\nThe magician\u2019s dog is a small terrier thing with coarse wiry hair. The magician calls him Rowan because of the reddish tint to his brown coat. He might weigh as much as twenty pounds soaking wet. Maybe. There\u2019s a bald patch on his left shoulder from a bout with mange a few years back and one of his ears has a notch missing from a scrap with a tomcat.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe dog is the kind of ratty little thing that most people would overlook. The dog doesn\u2019t mind being overlooked, because he has a secret. Not even the magician knows the secret, but that\u2019s not saying much. Lyndon, the magician, is pretty shit at magic.\n<\/p>\n
\nA better magician would notice the way Rowan\u2019s aura is out of sync with his shape, suggesting some kind of transformation has occurred. Most good magicians would get curious about that and use their skills to discover that Rowan\u2019s true form is human. A lucky one might even recognize that Rowan is none other than the missing-and-presumed-dead King Artis. However, there were only about two or three magicians in the whole world talented enough to reverse Rowan\u2019s curse after they learned his true identity. Lydon, obviously, is not one of them.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe\u2019s good at botany, though. That\u2019s the one thing that reliably pays his rent, and today he\u2019s walking back into town with a basket full of herbs, flowers, and tubers from his hike to the lake. Rowan trots along behind him, tongue lolling.\n<\/p>\n
\nIt was a marvelous walk. Rowan ate some grass, chased five rabbits, almost caught one of them before it disappeared into its little hidey hole, and pissed on too many things to count. His nose and his brain are still full of the smells of the plants and animals between here and there. It\u2019s enough to fill his little doggie dreams for days to come. On days like today, Rowan hardly misses being a man. Men have no idea of all the sensory pleasures they\u2019re missing out on.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat do you say to an ale?\u201d Lyndon asks the little dog. Rowan heads to the house of Mrs. Malster because his nose tells him that she\u2019s got a fresh batch of ale ready to sell to her neighbors. Lyndon buys them a mug and pours a little of it out into a dish for Rowan. The dog used to have a different name, years ago, but he doesn\u2019t mind Rowan. He\u2019s been called a lot of things, many of them vile. As the dog laps up his drink, his little doggie beard gets coated with foam. This afternoon is just about as good a day as he\u2019s ever had, and that\u2019s saying something considering the hedonism of his former life.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat\u2019s going, Lydon?\u201d Mrs. Malster asks as he drinks her ale.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m about to do some fresh ointments. I\u2019ve got a little pot of hand cream with your name on it if you\u2019ve got any dinner to go along with this drink.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019ve hardly enough for myself and my lads,\u201d she says, none too pleased at the prospect of making it stretch for one more mouth. Two, if you count Rowan, but she doesn\u2019t. Lyndon\u2019s happy to share his portion with the dog.\n<\/p>\n
\nLyndon holds up a big handful of borage and some wild garlic. \u201cYou can have these to add to the stew, if that sweetens the deal.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe grabs them and huffs off inside her little house to add them to the stew pot. As she goes, she mutters about the new taxes and how these days even a good alewife like herself can only afford a bit of bacon once a week. People mutter about taxes a lot these days. Or, maybe it\u2019s just that Rowan never noticed before he got cursed. He\u2019s noticed a lot of new things since that mad witch turned him into a dog.\n<\/p>\n
\nA bit later, as Lyndon and Rowan share their meal, Rowan can taste a hint of bacon in the porridge. There are no actual chunks of bacon in the stew, but stews like this get refreshed and recycled day after day and he thinks that maybe two days ago there was real bacon in it. There\u2019s still just a tiny bit of grease cooked into the oats. It\u2019s a good meal. It fills his belly up. Just as he\u2019s thinking that a nap in the late afternoon sunshine would be the ideal thing to do next, a man walks up to them.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHey, you\u2019re the magician, right?\u201d The man says to Lyndon. The man\u2019s clothes are a little nicer than Lyndon\u2019s and Mrs. Malster\u2019s. They\u2019ve probably only been handed down three times, and the patches are only one or two layers deep mostly. His body is well-muscled from hard work, but his boots are in good condition. The smell of coal and metal from his body fills Rowan\u2019s nostrils. Blacksmith. Good, skilled work. The man certainly has more money than the other two humans have.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI am,\u201d Lyndon replies. At the same moment, Mrs. Malster makes a kind of \u201chuh\u201d sound deep in her throat like she\u2019s almost, but not quite, ready to argue that title. She remembers the sleeping spell she asked him for to cure a bout of insomnia. She ended up sleeping for a week and almost got buried alive, because her family thought she had died. She stops herself from sharing that story, because Lyndon\u2019s hand cream is the only thing that keeps her chapped hands from bleeding in the winter. So she doesn\u2019t want to outright insult him.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cGood,\u201d the man says. \u201cI need a spell.\u201d He looks at Mrs. Malster and hesitates. \u201cIs there somewhere private we can talk?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nOnce they\u2019re inside of Lyndon\u2019s little shop, Rowan goes behind the curtain that separates the work area from the sleep area of the small room. He burrows into the blankets to sleep off the full belly and ale, but before he nods off, he hears the blacksmith talking to Lyndon about how he needs a love spell.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe next day, as Lyndon works on the spell, Rowan remembers his wife. Theirs had been an arranged marriage, of course. His father\u2019s idea to seal an alliance with the neighboring kingdom of Pencombe. Pencombe and Gateswic, united in matrimony. Oh glorious day! The wedding had been expensive, the bride haughty, and Rowan itchy. His most treasured memory of his wedding night was getting out of the heavily brocaded cloth-of-gold garments and plopping naked on his bed. Alone.\n<\/p>\n
\nThings only got worse from there. His new wife, Bruga, was needy and demanding, always wanting him to dine with her, to talk about matters of state, to try and impregnate her. It was all a massive bore. He avoided her every chance he got, running off to go on a hunt or to see one of his mistresses. Of course none of those mistresses truly cared about him. If they had, a visit to one of them would have fixed his curse years ago. No, he realized that all they ever wanted him for was his money, the weasels.\n<\/p>\n
\nSmoke poofs up from a bowl in front of Lyndon. The smell of singed eyebrows fills the room. \u201cHmm\u2026\u201d he says. He pokes at the mixture he\u2019s created. Then he says, \u201cI think that was right.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nRowan does not share his optimism. But, what does he know about magic? Even less than Lyndon, and that\u2019s saying something.\n<\/p>\n
\nThat night, after the two of them share their dinner, Lyndon opens a book a local apothecary loaned him. He thumbs through the index, then turns to the section about herbal remedies. Rowan jumps up on Lydon\u2019s bench and plops down beside the magician, so his side is pressed against the man\u2019s leg. Lyndon reaches down to pet the dog as he begins to read out loud. \u201cA preparation of pomegranates for the treatment of loose bowels and stomach worms\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nLyndon often reads to his dog. He doesn\u2019t have any expectation that Rowan understands, but Rowan has learned a few things. For starters, he\u2019s learned that most of the people who write these books have a fascination with bowels. As Lydon reads, he scratches Rowan gently along his back bone. He uses the perfect amount of pressure. Wedged between the arm of the chair and the magician, Rowan is warm and comfortable. He\u2019d rather be here than in his old drafty castle.\n<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\nThe next day, Lyndon packs it up in his basket along with a pot of hand cream. The first place they go is to find the blacksmith. This is the first time Rowan\u2019s been in a blacksmith\u2019s shop and he\u2019s surprised to see that most of it is missing walls. It\u2019s more of a big roof than anything else, with just a small section in the back closed off with walls. After a few moments inside, he starts to see the logic to it, though. Between the acrid smells, the smoke, and the sweaty armpit smell from the blacksmith, he\u2019s relieved there\u2019s a lot of open air to thin it all out.\n<\/p>\n
\nLyndon sits down on a stool and the blacksmith comes over to him.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHow does it work?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nLyndon holds out a bundle wrapped in cloth. \u201cInside there\u2019s a bottle, a candle, and a twig from an apple tree. The bottle is a special potion for you to drink, but don\u2019t drink it until there\u2019s a full moon. You have to stand out in the moonlight and drink it while you stand on your left foot and raise your right arm in the air. Then, when you get home, light the candle and go to bed with the stick under your pillow. Oh, and you need to get some hair from the woman. Wrap her hair around the stick.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe blacksmith doesn\u2019t like this last part. \u201cHow am I supposed to get her hair?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d Lyndon shrugs. \u201cI can\u2019t do everything for you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThis is bullshit,\u201d the blacksmith says. His right hand tightens on his hammer, and Rowan gets a bad feeling about where things are going.\n<\/p>\n
\nLyndon doesn\u2019t pay any attention to the threat. He holds out his hand, palm up. \u201cOf course, if you don\u2019t want to try it, I can take it back.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe blacksmith jerks his left hand back with the bundle in it, holding it close to his chest like a baby. \u201cNo,\u201d he says quickly. \u201cI have to get Winnie to love me. She\u2019s the only one I want.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThere you go, then\u201d Lyndon says. \u201cBut, I have to warn you, the spell can\u2019t make her love you. All it can do is put you in her thoughts and encourage her to think kindly of you. There\u2019s no magic anywhere that can force love. If she has any fondness for you, this will nudge it along.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThat\u2019s all I need,\u201d the blacksmith said. \u201cShe\u2019ll see. I\u2019m the one for her.\u201d He grins, showing three big gaps where teeth used to be. Rowan wonders who this Winnie gal is that she\u2019d see the man of her dreams in that grin. Oh well, he thinks, there\u2019s no accounting for taste.\n<\/p>\n
\nRowan has personal experience to vouch for Lyndon\u2019s words of caution. After eight years of marriage, he got his wife so furious that she called in a witch to put a curse on him. The witch took one look at him and said his problem was a cold heart. She said he didn\u2019t care about his wife (true), or his kingdom (also true), or his subjects (which, again, he admitted was accurate).\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen his father died and he became king, it only took him three months to realize he despised it. Ruling was the perfect combination of painfully tedious meetings and way too much pressure. To be frank, he was even worse at being a king than Lyndon is at being a magician. Rowan hated it. All that hate spilled over and, if he was being honest, it was no wonder Bruga got sick of him.\n<\/p>\n
\nSo his wife hired a witch and the witch changed him into a ratty little dog. She told him the only way to break the curse was to find true love, and dropped him out the window of a fast moving carriage in the rotten part of the city. For the first two years, he roamed from village to village and tried everything he could think of to make someone fall in love with him. All he got for his trouble was people yelling at him to get out, you stinking dog, and a few sharp kicks to the ribs.\n<\/p>\n
\nOne night he was so hungry, battered, and dejected that he stood on the bridge that went across some great big river near a port town and he stared down at the rushing water wondering how it would feel to just dive in. Would the fall kill him, or would he drown? He reached a paw out and touched the ledge. Two more steps and he\u2019d be in the drink.\n<\/p>\n
\nThen a voice behind him said, \u201cOh hello there little doggie. You look hungry.\u201d The dog heard the sound of someone rummaging around in their pockets. \u201cHere we are, I thought I had a bit of cheese left.\u201d Rowan turned around and saw Lyndon crouched down, holding out a rind of cheese. \u201cI could use a little company,\u201d the magician said.\n<\/p>\n
\nRowan went to him cautiously. There were plenty of foul men he\u2019d met that seemed nice at first. Rowan gobbled up the cheese and Lyndon smiled at him. \u201cThat\u2019s a good little doggie,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd you\u2019ve only got a moderate case of fleas. I\u2019m sure I can clear that right up. I have a new recipe with fleabane that\u2019s coming along nicely. Come on,\u201d he motioned for Rowan to follow. That\u2019s how a former king became the magician\u2019s dog.\n<\/p>\n
\nToday, on the way home from the blacksmith, they brought Mrs. Malster her pot of hand cream. She asks how it went with the blacksmith, adding, \u201cWhat happens if it goes wrong?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m sure it won\u2019t,\u201d Lyndon says. \u201cA love spell is an easy thing, really. I\u2019ve done them loads of times.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAnd how many of them have worked?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nLyndon doesn\u2019t pay attention to the question. \u201cI\u2019ve added a bit of orange oil in the hand cream along with the usual lavender,\u201d he says. \u201cTell me if you like the scent.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nMrs. Malster smiles at him. She\u2019s got a soft spot for the magician, even though she\u2019d never trust one of his spells. His hand cream is excellent, though, and that\u2019s more important than a spell to her. Her hands get especially sore after laundry day and she\u2019s got a great wash tomorrow. She dabs a bit of the hand cream out of the pot and rubs it in, groaning with pleasure. \u201cThat feels better already,\u201d she says. She gives them a bit of stale bread as a bonus.\n<\/p>\n
\nTheir good luck doesn\u2019t last for long, though. Two days after the full moon, the blacksmith charges into the shop with a snarl on his face and his big forge hammer in his hand. \u201cYou!\u201d he shouts as he points accusingly at Lyndon. \u201cYou ruined it! She hates me now!\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nLydon raises his hands in front of him, as if he could ward off a big hulk of fury like the blacksmith. \u201cNo, I\u2019m sure I did it right.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cShe said she dreamed about me,\u201d the blacksmith yells, so mad that he\u2019s literally spitting. \u201cShe dreamed that we were husband and wife. She said that I beat her and made her miserable.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nRowan doesn\u2019t like the way the blacksmith is leaning forward, looming over the magician. He doesn\u2019t like the way that vein in the blacksmith\u2019s forehead is throbbing, or the stench of fury spraying from his pores. The little dog\u2019s hackles raise and he walks closer with a growl in his throat.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo,\u201d Lyndon shakes his head. \u201cThat can\u2019t be right. He hurries to his work table and flips through the pages of the spell book he used. He shuffles through his bottles of powders and shavings from magical animals until he sniffs one and his eyes go wide. \u201cOh no,\u201d he says. \u201cThey must have mis-labeled the\u2026\u201d but he doesn\u2019t get a chance to finish that sentence because the blacksmith swings at Lyndon\u2019s head with the forge hammer.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe blacksmith\u2019s arm ripples with muscle. The light glints off the deadly hammer\u2019s metal head as it swings, almost as if it\u2019s in slow motion, toward Lyndon\u2019s skull. The little dog leaps\u2026\n<\/p>\n
\nRowan knows it\u2019s fruitless. A small dog like him against the blacksmith\u2019s hammer is a non contest. He knows that the only realistic outcome of his leap is that he\u2019s about to turn into mincemeat. This life isn\u2019t the life he always wanted, but it\u2019s been cozy here with Lyndon and it\u2019d be nice if he had a bit more ale, a few more head scratches, to look forward to. But it\u2019s too late for all that now.\n<\/p>\n
\nAll he knows is that Lyndon is the one person in the whole world who\u2019s ever been kind to him for absolutely no reason. Lyndon didn\u2019t have to do anything nice for the ratty dog he found on the bridge, and yet he gave the stinking mongrel dog his last bite of cheese. Lyndon took him home, prepared an herbal bath that got rid of the fleas in short order. Once the fleas were gone, Lyndon let Rowan sleep in the bed with him. Lyndon shared his meals and kept him safe. The magician showed his little dog the kind of affection King Artis only ever dreamed about. Lyndon is a shit magician, but he\u2019s Rowan\u2019s <\/em>shit magician, and he\u2019ll be damned if he doesn\u2019t at least try to save Lyndon.\n<\/p>\n \nRowan knows he\u2019s about to be obliterated, but there\u2019s a chance that a little dog\u2019s corpse flying through the air might distract the blacksmith just enough for Lyndon to get away.\n<\/p>\n \nSo he leaps.\n<\/p>\n \nAnd then, all three of them are surprised as a full grown man, naked as a jaybird, crashes into the blacksmith\u2019s arm. The weight of a whole man is enough to fling the blacksmith\u2019s arm off course, and his deadly hammer crashes into the wall instead of into Lyndon. The blacksmith topples with the naked man on top of him. Then the blacksmith lets out a girlish squeal, because it\u2019s a shocking thing to suddenly be underneath a naked man who came out of nowhere.\n<\/p>\n \nThe blacksmith\u2019s anger disappears underneath Rowan\u2019s bare rump. Rowan jumps to his feet and stands between the magician and the blacksmith. Even though he\u2019s returned to the shape of a man, he was never much of a fighter, but he\u2019ll be damned if he backs down now. Luckily, the blacksmith is having none of this. Whatever this is, it\u2019s too weird for him. He grabs his hammer and runs out of the shop without looking back.\n<\/p>\n \nAs soon as the blacksmith is gone, Lyndon latches the door behind him. He turns to face Rowan, who ducks behind the curtain in the middle of the room to hide his nakedness. He never felt naked as a dog, not really. There was fur to keep everything modest.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWow,\u201d Lyndon says. \u201cI never would have guessed my love spell would go so wrong that it would change my dog into a man.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nIt takes a special kind of magician to have this kind of experience and reach such an incorrect conclusion.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWoof,\u201d Rowan says. He decides that once he \u201clearns\u201d to talk, he\u2019s going to encourage Lyndon to focus on his herbalism. Lyndon\u2019s good at plants. He should lean into that and forget the spells. Their life will be better that way.\n<\/p>\n \nAnd in that moment, Rowan realizes he\u2019s made a decision. Let Bruga keep the kingdom. If he\u2019s being honest, she\u2019s better at running it than he ever was. He\u2019s liked his life with Lyndon better than he ever liked being a king. He\u2019s going to stay with Lyndon.\n<\/p>\n \nLyndon comes over and tousles his hair as if he was patting a dog\u2019s head. \u201cDon\u2019t be frightened,\u201d he says. \u201cYou\u2019ll get used to being a man. Who knows? You might even like it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n Ali lives at the foot of the Colorado Rockies with her husband and rescue dog. She has work published or forthcoming in All Worlds Wayfarer, Bards and Sages Quarterly, and Tales From the Magician\u2019s Skull. <\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The magician\u2019s dog is a small terrier thing with coarse wiry hair. The magician calls him Rowan because of the reddish tint to his brown coat. He might weigh as much as twenty pounds soaking wet. Maybe. There\u2019s a bald patch on his left shoulder from a bout with mange a few years back and …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":107941,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20131],"tags":[20132],"class_list":["post-140289","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-49-autumn-2023","tag-the-colored-lens-49-autumn-2023","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140289","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/107941"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=140289"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140289\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":140290,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140289\/revisions\/140290"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=140289"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=140289"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=140289"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}