“This is no ordinary cloak. When the owner says so, the next person to see it feels an irresistible urge to wear it, upon donning it, the cloak will strangle the person to death. It will then disappear back to the owner, ready to be used again.”
“Why do you have such a thing activated? Were you trying to kill me?” Marcius threw the elf a suspicious glance, only then realizing how vulnerable he felt.
Ken chuckled as he pointedly flexed the hand that had hit Marcius, “No, I wasn’t. Elves are resistant to the effects of enchantment. The cloak was just made before it got shipped to me, so it hasn’t been bound to a master yet. So everyone is fair game. I just never noticed it because I’m an elf. Once one resists the effect of the cloak, it won’t bother you again. Such is the nature of magic. Although,” the elf looked at him critically, “I would have assumed an apprentice of Antaigne would have been able to recognize, or at least resist, such a simple assassin device.”
Marcius blushed at the criticism, but a thought struck him. “Why would someone want something like that when they could have a sword that can cut through stone?” he said, gesturing back to the weapon that lay upon the ground behind them.
“A dagger in the back can kill just as well as a sword from the front, Marcius. A lesson I hope you learn in your studies,” Ken answered cryptically. When Marcius didn’t seem to understand, he continued, “There is always more than one way to do something. Some ways are better than others. Why throw a fireball to kill someone when you could just burn the bridge he stands on? The end result is the same, not always is the direct approach the correct one, Marcius. Most wizards learn to guard against rudimentary magic applications. There will come a point where you might find yourself facing down another wizard, and victory often comes not to who knows the most powerful spells, but to who uses the spells he or she knows in the cleverest application. A simple sleep can-trip that causes the wizard to become dizzy and relax his guard can be just as important as the stroke of lightning that finishes him off.”
Marcius nodded, it made sense. Antaigne was always telling him to look beyond the base of what a spell does. And the usage of the object summoning can-trip in the bar only reaffirmed what Ken was saying. Thinking about what happened yesterday at the bar brought up another, more personal question that Marcius thought the elf might be able to answer. “Ken, can you answer something for me?”
“If I can.” Ken pushed a small black vial and two hard clear rock-like objects in Marcius’s hand. “Here take these, that is the vial of ash and two Gryphon tears you’ll need.” He gestured for Marcius to follow as he headed back to the entrance of the room.
“I tried performing a sleep can-trip on a drunk in a bar. He was trying to fight me because he thought I was having an affair with his wife,” Marcius explained. “It failed rather miserably, but I’m sure I did it correctly.”
“Well, I am no expert on actual magic, but I could take an educated guess.” Ken waved his hand at the cold wall of the room, the portal opening again in its swirling fashion to the elf’s home. “The sleep can-trip strengthens the recipient’s urges to sleep, so a person angry and drunk probably doesn’t have much to work with. That’s my guess anyway.” Perhaps it was trick of lighting or his own mind, but the thin set of the elf's lips and darkened eyes suggested that Ken wasn't really guessing.
Nothing is what it seems. Marcius mused darkly. Then again, isn't that the way of the world?
Ken stepped through first, with Marcius following close behind, the latter throwing one last furtive glance at the cloak that still hung all alone on the rack. The familiar tingling sensation flooded through him and the pressure on his chest lifted when he emerged. He deeply drew a breath of fresh air, only realizing now how stagnant the air in the magical room had been.
So he failed the sleep can-trip because the man’s anger shielded him? He would have to learn the exceptions to spells as well. The picture sewed onto the canvas continued to stare at him as he was led from Ken’s house, and Marcius agreed that "Pact of Jaylynn" was an appropriate choice.
Silently resolving to learn the intricacies of magic in depth, he bid Ken goodbye as the elf started setting up his fruit stand once again. The feeling of being totally controlled haunted him as he slowly rode Ruby through the quickly emptying streets of Rhensford. Up until then, he had never considered magic seriously.
Usually when one mentioned the word, it conjured up thoughts of exotic creatures and flashy spells that shake whole cities; not daggers that steal souls and assassination devices in the guise of a harmless articles of clothing. Despite all of that however, the pull that initially lured him into the field was still there, something which made Marcius both smile and tremor.
Curiosity was one of the gifts supposedly given to the human race, both an advantage and a weakness, and Marcius was blessed with ample amounts of it.
❧ ❧ ❧
He was just rounding the corner of Minos Street, absorbed in the duality of it all, when a voice gave him pause. “Marc! You devil! Why didn’t you tell me you were back?”
The voice was from a tall young man with shoulder length, blonde curly hair. Marcius slowed Ruby down to a steady walk so the long legged man could catch up.
“Jared! The same could be said about you! When did you come back from Harcourt?” Harcourt was the biggest city in Lorinia. It stood at the crossroads of several ports including Rhensford, which contributed greatly in turning it into the most important place in Lorinia outside of the King’s palace. Jared had gone there with his father to investigate a smuggling rumor, though Marcius had his doubts about Jared’s true motivations. Jared’s father was the Sheriff of Rhensford, nicknamed the Bloodhound due to his tenaciousness to staying on the trail of a lawbreaker. Marcius often pondered at the irony of an apprentice wizard befriending the son of one of the most stalwart and vocal magic haters in the country.
“Father's done with the investigation, caught the guys of course.” Jared rolled his eyes in consternation; he and his father often were at odds. “He tried to show me the ropes, but I quickly gave him the slip and got around to the local mercenary taverns! It was great! You could feel the energy of adventure! The sweat and grime of glory clung about like. . . well. . . sweat!” Jared’s eyes now took on a very familiar misty quality and only served to confirm Marcius’s thoughts about the real reason he took the journey.
“Uh oh. . . ” Marcius mumbled half jokingly, which earned him a mock stern glower from Jared. Ever since Marcius had known Jared, there had been one dream the blonde haired man had kept alive: Jared wished to be a famous adventurer. To be forever immortalized with tales of bravery, and battle bards and minstrels across the land. It was the fuel that spurred him to spend most of his free time training with the sword, honing his skills with every passing day.
The dream also kept them friends when he found out that Marcius was training to be a wizard. Jared had been pressuring a young Marcius as to where he disappeared to every month. Marcius, who had never had a friend before, quickly folded to the questioning. “Every adventuring party needs a wizard. . . ” he had said, rubbing his chin after a few moments of tense silence when Marcius had finally told him. It was this acceptance that cemented their friendship. They trusted each other fully from thereafter. He even occasionally asked Marcius about his training or to perform can-trips.
“One of these days, my friend, after you’re a full wizard, we have to go off and seek our fortune!” Jared exclaimed quietly, mostly from force of habit. By mutual unspoken agreement they had headed to their favorite restaurant to no doubt talk about the happenings of the past days. Marcius tethered Ruby to the post outside, patting him calmly for a few moments before following Jared up the steps and into the restaurant.
Pushing open the doors of Taylor’s, they were immediately beset by the owner. The aptly named Taylor was a bald, middle-aged man of Northern Morlian descent. His rotund face a rosy cherub color that went well with the smile that graced his features. He was a
n old friend of Jareds. “Ah! Jared Garalan and Marcius Realure, my two favorite customers!” Taylor said gleefully, slapping his hands together in unfeigned happiness. Marcius couldn’t help but smile back, the man’s cheerfulness was embarrassing, but also contagious. “I presume you want a secluded corner as usual?” he asked, mostly as a formality since he had already set off to locate it.
For all his smiling, the man was a shrewd business man. Marcius realized long ago that by making them feel at home and by being personable, the owner ensured they’d come back. The familiar faces that he saw at the tables served as testament. Navigating the tables with unexpected dexterity for such a large man, Taylor led them to their usual seat, tucked comfortably underneath an overhang against the wall.
Nodding their thanks, they sat down, and Taylor let them know that he would be sending over a barmaid whenever they were ready. A smart man, Marcius reaffirmed. “So Marc, tell me what’ve you been up to?” Jared asked after the owner had left.
Marcius filled him in, glossing over a few details, such as his dream about the wyvrr, and pausing a few times as Jared asked a few questions or to clarify things. When he finished, Jared let out a low whistle and leaned back on his chair. “I heard about the woman from my father. The Academy had let him know she would be coming here for business reasons. Gave the old man a right hissy fit, but there was naught he could do. Even he isn’t foolish enough to mess with the Academy. So, she’s a looker, eh?” Jared asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“Aye she is, but I still don’t trust her totally. You can have a crack at her if you see her, doesn't matter to me.” Jared had a far more accurate reputation of womanizing than Marcius; no doubt this Mage interested him. Marcius didn’t think he would be as lucky as he was with the local barmaids and such when it came to Alicia.
“Well thank you for the go ahead, but this just goes on to confirm that I need to up my training. Can’t have you going about blowing up everything without a sword to protect your back, eh?” It was a subtle yarn, but there was a trace of seriousness in Jared’s demeanor. “If only my father would get off my yoke about becoming the Sheriff. . . ” Jared had let the comment hang in the air; it was well known that the Sheriff intended for his son to take over when the perils of duty or age made him unable to uphold the law anymore.
“Dryken damn him, you’ll be celebrated and knighted within a few years, whether he likes it or not!” It was a rather shabby attempt to cheer him up, but Marcius felt it had to be done.
“Thanks for the kind words, but it seems as if the fates have conspired to keep me trapped within devices out of my control.” The words were very uncharacteristic of him, but he seemed to be giving voice to something he had given much thought. “Ever feel trapped Marcius? That’s how I feel now. I’m bound by duty to do my father’s wishes, even though in my heart I care not for this town. I’d rather be out there, where they need me, protecting small villages from the likes of orcs, goblins, and the ilk! Not protecting a big town from itself, because people are too stupid to get along with each other.”
Marcius knew exactly how he felt. The incident with the elf had given him second thoughts about magic, but he felt trapped into learning it. What else was there for him if he turned away? He had no trade skill. The best he could hope for was inheriting his father’s business, an assuredly stagnant position.
The awkward silence extended for an uncomfortable amount of time before Marcius, clearing his throat, felt compelled to say something, anything. “Heh, at least you don’t have to worry about your soul being stolen, or being strangled by a cloak.”
"Truth, there is much more to magic than the stuff I read about in books, but I think you’ll do okay, Marc. Just be careful about getting involved with wizard politics. One doesn’t have to be a wizard to know that! Also remember, when you’ve become an official wizard, you and I are going to go out and seek our fortunes!”
It was a tried and true rhetoric. “In order to adventure one must have a cause. I’m already rich, what else is there?” Marcius was teasing. They had gone through the motions of this conversation many times before.
“Perhaps to free a love? Or perhaps to spread one’s religion? Why even the noblest cause of all? For the excitement of doing things that you’ve only read about? There are many causes to champion one’s resolve Marcius!”
“Ah, but I have neither love nor am I religious. I’ve no heart to risk my neck either.”
“What about friendship? Who better to adventure with besides me?” Marcius started grinning. It was hard to argue with one so zealous. With a non-committal shrug, he signaled for a barmaid to serve them.
This particular one was the youngest daughter of Taylor, as petite as her father was large. Though unlike her father, she sported a full head of wild red hair, which was currently tied up in a tight bun as she worked. She greeted Marcius and Jared with a warm smile, though Marcius could have sworn her eyes lingered a half second longer on his friend. With a shrug, he ordered a helping of shepherd’s pie, while Jared contented himself with steak. Taylor's daughter scurried off to relay the order, hips swaying with a demure sense of enticement.
"You know Jared, I think she fancies you," Marcius said with a grin.
“Let’s be serious though, Marcius. Would you do it after your training?” Jared prodded, ignoring the jibe.
“If I succeed, I promise you I will.” Marcius only half meant it. He was starting to grow annoyed at Jared’s pestering.
The answer must have sufficed because Jared broke out in a wide grin, seemingly content. The young barmaid had somehow slipped a pitcher of chilled wine onto the hard wooden table without them noticing. Marcius raised an eyebrow, his point regarding the barmaid proven.
Jared poured both Marcius and himself a goblet of wine and raised it in toast. “To Marcius, future Arch Mage and myself, a mere swordsman!” he said quietly enough to not be overheard, tapping the cup against Marcius’s, the contents gently swirling.
“To myself, bungling apprentice and Jared, future Sheriff of Rhensford!” Marcius responded coyly, throwing a smile to disarm the glare he received from Jared and to show he was just joking. He sipped lightly on the sweet drink, smacking his lips a bit at the slight tangy aftertaste.
“So, Marc, did you hear about the war rumors up north?”
Marcius shrugged, “Bits here and there. Nothing much. Why?”
“Well, remember that shipment of rare metal that got stolen in the Selenthia woods? Apparently the Morlians are blaming it on the Selenthian elves and calling it the last straw between them. Everyone in Harcourt is saying that the Morlians are preparing for full out war. There have already been skirmishes between the two.”
“I doubt the elves would do that though,” Marcius pointed out. “They kind of stick to themselves from what I heard. Doing whatever it is that they do in that forest of theirs.”
Jared’s eyes gleamed, “That’s just it, Marc. Rumors are claiming that they’re just using this as an excuse to invade. Though the Morlians claim it’s just one more thing on a long list of wrongs the elves have done. I think they’re both shady, if you ask me.”
Marcius waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s far up north and none of our concern. If they want to kill each other, let them.”
“I hope it never becomes our concern, Marc,” Jared said with a serious expression on his face. “Who knows where the Morlians will stop when they get started.”
All further talk was halted due to the steaming platters of food that the barmaid delivered and they quickly dug in, both happy for an excuse to think about their problems. When they were finished, they paid and promptly left, feeling a bit better with full stomachs. It was dark as they emerged from the restaurant, and a bright full moon could be seen in the distance like a watchful shepherd.
They walked aimlessly a bit, content in the silence of each other’s company. It was amazing what could be said when one shed the clumsiness of words. Jared was the first to break the peace. “Y’kn
ow Marc, do you think I could visit you sometime? Would get boring being here all by myself, and I would rather accompany you than those uptight nobles.” His words came out in a rush, as if they were embarrassing to say.
“Well, I will ask Antaigne. I don’t see why not. Do you know the way?” Marcius asked, thinking of the manner Antaigne would receive the eccentric swordsman. It was a bit difficult to not laugh at the thought, so he bit his lip instead.
“Not really, but I’ve always been good at directions, just tell me the way.” So Marcius outlined the route, detailing all the traps to look for along the way, which Jared took in with rapt attention. When he was done, Jared nodded and tapped his head. “I got it, expect to see me whenever I can come up with a valid excuse for the Mutt,” he said, referring to his own more derogatory nickname for his father.
“Aye, okay then, Jared. Got to go home and get some rest. Tomorrow is when I have to head up.”
Jared nodded and went his own way with a final wave and goodbye to Marcius.
With the lack of his friend nearby, his thoughts returned to his situation. Tomorrow would be the day he would get his familiar and become an official apprentice. His familiar! Marcius just remembered and felt excited at the surge of hope the little creature inspired. The dragon-like animal stood out in his mind and he couldn’t wait to see him. He went back to where he had tethered Ruby, receiving a slight nudge of welcome from the auburn horse.
He went the way home at a half gallop, the hooves a rhythmic beat on the hardened stones, excitement was tempered with caution; there was no point in injuring oneself because the darkened streets hid some unseen obstacle after all. The pale moon continued to watch over him as he rode.
A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy) Page 8
