“Sure, but with practice . . .”
“Practice!” Moira snorted. “Perform a spell incorrectly and you may not get the opportunity to do it again.
“Look you, when those without the talent attempt a spell, one of three things will happen. The first, and far away the most likely outcome is that nothing at all will happen. What comes out is so far removed from the true spell that is it completely void. That is the most favorable result because it does no harm and it discourages the practitioner.
“The second thing that can happen is that the spell goes awry, usually disastrously so.” She smiled grimly. “Every village has its trove of stories of fools who sought to make magic and paid for their presumption. Some villages exist no longer because of such fools.
“The third thing is that the spell is successful. That happens perhaps one out of every thousand attempts.” She frowned. “In some ways that is the worst. It encourages the fool to try again, often on a grander scale.”
“So what you’re saying is that its easy to make magic by accident but hard to do on purpose.”
“Say rather virtually impossible to do on purpose.” Moira corrected. “Without the talent and proper training you cannot do it.
“But there is another level of complication beyond even that,” Moira went on. “A magician must not only be able to recite spells successfully, he or she must thoroughly understand their effects and consequences.” She settled by the fire and spread her cloak. “Do you know the tale of the Freshened Sea?”
Wiz shook his head.
“Then listen and learn.
“Long ago on a small island near the rim of the Southern Sea (for it was then so called) there lived a farmer named Einrich. His farm was small, but the soil was good and just over the horizon was the Eastern Shore where the people would pay good money for the fruits his island orchards produced. All he lacked was fresh water for his trees, for the rains are irregular there and he had but one tiny spring.
“Some years the rains were scant and so were his crops of apples and pears. Some years they came not at all and Einrich spent day after weary day carrying buckets of water so his trees would not perish.
“All around him was water, but he had not enough fresh to feed his groves. Daily he looked at the expanse of sea stretching away to the horizon on all sides and daily he cursed the lack.
“Now this Einrich, ill-fortune to him!, had some talent for magic. He dabbled in it, you see, and somehow he survived his dabblings. That gave him knowledge and a foolish pride in his own abilities.
“So Einrich conceived a plan to give him more water. He concocted and cast a spell to turn the water around his island fresh.
“He constructed a demon, bound it straitly, and ordered him to make fresh the water around his island.”
“Wait a minute,” Wiz said. “What do you mean he ‘constructed’ a demon?”
“Demons are the manifestations of spells, not natural creatures as the ignorant believe,” Moira said. “They are the products of human or non-human magicians, although they may live long beyond their creators.
“To continue: In doing this, Einrich was foolhardy beyond belief. Great spells work against great forces and if they are not done properly the forces lash back. Einrich was not so fortunate as to die from the effects of his bungling. His house was blasted to ruin and a huge black burn still marks the spot on the island, but he survived and the water around his island turned to fresh.
“He spent all the long summer days working in his orchards while the fruit swelled and ripened on his trees. With plentiful water his fruit was the largest and finest ever. So when the time came he harvested all his boat could bear and set out for his markets on the east coast of the sea.
“He thought it odd that he saw no other vessels, for usually the waters inshore were the haunt of fishing vessels and merchantmen trading in the rich goods of the east. Einrich sailed on, finding nothing in the water save an occasional dead fish.