Dear readers, tonight with us is a metaphysical adept – also known as a wizard. He’s here to speak about wandering his lands, about his adventures, betrayal, and the practicality of red robes.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

Oh. *laughs* That was so long ago, and so much has happened since, I can barely recall. You see, I am an itinerant, a nomad, I have no fixed abode but the earth itself, and it is my pleasure to call every person my friend. I am as happy on a bed of moss as I am in a tavern spare room or manor’s guest chambers, alone or amidst the roars of the beer house. But home for me will always, wherever my feet may tread, be Voerlund, in the small towns and villages and wilds as much as the ancient splendour of Lundermark. Background, though, background…well, I spent many years as the official court wizard of a Knight out east, that was a rare thing, and they are dear memories, now long ago.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

Well, as I said, I spent quite some time as a court wizard for a Knight out in eastern Voerlund, in a small county called Zagrest, a fair ways in from the borderlands. The lord of the keep back then was a Sir Kobyla—that’s koh-bill-ah, make sure you write that down. He was a good-natured fellow with a stern but fair streak, and held to his duties, his responsibilities, and his obligations with absolute conviction. Was a real follower of the Lunderman honour code. Now, I ended up there as part of some retinue, I think I had come in with a caravan or something, and the Knight hired me, a budding sorcerer, to help him with a particular issue in the keep. It was badly haunted, you see, and the ghosts were terribly grotesque, owing to some grim, forgotten deed amidst the colourful history of our nation. It was, in due time, and with much difficulty, cleared out. But we made a fine team, and Sir Kobyla’s son Harrik took to me so well, that I was offered a place in the castle. Now, Kobyla was a practical man, and having a magician he could trust around helped cover every base. Under his roof I gained access to much magical literature, and I was no slouch before, believe you me. But with Kobyla’s resources, Castle Zagrest was probably the most secure keep in the entire nation—Lundermark aside, of course. His son was a student of mine for years, too, partly at Kobyla’s behest. Clearly I’m not there anymore, because like much of Voerlund, old rivalries bubble to the surface between old families, and Kobyla and his people, including myself, found themselves ousted by an overwhelming invading force of treacherous bastards, excuse my language. The Knight didn’t survive. Oh, if I could do then what I can do now… But I suppose it also means I wouldn’t have been able to help all the people I have these past few decades. I suppose part of me does this for Kobyla and Harrik.

What do you do now?

I have been a metaphysical adept—that’s what they call strange folks like myself in the Arragad College in Silverden, everywhere else I am a wizard—for my entire life, or close enough. I like to think of myself as a steward of the land and the people, if that’s not too presumptuous. *laughs* I wander where I may, or where the gods give me little nudges as needs be. I have variously been described as an enigmatic sorcerer, nonsensical mystic, noble magician, old sage, rascal, and strange old man—all of it true, of course.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?.

Oh, Serpent’s Breath—again, my language—where was I last…oh yes, yes, that bad business in the capital—in Lundermark. Glad to oblige the Lunderman lords when I can. Before that…I think it was Silverden, yes, that poor child. Only a little girl, she was. Now that was nasty work. Took no small effort to do what I could. And no meagre measure of anger, I don’t mind saying. I’m glad to report she made it through, but she very nearly didn’t. Not with what that bastard had done to her, and he’s a pile of rotting cinders now. Apologies for my language again. Before that, I think I was somewhere north of Baletor, east of Voerlund, on the coast where I’d encountered—ah, well, helping deal with some curious weather and sickness. All gone, too. Very little gets away from me!

What was the scariest thing in your adventures?

The willingness of human beings to surrender themselves body and soul for scraps from their master’s table. You’ll have to excuse me if I am not terribly talkative about that. Even if I did explain it to you, which I won’t, I don’t think I could adequately describe the horror and tragedy of it. The most you’ll get from me, friend, is what I told the parents of that little girl in Silverden: there is a darkness beyond the ken of man, and the thought of it is not safe to have in your head. And besides, it tends to get me angry.

What is the worst thing about being a nomad?

Oh, knowing that nameless shadows are at every moment festering around the souls of the world, and that I can’t be everywhere at once. Or the damp, perhaps would that be a more amenable answer? I enjoy rain, but that kind of…you know, that low but soaking damp from drizzle or heavy fog that clings, that refuses to leave your cuffs and collar. A life of perpetual wandering has had me experience everything the elements can muster, and apart from scorching summer suns—I loathe the high heat—the damp drives me up the damn wall.

What is the best thing about it?

Well, everything else, of course! I have been all over the known world, I’m at least one person’s story in every major city, and I have inns that know me, even if I don’t manage to return for a dozen seasons. There is always a new corner of the lands I haven’t set foot in. I get to eat so much interesting food, too, it has let me maintain this well-fed physique of mine for decades now. *laughs* And I’ve seen sights of such beauty, too—mountain cult carnivals in full swing in Baletor, stars shimmering upon Lake Manatar during grand divinations, I’ve seen sunrise spilling over the broad hilltops of Minosmir setting the palaces aflame with light, and I’ve seen little Viner’s Night winter feasts in small Voerlund villages. They all stay with me. They all leave their mark. They are at my back when I am facing darkness. Along with Kobyla and Harrik, I do it for them, too.

Tell us a little about your friends.

Shall I name every life in the world? Every human, every tree, every beast and spirit, or every elemental which rises and falls with the dawn rays or winter rainfall or within ancient groves? I love them, each and every one. I mean that.

Any romantic involvement?

*laughs* No, no.

Whom (or what) do you really hate?

I’ll tell you what I really hate. I hate traitors. The betrayal of trust, safety, kinship is, to me, the most horrendous act a living thing can do to another, and it comes in many forms, some subtle, some overt. But to me, the subtle manipulation is worse than domination or blunt coercion. There is something profoundly disturbing about someone, or something, who works in secret to control another. I have little, if any, mercy for them. Especially when it puts another person in danger. I don’t believe any betrayals are lesser than others, but I believe—I know, that there are betrayals far more perilous than most.

What’s your favourite drink, colour, and relaxing pastime?

You want those or something broader? Well, colour itself is broad enough! I think every colour appeals to me, at different times, in different places. My robes are red, yes, but that’s…more of a practical concern, rather than sartorial. Colours have properties that work upon the mind, upon the heart—thought and feeling, and thus magic. Red is life, hot life, blood, heat, motion, passion. You see my staff here, the deep earthen brown, the different hues in the grain, that matters, too. I have here…a little gem, a piece of crystallized ancient fire—notice the almost simmering orange, it just about waves as you look, doesn’t it? That rich orange is warm, it’s not like how yellow is bright, and not hot like red, but it can flare into a forge’s heat! I delight in these things, you see. I am a magician, it is my life, my vocation, my pastime. Deadly serious? Oh yes, absolutely. But one’s life cannot be serious all the time, and magic is my life. And I do have a favourite drink, by the way, it’s a kind of weird broth you find in a few villages in west-central Voerlund. Very savoury, full of deep flavours, something to do with the mushrooms. Cooking is a sorcery I have yet to master, so I enjoy the mystery.

What does the future hold for you?

I’ll go wherever my fancies take—or wherever the gods give me a nudge. I’ll never ignore that, and for good reason. I may be needed somewhere. I usually am. But I think I’ll make my way to Minosmir in the south-east, I don’t get there very often because it’s so far, but the hills are gorgeous in summer. Oh, but really anything could happen. I usually get caught up in something in Minosmir—had a young baron’s heir a while back get a little too close to…well, something bad. I hear he’s doing fine, though. I could end up in Farhaven out west, which thinking on it, doesn’t sound like a bad idea. It’s a port city, I love its distinct flavour of bustle, and the sea air. Always something interesting to see. And I’m also due for a trip across the sea soon, too, into the Macha deep forests, to keep up my covenants with the great elementals. But I will always return to Voerlund. I may pass again through Lundermark, the capital, actually. Oldest city in the world, you know. Very potent place.

Can you share a secret with us, which you’ve never told anyone else?

I have only one secret, and as I have said: it is dangerous to have your head. I will leave it in the World Serpent’s care when I go to my grave. Or wherever else I may go. But did you know there’s an entire civilization of elemental beings who dwell under the earth who can shape raw ore with their very fingertips? They don’t even have to refine it, they can sort of just…feel out the metals they want, and mould them there and then. Oh, yes, they live leagues under the surface, and you find them just about everywhere, on both sides of the sea. Very odd folks, but gentle. Probably in the interior lands, too. Speaking of them, I’ve only been a few leagues in twice—I think, it was on Baletorian or Minosmirii expeditions—but both times, or however many times, I’ve seen things in the distance I swear are towering reptiles. Storeys high. And not drakes, either. Maybe decades from now they’ll find me wandering the still unmapped vastlands. Who knows?

Sean Hill is a fantasy writer and wizard enjoyer from in Dublin, Ireland. He has spent a lifetime cobbling together as disparate a collection of influences as possible (kung fu movies, Dark Souls, and Francis Bacon sit side by side and they like it). Sean self-publishes new flash fiction stories every week over on his Substack, Shadows & Sorcery. As of this moment in time, he has written over six hundred pieces of fantasy flash fiction, as well as nearly thirty chapters of an ongoing serial hosted there as well, and experts say it won’t stop any time soon.

You can find Carloman amongst Sean Hill’s free stories on his Substack.

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