by Lana Axe
As they headed toward the stables, Imrit chuckled. “How did you think my messenger could travel so fast? He was on foot, yet still he made it here faster than you could ride.”
“You enchanted him?” Taren asked.
“I did indeed,” he replied, beaming. “I’ll do the same for this horse of yours.” Bending near the horse’s legs, Imrit sang an incantation while Taren listened attentively. Droplets of water swirled on the air, settling on Wort’s legs. His black hair glistened, his hooves pawing at the ground. “You’re all set,” Imrit announced. “Return as quickly as you can. I’ll take care of our travel arrangements.”
Taren hugged his former master before pulling himself into the saddle. Wort surged ahead, forcing the sorcerer to tighten his grip or risk falling off. In his mind he tried to remember the incantation Imrit had used, but the words were foreign to him. He’d have to ask for a repeat performance. He could only hope the spell would last long enough for him to reach the cottage and return to the manor.
Dirt flew beneath Wort’s feet, the world passing by in a blur of green and blue. The horse showed no sign of fatigue or thirst. He ran on, fed by Imrit’s magic. It was hours before Taren felt a shift in Wort’s stride, and he wondered if the horse might be thirsty. That’s when he understood the spell Imrit had used. Dipping into his own magical stores, he supplemented Imrit’s fading spell. Drawing water from the air around him, he pushed it toward Wort, nourishing his muscles and satiating his thirst. The horse pressed on, rejuvenated. Taren held on tight.
By midnight, Taren’s body ached with fatigue. His muscles screamed for him to stop and rest. Wort, however, was still going at full stamina. Unfortunately, the drain on Taren’s magic was quickly wearing the sorcerer down. He had to stop or risk falling from the saddle. Leading Wort to the edge of a farm, Taren plopped himself on the ground for a rest. Leaning his back against a tree, he realized that Imrit’s messenger must also be a student of magic. The thought warmed him. His master was taking on students, even if it was without the approval of the Red Council. All that meant was he was free to teach all social classes, regardless of ability to pay. It was the same as he had done for Taren. Imrit hadn’t changed at all.
Taren awoke in the dark, Wort stamping at the ground beside him. Sunrise was still an hour away, but the horse could wait no longer. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Taren climbed back into the saddle. Wort took off, his final press for home underway. In his drowsy state, Taren neglected to add magic to Imrit’s spell, and it wore off before he reached home. Wort slowed to a walk as they approached the cottage, already neighing and complaining. He was ready to eat. Taren hopped off, allowing the horse to roam free, munching on the grasses surrounding the cabin. He’d need some rest if he was going to carry Taren back to Imrit’s manor.
Outside in the gardens, he spied Vita and Myron. Waving his hand, he called out to them.
“You’re back sooner than your note suggested,” Vita said as he approached.
“I’ll be leaving again shortly,” Taren replied. “I returned only to fetch some supplies.”
“Are you going to work for Ivdir?” Vita wondered. “Myron’s been telling me stories of him. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
Smiling, Taren did his best to reassure her. “It’s not as it seems,” he said. “The man once known as Ivdir is gone. Now there is only Imrit.”
Vita wrinkled her brow. “What does that mean?”
“He had acquired his own symbol before I returned with mine,” Taren replied. “It kept his consciousness alive, though it allowed his body to die.”
“He wanted immortality,” Vita said. “I suppose that didn’t mean he had to keep the same body forever.”
“Even he didn’t know how it would work,” Taren replied. “I’m only glad that it did. He’s lord of Ivdir’s estates now. He kept the name to secure his rights to it.”
“I see,” Vita said, narrowing her eyes. She seemed suspicious, but she asked no questions.
“I’ll be leaving with Imrit for a few months, possibly longer,” Taren told her. “I trust the two of you to take care of everything here.”
“Always,” Vita replied. “I’ll help you gather some things for the journey.”
“I plan to travel light,” he said. “Some clothes and a selection of potions is all.”
“You’ll need some food that reminds you of home,” she said with a smile. “I’ll help Olak prepare it for you.”
Following him inside the cabin, she veered off for the kitchen while he proceeded upstairs. He stepped first inside his laboratory, immediately noticing scores of unfinished potions. Of course. He had been working on them before his last trip to the College library. They needed time to rest as well as time for the different ingredients to begin working collectively. These were not only restorative potions, but they also added to a sorcerer’s potency. They would fetch a good price, and having a few on hand for his trip wasn’t a bad idea. There was little choice. If he didn’t finish them now, they would spoil. Apologies, Imrit, he thought. He would be returning a little later than expected.
The rest of the day was spent grinding out potions, completing those half-finished and crafting new ones from ingredients that would not have lasted while he was away. That was the problem with herbalism. Some ingredients could only be used fresh, never dried nor placed in magical stasis. Such measures would render the potion subpar, its effectiveness diminished. It took a master herbalist to know the difference. Taren painstakingly checked all of his herbs for any damaged spots before using them. By nightfall he had a backache and a rumbling stomach.
Vita probably knew Taren’s habits better than he did himself. When he went into the kitchens to search for leftovers, he found a plate waiting for him, as well as a wrapped bundle for the road. He whispered an unheard thanks before toting the plate back upstairs. Nibbling on a slice of bread, he chose some traveling clothes from his wardrobe. He wouldn’t need many. Potions could be used to keep the garments clean.
Satisfied with his selections, he rolled them into a leather pack and devoured the remaining food on his plate. Heading back to the lab, he took final measurements of a simmering tincture and left it to cool. Carefully placing stoppers into all the waiting vials, he sealed them over with wax before stuffing a few into his pack. A specialized pocket in his robe would hide a few more. Though he grew more tired with each breath, he still had to affix labels to each vial. Vita was smart, but she could not tell the difference between potions. One blue one was as good as the next in her mind, so leaving them unlabeled could prove disastrous. They would either be sold to the wrong customers, or she would leave them all behind to ruin for fear of harming someone.
It was after midnight before he finished the work, and there was still a draught brewing in the alembic. It would have to wait until morning, he decided. Sleep could no longer be avoided. Removing his robe, he returned to his chambers and collapsed on the bed. To his great delight, the symbol allowed him his rest.
In his dreams, the symbol was as anxious to get going as he was. It sang softly, strange words, but ones he somehow understood. It knew a change was coming, and it couldn’t be more delighted. Could the symbol be as confused as him? Was it trying to unlock his own powers just as he was with it? A true symbiosis. Perhaps it didn’t understand him any more than he understood it. Its song, however, suggested that it yearned for that understanding, and it gripped at Taren’s heart. Soon we will truly be one.
Morning broke, the rays of the sun shining in on the sorcerer’s face. Its warmth soothed him awake, his aches and pains all healed from a good night’s rest. He tied on his robe and gathered his bag, slinging it over one shoulder. The smell of fresh baked pastries set his stomach to rumbling, and he decided to make time for breakfast.
“Good morning, Master Taren,” Olak said cheerfully. “Strawberry pastries are still warm.” He delivered a plate to his master and licked the sticky sweetness from his fingers. “One taste, and you’ll fall in
love.”
He was right. Taren savored the breakfast in front of him. It was sweet, but not too much, with a hint of tart, and the pastry was light and buttery. If he wasn’t careful, Taren would soon be as heavy as Olak, but with flavors such as these, who would mind it? “They’re excellent,” Taren said through a mouthful of pastry.
Olak chuckled and returned to his work. Too bad Taren couldn’t bring him along. Finishing his meal, he grabbed the wrapped bundle Vita had left him and headed out into the morning sunlight.
“You weren’t going to rush off without saying goodbye again, were you?” Vita appeared from the gardens, her hair pinned neatly on top of her head. Taren had forgotten it was market day, and she would be heading out bright and early.
“I’ve labeled everything you’ll need,” Taren said. “I’m sorry I can’t stay to help you load the cart.”
“It’s all right,” she replied with a shrug. “Myron likes to load the cart his own way, so it’s best to leave him to it.” She stepped close to Taren and took his hand. “I wish you safe journeys. Give Imrit my love, and I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“As do I,” he replied. “Be well, my friend.”
After a quick embrace, the two parted ways. Taren once again climbed into Wort’s saddle, but this time he’d have to travel at normal speed. Taren could not repeat the spell Imrit had used, nor did he have time to craft such a potion. The recipe was far too complicated, and the quantities required for a horse were far too great.
Instead of pushing the animal, Taren allowed Wort to set his own pace. Without the magic, it would take most of two days to reach Imrit anyway. It was unlikely a ship would be waiting for them, so there was no need to rush. Instead, Taren took in the surrounding countryside and breathed the fresh air. He allowed his mind to wander, imagining what it would be like to speak to a dragon, or to soar with one above the clouds. Images of fire interrupted his reverie, and he turned his attention back to the landscape.
Taren and Wort went unnoticed by the landowners as they camped in the fields, although several cattle looked the sorcerer over suspiciously. The animals took readily to Wort, allowing him to share in their fodder. In exchange, Taren placed an enchantment on the cattle, one that would increase milk production for at least the next few weeks.
By the next afternoon, Taren was once again within sight of Imrit’s manor. He hoped it wouldn’t be long before they could depart. His right arm itched with anticipation. To his surprise, Imrit waved to him from the stables, where a carriage was already prepared to leave. The young boy who’d delivered Imrit’s message sat in the driver’s seat.
“Leave your horse in the stable,” Imrit said. “Kile will see he’s well-tended while we’re away.”
“Were you going to leave without me?” Taren asked, only half-joking.
Shaking his head, Imrit replied, “I have an enchantment about the land. I saw you coming yesterday.”
Taren understood. He had similar enchantments placed around the cottage, but he mainly focused on keeping track of anything that emerged from The Barrens.
Inside the stables, Taren removed Wort’s saddle and led him to a stall where fresh hay was prepared for him. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, stroking the horse’s nose. Wort whinnied once before turning his attention to his meal.
“He’ll be fine,” Imrit reassured him. “Kile’s real gentle with all the animals here. He’ll even walk the big fellow home if that’s what the horse wants.”
Comforted by the knowledge that Wort was in good hands, Taren strode beside Imrit until they reached the carriage. “How far has Kile come in his wizard’s training?” Taren asked.
“Oh, he’s no sorcerer,” Imrit replied. “Not a shred of magical talent in that one. A fine servant, though. Smart as a whip.”
“I was certain he was a wizard,” Taren said, confused. “How did he maintain the spell you placed on him? The one that made him run faster?”
Imrit thought a moment and said, “Must have been the symbol. It’s affected my magic’s potency from time to time, more so since taking this new body.” Clapping Taren on the back, he added, “No matter. All that will soon be remedied.” A wide smile spread across his face.
Taren hoped he was right. Climbing into the carriage, he offered his former master a hand. His grip was strong, stronger than he remembered from two years ago. Apparently taking Ivdir’s younger body had taken at least forty years off Imrit. That could be helpful in their travels, as Imrit had previously been too frail to make such a journey. Taren had never asked his age, but he would have guessed he was at least eighty, probably ninety at the time of his “death.”
The carriage lurched forward, jolting Taren back in his seat. Across from his feet, a small wooden chest rattled against the carriage floor. He could sense it had been sealed with magic. “What’s inside the chest?” he wondered aloud.
“That’s a little something to convince the Dragon Cultists to open their doors to us,” Imrit replied, grinning. “Lophophora.”
“Ah,” Taren replied. Lophophora was a potent hallucinogen, one that could induce visions. “Are you sure these dragon-worshiping elves will want such a gift?” For all he knew, mind-altering substances could be forbidden. They might prefer keeping a pure state of mind.
“Oh, they’ll want it,” Imrit assured him. “I’ve been corresponding with the man who arranges most of their supply shipments. Apparently they can’t get enough of it. We’re lucky I planted some this year.”
“Lucky,” Taren repeated. His former master had never left anything to chance. He’d probably started planning this journey the moment he took over Ivdir’s body.
Imrit chattered on as they rode, regaling Taren with nearly every detail of his daily life since coming to the manor. The old man spoke lively, his eyes sparkling with delight. Imrit had waited a long time for this journey to begin, and now that it was so close, he was near bursting with excitement.
The sun was low in the sky before they reached the docks, an orange haze reflecting against the blue water. Taren counted dozens of ships, and the docks still buzzed with activity despite the late hour. Mostly cargo and few passengers, he noted, as hundreds of crates were transferred from carts to ships. A large city lay beyond the docks, its citizens preferring to live separately from the busy area. He understood their choice as he climbed out of the carriage, his hand immediately clamping over his nose and mouth. The smell of fish, both fresh and otherwise, was quite strong here. He made note of the nearest cargo, crates full of clams open to the fresh air.
“Those are the best in all of Ky’sall,” Imrit told him. Sniffing the air, he added, “Though I don’t usually smell them in this quantity.” He motioned for Kile to follow, and the young boy did so after grabbing Imrit’s bag and coffer.
They passed several cargo ships, some with names written in a language Taren didn’t recognize. Sails of every color glimmered in the fading light, images of distant lands entering his mind. All of the places he’d read about probably had ships visiting this harbor. This had to be the largest port in all of Ky’sall.
“Right here,” Imrit said, nodding toward a ship.
It was massive, suitable for a large crew and a long journey. The sails were furled, but Taren could see enough of their colors to know they were bright green. Suitable for an earth mage, he told himself.
“It’s faster than it looks,” Imrit said as he climbed the ramp. “Or it will be with us on board.” Reaching the deck, he greeted the captain, who appeared relieved to have the wizard on board. It was rare for sailors to transport sorcerers, but they were usually eager to do so. It guaranteed favorable winds and calm seas, at least in their minds. To anyone without magic, those with it always seemed capable of anything. They did not realize that even a wizard could have limits. Imrit didn’t appear to be offering that information as he shook the captain’s hand. “Our rooms are this way,” he said, waving to Taren.
They headed below deck to a large suite.
Three feather beds awaited them, as well as a writing desk and a large trunk to hold their possessions. Two cushioned chairs and ample light provided by oil-filled lamps gave the place a feeling of home.
Pointing to the desk, he said, “Set the chest there.”
Kile obeyed, setting the chest of lophophora on the desk before placing Imrit’s bag on one of the beds. “Will that be all, my lord?” the boy asked.
“Yes, that’s everything,” Imrit replied. “You can rest here for the night and head back at first light. The ship isn’t going anywhere until sunrise, and I’ve told the captain to wake us before we disembark.”
The boy nodded, and trotted away to tend the horses and carriage.
Imrit pulled out a book and plopped himself in a chair. “You might as well make yourself at home,” he said. “They’ll bring us our dinner when it’s ready.”
Taren placed his bag on the floor and sat down on the bed across from Imrit’s. A small round window provided a view of the water, ripples dancing at its surface. As the last remnants of daylight faded, the water became black beneath a clouded sky. Lying back in his bed, Taren continued to stare out the window, losing himself in the darkness. His right arm ached, the symbol eager to be underway. Morning could not come soon enough.
Chapter 5
Taren stood next to Imrit upon the ship’s deck as it pulled away from the docks. From his seat on the wagon, Kile waved a cheerful farewell. They returned the gesture, each watching as the boy disappeared from view. Only the sea lay ahead of them. It would be weeks before they would reach land again.
In daylight the ship revealed intricate vines carved into the mast. More carvings adorned the rails, and a seductive reptilian lady stood proudly off the front of the bow. It was undoubtedly La’kertan craftsmanship.
After a light breakfast, the two found seats where they could enjoy the fine weather while staying out from under the crew. Taren took a few sips from a potion, one that would prevent any stomach upset caused by the ship’s motion. He offered it to Imrit, who refused.
