thief into the nearest building wall. The attack didn’t deter the thief. Allan again brushed aside the knife, then struck the thief’s upper chest with his fist. That stopped him. Allan struck the thief in his gut, and used the wind spell again. The thief was sprawled on the street, gasping for air.

      In the struggle the thief had dropped the coin purse. Allan picked it up. As he did, the older man said, Thank you.

      Allan looked at the owner of the purse. The man was of average height with a stout build. His shirt was white and clean. His leggings were dark, as were his boots. His boots and shirt appeared to be new. He had a gold ring on his right ring finger, and two silver rings on the fingers of his left hand. It was the rings and clean clothes that gave Allan pause. Clearly the man was wealthy.

      A thought came to him: Would the loss of these coins be so bad to him?

      I don’t know if I should give you these back. The words were out of his mouth before he realized it.

      The older man’s eyes widened. He shook his head. You’re a thief, too?

      No. Allan’s mind raced. What I mean is, did you earn these?

      What?

      Remembering that his leather helmet covered the top half of his face, Allan took a confident step towards the man. There’s men in this city that can afford the loss of a few coins. Are you one of them?

      No.

      Why not?

      My grandfather built our brewery. My father ran it well, and now I do the same. I work hard to earn a living.

      And you pay the men you hire well?

      As well as I can.

      Allan tossed the purse to the other man. Here.

      The man caught the purse. Thank you?

      Allan shook his head. Don’t thank me. Instead, give a coin or two to a poor fellow on the street.

      The man waved at the thief. Who? Him?

      Allan knew the young man who had tried to steal the purse. He couldn’t remember his name, but he remembered his face. He had brown eyes, and two scars on his left cheek. He’d lost his father in the same plague that had killed Allan’s parents.

      The boy was bitter about the loss, and bitter that it had left him struggling on the streets. That bitterness made him violent at times. Allan and his sister had saw the boy get his scars by taking on a bigger young man over half a loaf of bread, while they and several other youths were hiding out in an abandoned house. The boy got scarred, but the young man was killed.

      It would have been just another scene, except that his sister told him not to take the wrong lesson from the fight. Stealing is always bad, she had said.

      Why?

      One, it’s against the law. You steal from the wrong man, and he’ll send the guards after you.

      How do you know who the wrong man is?

      That’s it, Allan. You won’t. Two, stealing leads to other troubles. I’ll bet that bigger boy stole that bread. So the guards didn’t get him. That younger boy did.

      What if he’d shared the bread?

      That might have kept him alive, but that’s not a reason to steal. Think about it. First you steal from someone who has a full purse. Then you get a little desperate, and you steal from someone with a half-full purse. Then you get really desperate, and you steal from someone with a nearly empty purse. You steal once, and it’s easy to steal again.

      Allan hadn’t learned much of morality from their parents, so he relied on his sister. Back then he wasn’t sure if what she was saying was true. Over time he realized that she was right. They survived as long as they did in part because they had morals and standards.

      That was why Allan had followed the young man when he had spotted him. He knew the young man was desperate, and angry, and would do anything to stay alive. That was why he interrupted the theft of the coins.

      Allan pointed at the young man, still lying stunned on the street. Help him? he asked the older man. No. But remember him. Being poor made him desperate. Being poor made him angry. If you’d have tried to fight him, you’d be dead.

      Do you know him?

      I’ve known young men like him.

      If you know he’s trouble, why should I help him?

      You don’t have to help him. You should help who you can. Save those you can from turning into men like him. When you don’t, you create thieves like him.

      The older man shook his head. Who are you?

      The man who saved you. The man who’s asking you to save others.

      Allan didn’t think he had anything more to say. He also heard noise coming up from behind him. He took out his flying rod, tapped it, and soared into the sky above the city. Feeling tired, he decided to head back to the castle.

      ***

      His outing the previous night weighed on Allan’s mind as he fixed his breakfast. He was surprised at what he’d said, but also not surprised by it. Thinking about it, what he’d said and what he’d done had felt right then, and still felt right the morning after.

      It’s one thing to keep a man from being robbed, he mused. Saving him didn’t feel right without asking him if he needed to be saved. It didn’t feel right unless he knew about the scarred young man.

      Allan had been returning to Elderwood Ford, every week, for a few months now. He had gotten better at fighting; last night’s adventure had proven that. He’d done a little good here and there, but it hadn’t felt like he’d accomplished all that much.

      Until last night. Until I said what I had to say.

      Allan looked around the ruin that had become his home. What I said wasn’t just what my sister had taught me. It’s also what Damien had written, in his history of magic. You have to use your power to help people, or they get resentful of it. I guess it’s the same for money, too. If you don’t use it to help people, you create boys like that thief. Boys, men, who would kill for half a loaf of bread.

      Allan could see contradictions in his actions the previous night. It was obvious that using his power to cast spells, as well as his increasing skill at fighting, could protect people like the older man from becoming victims of criminals. It was equally obvious that doing so was right and just.

      Yet it was as obvious that the scarred youth wasn’t evil, but desperate to stay alive. No one helped him in his time of need, thus he felt no obligation to help anyone else. He had no trouble stealing, even killing, because that lack of help severed any connections had to strangers. If they had something he wanted, be it gold coins or a scrap of meat, he’d try to take without a second thought.

      That’s what my sister warned me about, after we saw him get his scars. You head down that path, and you don’t see people. You see things, and people just get in the way.

      That’s also what Damien wrote about. Many of those old mages didn’t care about who they hurt when they rose to power, or picked a fight, or decided they wanted to live well. They used magic to get what they wanted. They saw things, and brushed the people away.

      That left Allan with a question. Now that I understand that, what do I do about it?

      The obvious answer was to continue doing what he was doing. He should return to Elderwood Ford and make it a better place.

      I can’t return as myself. I might still be wanted. If someone saw me, they’d know what I did. Then I might have to use my magic out in the open to save myself.

      Allan caught sight of his leather helmet and face-mask. If I kept wearing that, no one would see most of my face. I’m older, and my voice is different from when it was when I fled. I’m taller, and getting stronger. As long as I wear that, no one would recognize me.

      I couldn’t do much during the day. Well, I could, but I’d need spells to disguise my hair and eyes. Maybe some other clothes, too. If I kept to the streets, and avoided the guards, I might be able to move around somewhat during the day.

      Doing what? I can’t just fight crime. I have to fight for justice. I have to defend people like my sister and me against those who harm us, be it criminals or the rich men who use their wealth and power to get their way.

      He looked at the mask again. Would anyone notice what I was doing? Should they?

      He sat up straight. Yes, they should. That merchant needed to know why he was being robbed. Maybe me telling him why will make him give a little more to those who don’t have anything. They can’t just know that someone is standing up for them; the need to know that they can stand up for themselves, too.

      That was something else Damien wrote. People rallied around mages when mages helped the people. When mages only helped themselves, no one helped them. He was sure that’s what led to their downfall, once the magus diminished.

      He took a deep breath. Fine. Who should they notice? Not Allan the poor young man. Certainly not Allan the mage.

      What was it I thought before? Defend people.

      Yes! The Defender.

      He nodded. Well, it’s something. Now, how to I go about being this Defender?

      I can’t go back and try to stop every crime. I could never do that.

      Memories of life on the streets of the city flooded into his mind. While some crime was carried out by individuals, other actions were directed. There were groups of youth organized into bands of thieves. There was the dark brothel someone warned them about, where women were taken into prostitution against their will. There was Conner's Crew, a group who forced some of the shops by the river to pay to keep them safe.

      There are men giving orders to some of the criminals in Elderwood Ford.

      He sucked in a breath. That also means that the guards aren’t always allowed to act against all the crime that happens. If they did, the men giving the orders would lose money. That means there must be some reason why the guards don’t do more.

      He let out a breath. That must be the reason for my actions. I have to find out who those men are, who are protecting them, and see to it that they are dealt with. I can’t stop all crime, but maybe I can stop men from gaining power and profit from crime.

      FOUR

      Allan dodged.

      He knew there was a risk about going into the den of one of the gangs of boy thieves. He would be outnumbered if there was trouble. He decided not to enter the abandoned store that one group was hiding out in until close to dawn. Those in the group who had been out would be tired from the night’s activity. The rest would be asleep.

      Allan’s attention focused on the boy who appeared to be the oldest. That boy wasn’t the largest in the group, and that was why Allan wanted to question him. The bigger boys were the tough ones, from his experience, while the older ones acted more like leaders. He needed a leader if he was going to learn more about this gang.

      He thought he had come in without much noise. He thought he had approached his target quietly. Most of the children in the group were sleeping on the ground floor. The boy Allan wanted was in the remains of a room on the second floor. Allan was aware that there were two or three other boys nearby on the second floor. His hope had been that he would be able to snatch his prey and be gone before anyone noticed.

      One of the other boys heard or saw something, because just as Allan was about to open the door, he heard footsteps racing towards him. He turned; one of the larger boys was charging at him.

      What do you want? the boy demanded. His voice was low but menacing.

      The boy in charge, Allan snapped.

      He bent down and thrust out his right

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