We should all spare a thought, as we gallop by on our enormous chargers, for the enchanters who make our adventures possible. Who exactly constructs all those perilous beds that get transfixed in the middle of the night by flaming lances? Those fountains with bowls of water that, if poured out, cause meteorologically unlikely storms? Those tomb-stones that can only be moved by the one named in the prophecy? What poor sods have to take a nasty hallucinogenic and produce the prophecy in the first place? Enchanters, that’s who. Tim was an enchanter. He was good at fireballs. He also grew fruit-trees and tomatoes, did carpentry and kept goats, because there isn’t much money in enchanting, even if you’re good at it, which Tim was.
Tim had a suitably baroque wizard’s grotto in the Forest of Adventures. He’d acquired it when the previous inhabitant had been killed in a magic duel by his mum, who could be over-eager to help sometimes. However, he had made it his own, decorating it in his rather stylish way, and bringing in his two magical beasts, the Colour-Changing Cat and the Blood Red Bird. He often worked in partnership with the two neighbouring enchanters, Blaise and Emrys. Recently, however, Emrys had been seized with enthusiasm and abruptly moved to the opposite side of the Forest, where he was busy making friends with all the woodland creatures and constructing odd, complicated bits of magic of his own. He came back to visit sometimes, looking extremely cheerful. It was therefore to Blaise that Tim went when he noticed something worryingly wrong with the local lake. It had a bilious, bulgy appearance and was a good eighteen inches higher than normal. This can easily happen to a lake if too many swords of the wrong kind are cast into it, but it’s a bugger to fix. Tim thought he could do with a hand. Continue reading “Tim the Enchanter”