by Lana Axe
In unison, they turned and saw a manlike creature, who appeared to be made of stone. He had a wide set of wings similar to the wings of a bat. Crouched low to the ground, it was clear the creature was ready to strike.
“Run!” Djo shouted.
The trio dashed through the woods, hoping to outrun the creature whose heavy footsteps pursued them. It grunted through its stone nostrils as it ran, its hot breath moving closer and closer. With a swipe of its massive clawed hand, it grabbed Djo, who had been closest to the path as they ran.
Tissa slowed for a second, but Taren grabbed her arm, forcing her to continue her flight. Without looking back, they heard the cries of their companion. There was nothing they could do. To their horror, the creature was not satisfied by taking the one who had touched the path. It continued its pursuit of the remaining two apprentices, gaining ground on them as they tired.
Taren and Tissa struggled for breath as they were forced to keep running. The trees grew denser, forcing them to dodge around the massive trunks while avoiding tripping over spent limbs. Tissa stumbled only a moment, but the creature was there to catch her. As her scream pierced the air, a shiver went down Taren’s spine.
The creature continued to pursue Taren, its presence looming ever closer. Keep running, keep running, he told himself. If his body gave out now, he would be dead for sure. His only hope was to ignore the pain growing in the bones of his feet and the pounding of his heart in his ears. Faster and faster he pushed himself to run, but the creature continued to gain ground. Just when Taren thought he was sure to die, he burst through the tree line and into the sunlight. He had escaped The Barrens.
Chapter 2
Stumbling out of the woods, Taren no longer felt the hot breath of the stone beast on his neck. Daring to cease his flight, he turned and peered between the trees. The beast was walking away, its back turned to the apprentice. He considered a moment whether he might survive reentering the woods to see if his companions were alive. A ghastly howl filled his ears as the monster stooped next to a motionless figure draped in yellow. It was Tissa, whose blood now dripped from the beast’s sharp claws. Taren turned away, unable to bear the sight before him. His stomach turned sour, and he hung his head for a long moment.
A voice startled him back to reality. “Did ye come oot o’ those woods?” a surprised man asked.
Taren looked up to see a farmer dressed in patched clothing. On a rope he led a yellow goat and a black-faced sheep with a red fleece. Strange wool. Staring at the sheep, he could hardly believe his eyes.
“Ye didna use magic in thare, did ye?” The farmer looked Taren up and down, making note of his mage’s robe and leather shoulder bag. The flap had come open on the bag, revealing rows of potions strapped neatly inside. The shocked expression still worn on the mage’s face revealed that he had seen the beast that lived inside the woods.
Taren looked at the man, his eyes wide. His mind still whirling from his encounter with the monster, he found no words available to him. Though he felt the urge to look behind him once more, he resisted. He could not bear the sight of his fellow apprentice being devoured by a beast. Instead, he sat heavily on the ground, still reeling from his harrowing ordeal.
The land stretched out before him in vibrant color. No recognizable grass sprung from the ground. Instead, patches of a spongelike substance in varying colors adorned the ground. There was a noticeable lack of trees to this land, yet a walled city stood less than a mile away, its wooden buildings rising high into the sky. Farmhouses dotted the landscape in the distance, and brightly colored livestock walked the fields. They were too far for him to determine exactly what species of animal they were, but their movements reminded him of cattle.
The farmer approached Taren, who still had not managed to utter a single word. Placing a hand on the young mage’s shoulder, he said, “Do ye need help, lad?” He knelt down for a closer look at the mage, who was trembling slightly. “Ye should get yerself to town,” he suggested, taking Taren’s arm.
Assisted by the farmer, Taren once again found his feet. He looked ahead at the town and nodded slowly. The farmer pointed toward the western side of the city.
“Town’s called Rixville, and thare’s a gate on the western-facin’ side. Ye should get yerself some rest.”
Soundlessly, Taren’s feet began to move. As if in a trance, he slowly made his way to the city. The farmer watched for a few minutes as Taren walked away. Finally, he was satisfied that the young man didn’t need any more help, so he led his animals away. Taren did not look back.
The city sat less than a mile from the edge of The Barrens. A wooden wall nearly eight feet in height surrounded the entire town, protecting it from dangers Taren was unaware of. Smoke rose from a dozen chimneys, and the sounds of voices calling out filled his ears as he approached. Taren turned his feet westward and approached the gate where four guards chatted lazily with one another. Three of them were sitting, while a fourth leaned lazily against the wall.
The standing guard looked Taren over only once, his bored expression unchanging. “Have business in town do ye?” he asked.
Taren nodded. “I’m looking for an inn,” he replied, not knowing where his voice came from. Everything seemed surreal since encountering the stone beast.
“Head down the main street and take the second left,” the guard said. “The Wigglin’ Wyrm is the third building on the right. It’ll do ye fine for a drink and a rest.”
Entering the town, the scent of roasting meat wafted to his nostrils. Taking in a deep breath, his stomach rumbled, begging to be filled with the sweet-smelling meal. How long had it been since he stopped to eat? He could not recall. Following his feet, he turned at the second street, which was far narrower than the main road. A man carrying planks came around from a corner, nearly bashing Taren’s head with a sliding board. Noticing the movement from the corner of his eye, the mage barely had time to duck. Luckily, he reacted in time, and the board narrowly missed him. Turning, he ruffled his brow at the man carrying the load.
The mustachioed man returned his gaze. “Watch where yer goin’ then!” he shouted before continuing on his way.
Taren shook his head and cupped his hands over his eyes. Rubbing his face briskly, he tried to shake himself from the daze that had come over him. A hot meal and something to drink would help, he decided. This day had already proved too eventful, and he needed time to gather himself before deciding whether to move on. Master Imrit would be sorely disappointed if he returned now, assuming it was possible to return. For all he knew, the beast was still waiting for him to reenter the woods. He would have to press on, but for now, he had earned a rest.
The Wigglin’ Wyrm stood only a few steps away, its wooden sign dancing on the breeze. It bore the image of a skinny golden dragon with a mug of frothy ale in its hand. The outside was in disrepair, with crooked shutters and a few shingles missing from the roof. Stepping inside, he was surprised to find it well kept. The common room was already bustling with activity, despite it still being early. Most of the men inside should have been working, but they had chosen revelry instead.
Taren found a seat at the bar as far as he could get from the other patrons. A heavy woman in a low-cut bodice approached him with a wide smile, the gap between her front teeth displaying itself as a thing of beauty.
“What’ll ye have, love?” she asked.
“Whatever you have cooking will be fine,” he replied. “And I’ll be needing a room as well.”
“Got some lovely stew,” she said with a wink. “It’s nice and hot. Ye can have yer choice o’ rooms. Might have to double up if it gets busy, mind ye.” She scurried off behind the bar, disappearing through a squeaky wooden door.
The thought of sharing a room didn’t appeal to Taren. This town was unknown to him, but he was aware of the general distrust of wizards in this area. Still, there was little choice unless he was prepared to scour the town for a different inn. It would be dark in a few hours, so he resigned himself to s
taying put regardless of who might be joining him in his room.
The large woman returned and placed a steaming bowl in front of him. Flashing another smile, she grabbed a mug from beneath the bar and filled it with a golden liquid. “Our house ale,” she stated proudly. “Best in the city.”
“I’m sure it is,” Taren replied. Taking a sip, he fought the urge to spit it out. The ale was thin with an overly strong taste of alcohol. Now he knew why so many people shrugged off work to visit the establishment. Bringing a spoonful of stew to his mouth, he blew on it to cool it before taking a taste. To his surprise, it was quite good. The meat tasted fresh, and the potatoes and carrots were cooked perfectly. The slice of bread that accompanied it was still warm from the oven. It was flavorful and reminded him of the bread Vita would occasionally bake. He missed his home already.
Finishing his meal, he asked the woman, “How much do I owe you?”
“Ten coppers fer the room and two fer the food,” she replied. “But ye won’t be ready fer bed yet. Thare’s a lute player comin’ in a bit.”
Taren wasn’t in much of a mood for a party. Though he was feeling better after his meal, he still planned to retire early and get a good night’s sleep before deciding what to do in the morning. Fishing in his bag, he produced the coppers and laid them on the counter. “I thought I might get to bed early,” he said.
The barmaid came around to his side of the bar and pressed herself against him. “Ye sure?” she asked with a grin. “Ye’ll have more fun here. Young men like ye need to have a little fun.” She nudged at him with her elbow, her eyes twinkling.
Nearly forgetting to breathe, he squeaked out, “Not tonight.” Quickly, he rose to his feet and pushed his stool back toward the bar before bolting up the stairs. The woman’s laughter filled the air as she watched him frantically escape to safety. Apparently she was just toying with him, but his lack of experience with women had left him panicked and red in the face.
Taren ducked into the first room at the top of the stairs. It was small with few furnishings: two small beds spaced about a foot apart, a wooden table with a single chair, and one tiny square window looking out over the city. A pitcher of water and a washing bowl sat upon the table, and Taren was glad to wash the dirt away from his face. After scrubbing at his skin, he ran his wet fingers through his shaggy brown hair. He stared at his reflection a moment in the bowl, staring into his own deep brown eyes and wishing he could wash away the sights he had seen earlier in the day.
With a sigh, he removed his leather boots and lay back on the bed near the window. Placing one arm behind his head, he stared up at the ceiling and waited for sleep to find him. After a few moments, he crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. Still, sleep eluded him. He tossed a few times, finally ending up on his right side. Drifting off to sleep, he dreamed he was back in The Barrens, with the other apprentices at his side. This time, it was him who touched the path, standing upon it with both feet as his two companions watched in horror. The stone beast appeared before him, slashing at his face before he had time to react. He awoke with a start, sitting straight up on his bed.
Thunderous applause erupted from below as the celebration continued into the night. Looking out of the window, Taren could see that night had fallen, a million stars filling the sky. Rubbing at his temples, he hoped to shake off the disturbing image of his dream, but he was too shaken. Stumbling in the darkness for his boots, he slipped them onto his feet and headed back downstairs to join the crowd. The raucous noise coming from the common room would not have allowed him to return to sleep anyway.
It had to be near midnight, and the common room was packed with people. Not only had a lute player taken to the stage, but a drummer had set up as well. Together they played a variety of songs, happily taking requests from the boisterous crowd. Taren shuffled to a table in the corner, leaning his head heavily on his hand. A server approached him, but he waved the girl away. He wasn’t interested in any more of the house ale.
After sitting through a few songs, he felt even more awake than before. It was unlikely he would get any sleep this night. An uneasy feeling came over him as he realized that a figure at the opposite end of his table was staring at him. The man was dressed in dark-brown leather with a cowl covering the majority of his face. His eyes, however, were completely exposed, glowing in the dimly lit room. They were yellow like a cat’s, with wide slits for pupils. Clearly, this person was not human, but Taren had never heard of such a race. Such creatures must live far from the land of Ky’sall.
Taren found himself staring back at the man, who finally stood and marched toward the young wizard. Taren tried to look away, hoping the man would walk past him, but no such luck. The yellow-eyed man took a seat next to Taren, setting his mug down on the table.
“You seem out of sorts,” the man said in a raspy voice. He brushed back his cowl, allowing Taren a clear view of his face. His blue-green skin was scaly, obviously reptilian. His snakelike head featured rows of spikes on either side, his nose little more than two nostril slits above his mouth. “I’m not from around here either,” he added.
Taren stared a moment, not sure how to respond. Never in his life had he encountered another of this man’s race. “I’m from Dobra,” Taren admitted. Though he had been born in a farming village, he had spent a few years at the Mage’s College in Dobra before moving to its outskirts to live with Master Imrit. It was as good a hometown as any.
The reptile man nodded. “You’re a mage,” he said. “We don’t get many of those around here.” He sipped at his drink, waiting for Taren to continue the conversation.
Taren wasn’t sure what to say. What was this man’s interest in him? Was he just being friendly or was there some ulterior motive? “Yes, I’m a mage,” he finally said. “My name is Taren.”
The man smiled, turning up the corners of his wide, scaly mouth. “My name’s Zamna,” he said. “I’m an assassin.”
Taren was slightly taken aback by the man’s sudden announcement of his profession. “Why would someone hire you to kill me?” he asked out loud. Instantly, he regretted allowing the words to leave his mouth.
Zamna laughed a strange hissing laugh. “If I’d wanted to kill you, you would be dead. I don’t converse with my targets.”
Taren’s tense posture relaxed a bit. Clearly this man was an undesirable. Taren hadn’t noticed, but when Zamna moved closer to him, the table nearest to him cleared out, each person slowly vacating his seat, one after the other. “Then what do you want with me?”
“You look like someone who has a mission to accomplish. This town gets a handful of travelers each year, but none of them are wizards. Something has drawn you this way, and I thought you might be in need of a little assistance. I occasionally provide services as a bodyguard, and I know this land fairly well.”
Taren grew suspicious. “How do you know about my mission?”
“I don’t,” Zamna admitted. “A troubled young man who keeps to himself in a roomful of merrymaking must have a lot on his mind. Perhaps a task of some importance weighs heavily on you.”
Taren admired the reptile man’s ability to read him. The idea of completing his mission alone was indeed troubling. Imrit had intended for all three apprentices to work together to retrieve the symbol. Alone, Taren stood little chance. But how could he trust an assassin? This man probably intended to rob him and kill him once they were away from witnesses. “Why would you offer me your assistance?” Taren asked. He crossed his arms and tried his best to look intimidating.
“Money,” Zamna replied casually. “A wizard’s quest no doubt involves treasure,” he added. “I’d be happy to have a share of it. You are heading someplace dangerous and are in need of a little protection. I happen to be quite handy with these daggers.” He pulled a shining silver dagger from its sheath on his chest and a second from an unseen holster on his hip. Twirling them once, he laid them on the table and grinned at the young mage. “I have quite a reputation around here for
fighting, but you’ll notice I have no scars upon my scales. What do you say?”
Taren’s mind flashed back to the stone beast. Could Zamna have defeated it? Swallowing hard, Taren came to a decision. He would tell this man where he was heading and judge by his reaction whether he was worth employing. After all, Imrit had not sworn any of them to secrecy. Only a mage could claim the symbol. “I am heading to the tomb of the ancient sorceress Ailwen.”
Zamna laughed again, this time tossing his head back. Noticing that Taren had not cracked a smile, he stopped and asked, “You’re serious?”
A single nod was Taren’s only reply.
“It lies far to the south, through forests, deserts, and swamps,” Zamna stated. “That is no mission to undertake alone.”
“You know the way?” Taren asked, not revealing that he had a map in his bag. He was certain he could find the way on his own, but surviving to that point might prove difficult. After all, he was an herbalist, not a battle mage. Had Tissa and Djo been free to perform magic, he was certain they would have taken down the stone beast. Unfortunately, casting magic in The Barrens could have summoned more beasts to overwhelm them. Now alone, he had no one to provide protection from whatever he might encounter along the way. Though he was far from defenseless, he was less than confident in his fighting abilities.
“I’ve never been that far south,” Zamna admitted. “But I do know the land south of here, and I’ve survived a desert before.”
“What payment are you demanding?” Taren asked.
“A portion of whatever’s in that tomb,” Zamna replied. “I doubt anyone has disturbed it, seeing as it’s cursed.” He shrugged as he said those last words, obviously unbothered by such a minor detail.
“We’ll leave at first light,” Taren declared, hoping he had made the right decision. With an ally, he would be more likely to survive the road ahead. At least now he stood a chance of success. If it became necessary to defend himself against his own companion, he hoped his magic would prove strong enough to best the reptilian man, or at least give him time to escape.