Submitted for the January 2026 prompt: Auld Acquaintance

The Baron's wound was bad today. Wise folk were staying clear, but that wasn't an option for Podwyn.

 

He listened as his father ranted. "He's stealing river water for his gardens!" groused the Baron. "The gods-given rain isn't enough, no, that wizard has to meddle."

 

"Their melon crop is better than ours, Father."

 

"I know their crop is better, dolt! What have I been saying? By the gods, I wish your brother were here!"

 

So did Podwyn. Lucky Cyril was in service with the King, not stuck in a crumbling castle with a sick old man.

 

"Perhaps, Father..." he faltered.

 

"Perhaps what?! Come, boy: speak!"

 

Podwyn swallowed hard. "Perhaps we should do the same, and grow better melons ourselves."

 

The baron sneered. "And let it be known we copied a wizard?"

 

"W-well, but—"

 

"But what?"

 

"We'd have better melons," Podwyn said.

 

The old man drew back a gloved fist. "And he needn't," Podwyn added hurriedly.

 

"Needn't what? Speak plain, boy!"

 

"Needn't have melons. We could go by night—"

 

"Trample the wizard's fields, would you? Ha! 'Twould take a brave man for that! Now, if Cyril were here..."

 

The Baron was diverted. Wizards were not a safe topic, not now there was a real one. Much better in stories, Podwyn thought. Magic potions and books of spells...

 

The idea escaped unbidden. "Steal his book!"

 

The Baron, who'd been ranting about something completely different by now, was taken aback. "Eh? Whose book?"

 

"Th-the wizard's! His book of spells, I mean. W-without it, he can't curse anyone, and we could do as we liked!"

 

"Ha! Steal from a wizard? Young fool!" His father laughed harshly.

 

"I could, I bet. I'd pretend to be curious, there to learn, and—"

 

The blow came from nowhere, knocking Podwyn to the floor. "You? You've all the guile of a milk cow!" the Baron mocked. "Witling!"

 

Podwyn, who'd more than once experienced the cow's hoof-in-the-bucket trick, held his tongue about the guile of cows. Besides, there was only one way to convince the old man.

 

* * *

 

The next day Podwyn went out under pretense of collecting pig-nuts. He walked upstream to the wizard's holding, stopping to gather nuts on the way — and his nerve along with them.

 

The wizard's town was surprisingly normal, no colored smoke or slimes, and certainly no monsters. It was just another village, like the one outside his castle gate. Only here the peasants didn't lower their eyes, but looked with frank curiosity. His father would have flown into a rage at their insolence. Podwyn asked directions.

 

They sent him to a sturdy wooden dwelling. He knocked.

 

The man who answered was big as a blacksmith, with curly black hair and a broad belly. "What can I do for you?"

 

"I'm here to see the wizard," Podwyn replied.

 

"And now that you have?" The big man grinned. "Come in! I'd wondered how long it would take."

 

He led the way into a cluttered room crammed with the strangest items imaginable. Podwyn peered in wonderment at the marvelous devices filling the high shelves and long, low table.

 

"Take a seat. What is it, the baron's injury? Looking for a cure?"

 

"I... the Baron didn't... You can cure it?"

 

"Perhaps," the wizard said. "I'd have to examine him. But you say that's not why you're here."

 

"No, it's... Father, the Baron, doesn't know," Podwyn stammered. "I was, I wanted... Do you cast spells? Have books of magic?"

 

The wizard's eyes twinkled. "Magic, is it? Clarke's Law would say so, but no, I practice technology."

 

"Tack knowledge? Horses and harness?"

 

"Ha! Well, yes, now you mention it, but science means more than horsecollars." The big man smiled. "I have a book, but not magic, not the way you mean. Drawings of labor-saving devices, things to make life easier."

 

He brought out a beautiful tome, white and glossy. It was filled with brightly colored pictures, each page a treasure of magical inventions.

 

Inside Podwyn a thought blossomed: I need this book! He angrily suppressed it. No, here was something better: one who could teach, who treated him as an equal, something his father had never done.

 

The big wizard kept talking, saying things so incomprehensible he must be speaking mostly to himself. What was this "Council on Colonization"? What were "lost worlds"? Surely there was only one world!

 

"...and they'd still be arguing if I hadn't left to put theory into practice. As if it would hurt to reintroduce irrigation, medicine, basic machines! Look: a crane, with which a man can move objects several times his own weight. Here's a pulley, and this is basic distillation: arts your people have lost, and which I intend to teach."

 

"You— you mean anyone could... I could make these?" Podwyn gasped.

 

"Ho! Perhaps not that one, no," the wizard said and laughed. "I doubt you could even understand what a computer is for. No, but these, and those..."

 

But Podwyn did not hear, not after the laugh. I'm no fool to be mocked!

 

The wizard kept talking, oblivious, as years of suppressed rage bubbled up inside the young man. Suddenly, he drew his knife and in a single swift move, jammed it up under the big man's throat. The wizard fell.

 

Podwyn came to his senses a moment later, and found himself with blood on his hands, yelling at a corpse. He quieted, began trembling. He must escape! Except...

 

Quickly he recovered his knife and found water to clean himself. He hid the glorious book inside his jerkin. Then he tipped a candle on the cluttered table and watched as the flames crept from one item to another. Podwyn left quietly.

 

He now understood how rage could cause a man to lose control. He'd never hurt anyone before, certainly never killed. I must not let it happen again, he thought. I won't be like my father!

 

No, he would learn to build his own marvels. Soon, he too would be a wizard, and men would fear him.