by Brian Beam
I should probably specify that Max is not just a magic talking cat, but a magic talking wizard cat. According to him, he is the only cat in the world able to do magic, though other talking cats are out there that have been enchanted by human wizards. Max claims that he was not enchanted and never belonged to any wizard.
Max is a little—no, make that extremely—hush-hush about his past. All I know is that when I was about five years old at my adoptive parents’ farmhouse outside the small village of Huran, I heard a scratching at the front door, and there he was.
I was allowed to keep Max after a decent bit of whining. When I was a young child, Max would disappear for days at a time. It wasn’t until I was about ten that Max revealed that he could talk and use magic. Imagine how amazing that was for a ten year old! Sometimes he would heal me when I hurt myself when getting into mischief. One time he even secretly shot a fireball at Braom, the village bully, after he took a toy of mine. With all the hair burned off of his head, Braom didn’t mess with anyone else for quite a while.
After Max had exposed his secret to me, he stuck around a lot more. I was sworn to secrecy about what he could do and so far, to my knowledge, I am still the only one who knows.
Max is the one who convinced me that I should try to find my parents. As a child, I would tell him about my nightly recurring dream and he felt the only way I could end the dreams was by finding my birth parents. Max filled my head with the idea of adventuring across Amirand—fighting monsters, camping under the stars, and all other kinds of things that children yearn for. Once the idea was implanted in my mind, I never grew out of it. Besides, the only other alternative was taking over the Karell farm. Mathual Karell would have loved nothing more, but I felt like I was destined for something more. Something that a life of adventuring could bring me. I figured that I would set out, meet my birth parents, get answers about why I was given up, and then go back to my simple life back in Huran once I got adventuring out of my system.
After Max convinced me that guild work could support my travels, he encouraged me to train to fight. I saved a year’s pay from working on my adoptive parents’ farm to buy a sword. It was a shoddy, rusted thing, but to a thirteen year old, that didn’t matter. No one in Huran had any idea how to properly handle a sword, so it was up to Max’s knowledge of some basic sword fighting forms to begin my teaching. Yes, I first learned to handle a sword from a cat. Weird, huh?
When I turned sixteen and my adoptive parents accepted that they wouldn’t be able to hold on to me any longer, Mathual suggested that I could train with his brother Chasus, a retired military captain who had helped to train members of Agolin’s, the King of Alandrin’s, army.
With directions to Chasus’ home in the Ravenspire Mountains of Alandrin, and what little money they could spare, Mathual and Harriet Karell reluctantly let me out into the world. I left them with the promise that once I found my birth parents and puzzled out my dreams, I would come back home. The faces from my dream may be of those who gave me life, but Mathual and Harriet will always be my parents.
Chasus was happy to take me on as a student. Retirement had left him bored. For the next four years I trained with Chasus in sword fighting and hand-to-hand combat. He’s the one who gave me the Contract, though he was always quiet about how he had come to possess it.
Max was always there with me. He even tried to teach me magic before reluctantly admitting that I didn’t have the inborn ability to learn it. I wish I could have disclosed what Max was to Chasus. They would have truly gotten along. Then again, they may have just teamed up their sarcastic wit against me. I don’t want to think about how much fun that would have been.
Max has remained my only constant companion. Throughout the three years of our travels, he has gotten me out of more tight spots than I can count. No matter how hard a time he gives me or how much grief I give him, I love him like a big brother. A weird, furry, magic casting, sarcastic big brother.
Anyway, in my room at the inn, I felt like I would sick up on the bed, but pride held my stomach. I wouldn’t let Max have the pleasure of having yet another chance to rub in that he could have saved me a lot of trouble the night before.
Aching from my head down, I dizzily got up and limped to the door, unlocked it, and let Max in. Max looked up at me disgustedly. “There is no one in the world important enough to not be kept waiting long enough for you to get dressed.”
“Or maybe there’s no one in the world important enough to deserve to see this. You should feel special,” I said with a slight grin. “Now get in here before someone sees a talking cat in the hall.”
With a huff, Max stepped past me, rubbing against my legs and jumped onto the bed as I shut and locked the door behind him. After turning a couple circles, Max curled up at the foot of the bed with his head rested on his front paws and shut his eyes.
“So, did you figure out anything about our little gem snatcher?” I questioned as I donned my pants and shirt.
“I need some sleep,” Max muttered without lifting his head. “Go take care of that Contract and get some supplies and try me again.”
Shaking my head, I sat down on the bed to tug on my boots. I learned years ago not to press Max for any more than he is willing to give. Granted, time was currently not on my side, but I also knew that Max would not willingly allow me to fail in retrieving the gem. He could have been courteous enough to let me know how much I would need in the way of supplies for the job, though.
After tucking my pants down into my boots and folding down the boot tops, I pulled my large leather shoulder bag out from under the bed and hefted it over my shoulder. The bag contained a change of clothes, a small blanket, some dried meat, a paper-wrapped loaf of bread, two apples, my favorite waterskin, a tinder box with flint and steel, an ink bottle with a quill pen, and my green leather-bound journal.
I gathered my dagger and sword, buckling my scabbard to my belt and tucking my dagger into my right boot. A quick glance into the mirror showed a slim nose with no signs of having ever been broken and a man in desperate need of shaving. Taking out my Contract and coin pouch, I stepped out of the room, grabbing my cloak and locking the door behind me.
I shoved the coin pouch and Contract into the coin purse at my belt as I made my way down the stairs. Two coppers to the only serving woman in the nearly empty common room got me directions to the closest guild as well as smoked bacon and melted cheese on grilled bread crust that I ravenously started eating on my way out the door.
The midmorning chill of fall prompted me to throw on my cloak after washing down the remainder of my breakfast with my waterskin. The sun’s radiance in the clear sky helped take the edge off of the cold.
The cobblestoned streets were filled with the sound of hawkers advertising their wares from wooden stands and of the people of Geeron milling about the city. Most had cloaks or coats pulled tightly around them.
Thankfully, the first guild I came to, Baron’s Guild, was the place that Galius had taken my Contract. I was surprised that he hadn’t made me go further out of my way out of spite. Baron, the Guildmaster, was there and remembered whiny-voiced Galius. According to Baron, Galius had been telling the truth about only changing the Terms to two weeks. He also informed me that he was told he’d receive a gold round from me when I arrived. I added my drop of blood to the Contract and, with a mental curse against the insufferable count, grudgingly handed over one of the gold coins Galius had given me.
Leaving the guild, I headed further down the marketplace to stock up for the journey. Without knowing how long to expect to find the thief, I bought enough foodstuffs to last for two weeks: more dried meat strips, some wax covered cheeses, two more loaves of bread, various fruits, and a bottle of cheap brandy for good measure. Of course, I had to also get some potatoes, carrots, onions, peppers, flour, and spices for Max’s favorite stew, wondering why I couldn’t have a cat that just hunted his own food instead of a picky, people-food eating furball. I guess that fault of his can be forgiv
en for the whole magic thing.
After a refill of my waterskin, I realized that at the rate I was spending money, I’d be lucky to have even a few coppers left of what I had received from Galius. Even with my decent amount of money saved up from prior jobs, without any money to add to that savings, this job would just equal so much wasted time in my travels.
As I made my way back to the Weary Traveler’s Inn, I thought about the job and how I had never thought I’d be in a position such as this one. I thought about how if I didn’t get the gem, my life of seeing the world as I searched for my parents would be over. I’d never see Mathual and Harriet again, my training would be for nothing, and all I’d have left would be servitude to a bratty count and a cat who would never let me hear the end of it. Chasus had always taught me that nothing positive ever came from dwelling on the negative, but in my situation, it was kind of hard not to.
I continued to think of Chasus as I passed a tall, stone-spired church with a great arched entryway. I’ve always had a hard time being religious when churches worship dozens of gods and goddesses from Loranis, the god of creation, to Helsita, the goddess of pottery. Yes, there is a goddess of pottery. Go to any potter in Amirand and I guarantee they have her pottery bowl sigil displayed somewhere in their shop so that she may shine her pottery fortune upon their business.
I have always adopted Chasus’ view on religion. Chasus held that the only important god was Vesteir, the warrior god. Loranis may have created life, but Vesteir gave humans the warrior spirit they needed to carve out lives of their own. Or something like that.
My hand dropped to finger the golden inlay on the pommel of my shortsword. The inlay is Vesteir’s sigil: two lines crossed like an X with one having a point on its tip and the other having a line across its base inside a circle. This represents a crossed sword and spear over a shield.
Chasus had given me the iron-hilted shortsword, with its black leather grip, from his personal collection. The steel, double-edged blade rarely needs sharpening. Well, not from how I use it at least. Except for my daily practice with the thing, it doesn’t get a lot of use aside from when some intimidation is needed to fulfill a Contract. Still, I know how to use it well when necessary. I may not be considered a true master of the blade, but I would put my skills up against almost anyone if my life or the lives of those I care about were threatened. Not to be full of myself or anything.
My hand tightened onto the grip as ahead of me, Max was sprinting in my direction, weaving through the crowd making their way toward the business district. For Max to be running like that, something really bad had to be going down.
Ducking into an alleyway between the church and its neighbor, I crouched down and waited for Max to meet me so he could talk to me without being easily noticed.
Just a handful of seconds later, Max slid around the corner into the alleyway, stopping just short of my feet and turning his head to frantically lick at his shoulder. “Stupid fleas,” he grumbled. “It’d almost be worth going mad to be rid of the bloody parasites.”
“Max,” I interrupted pointing up to my face. “Up here. Tell me what’s happening.”
Max gave his shoulder one last lick and turned his green eyes up to meet mine. “We have got some trouble at the inn. Brennor and some of his fellow goons showed up at your room. At least, what’s left of the room.”
“Malki’s blood,” I swore to myself. Malki is the god of trouble or mischief. I may not be religious, but any god’s name that can be used in cursing is fair game. “I have everything we need from the room. All we need is Telis.” Telis was my non-talking, non-magical, non-wizard horse. “Will we be able to make it to the stable without running into them?”
“It should not be a problem,” Max replied before tilting his head to the side and bringing a rear leg up to scratch at an ear. “You know, if you just let me help yesterday—”
“Then we wouldn’t be in this mess. I should listen to you more. But what do you know, you’re just a cat that’s right more often than I could ever hope to be,” I mocked in a raspy voice. “I’ve heard it before. Let’s just get the horse and get going.”
Max dropped his leg and shook his head. “If only you spent more time following my advice than memorizing it word for word. Again, what do I know?” With that, Max started back out to the street. “I am going to scout ahead and make sure the way is clear. I will meet you at the stable.” Max turned the corner and was gone.
Pulling my cloak tighter around me and bringing the hood forward to shadow my face, I ran the opposite way down the alleyway. The inn was just two streets down and one over from where I had been. Taking the back streets would hopefully keep me from an encounter with Brennor and his friends.
Three open streets needed to be crossed as I made my way to the inn primarily through the uncluttered alleys of Geeron. Two last alleyways after crossing the third street brought me to the back of the Weary Traveler’s Inn. One more turn at the side of the inn brought me to where Telis was stabled in an unpainted wooden shelter that could easily house a dozen horses. Max was waiting on his haunches next to the entrance where a scrawny, wide-nosed, greasy-faced stableboy no older than fourteen sat on a small stool in a gray wool cloak. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember his name, but fortunately, he had been the one to take Telis my first night in Geeron.
I pulled back my hood as I walked towards the boy. “Tack up my horse as quickly as you can,” I ordered, tossing the boy a small silver coin. He deftly snatched the coin from the air with a grin as he jumped from the stool and hastily entered the stable through the open door. I didn’t have the time for pleasantries at that moment. Running into Brennor would have only delayed my retrieving the gem. Maybe even permanently.
After the stable boy was in the back of the stable retrieving my saddle and saddlebags, I crouched down next to Max. “So where do we go from here?” I peeked through the door to make sure the boy wasn’t paying attention to us.
Max stuck his nose into the air. “Are you sure you are going to listen to me this time, or are you just going to go north if I say south?”
I sighed, exasperated. It would be weeks before he let go of the fact that I got us into such a mess. “Again, I apologize. I’ll buy you some salmon when this is over. Now where are we going?”
Max looked contemplative. “Hmm, so this is all I have to do to get some salmon. I will have to remember this. Will I get spicy vegetable stew too?” I glared at him through narrowed eyelids. “Okay, it took me a while to find their trail, but our thief seems to have left through the western gate. Their tracks appear to be heading towards a forest not far from the city gate. They are on foot and do not seem to be taking any measure of covering their tracks. Also, judging by their stride, I would say that they are small and not covering ground very fast. I figure with Telis we can catch up to them within a day. I have their scent. The tracks were fresh enough for that.” Thank Vesteir for a cat’s sense of smell.
Thinking back to the fight at the Boar’s Pen, I recalled that the thief had been rather short. “So are we dealing with a kid here?” If we were, retrieving the gem would theoretically be easy. However, if getting the gem required hurting a kid, there’d be no way I could do it.
With a shake of his head, Max replied, “No, I think we may be dealing with a Kolarin.”
“Are you sure? I mean, what makes you to think it’s not just a kid, or a runt?” I questioned.
“So we are back to the not listening thing,” Max replied in that raspy voice, as snooty as you could imagine a cat to be. “Just call it magic-talking-wizard-cat intuition. Plus, their scent was just off from a human’s. That, and I found a stick he had been whittling. It is in one of your saddlebags now.”
That was interesting. Kolari are a smaller folk from the kingdom of Isaeron to the northwest. Far to the northwest. Next to the Glacial Mountains far. They have the only kingdom I know of consisting of only their own race, though others are welcome to visit there. Kolari basically keep to
themselves and have never been known to cause trouble. The surrounding kingdoms of Yvollyn, and Jonswain had let them cut out a sovereign territory from between them a thousand years prior during the Power Wars.
The Kolari are short; at most, they are just over four and a half feet tall. They are little different from humans aside from their height and supposed eclectic choices in clothing. They can create wonders from wood. If you have ever seen the intricacy and beauty of Kolarin woodcraft, then you know why they fetch such outrageous prices. My adoptive father, Mathual, has a prized Kolarin-crafted walking stick that he bought for a steal from a travelling merchant. The intricate, intertwining swirls of various colors of polished wood on it are of a beauty I had never seen matched. Mathual has always been so proud of that walking stick. That’s why Max mentioned the whittled stick. Honestly, I was kind of excited to see it.
Aside from woodcraft, Kolari are also notorious for not venturing out past the borders of Isaeron. That brings up the concerns of why one would be this far from their home and why they would steal the gem from me.
Before Max and I could speak any more, the greasy-faced stable boy approached, briskly walking Telis to the stable entrance. The tall, slender light-bay stallion, with his black mane and forelegs with a white stripe running down his muzzle, looked freshly groomed. Along with my sword, he had been a sending off gift from my uncle Chasus.
I transferred most of the supplies from my shoulder bag to Telis’ saddlebags to make room for Max. Max always hates riding in my shoulder bag, but not even a magic cat can keep up with a horse for long. Thankfully with the stable boy around, instead of having to put up with lip from Max, I was able to put him in the bag with just a feline glare in return.
Once I had made certain that Telis’ saddle and bridle were properly fitted, I took the reins from the boy and climbed atop the horse. The boy shot me a questioning look at Max’s “Oomph,” as the shoulder bag swung into my side. I chose to ignore it. I really, really need to be nicer to Max.
