The Third Apprentice

by Lana Axe

  Zamna re-sheathed his daggers and lifted his mug. After taking a long swig, he reached forward to shake Taren’s hand. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I never kill anyone who owes me money.” Grinning, he added, “But I make no promises after I’m paid.”

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, Taren awoke with regrets. Holding his head in his hands, he sat up on his bed, scolding himself. How could he have agreed to allow an assassin to accompany him on the most important journey of his life? Master Imrit had placed his trust in Taren, and now he had risked losing everything. This reptile man could probably kill him faster than he could cast a defensive spell.

  Gathering his thoughts, he decided to tell Zamna there had been a change in plans. He would admit that he hadn’t been thinking clearly since his ordeal earlier, and he had made a mistake. Now that he’d had time to gather his thoughts, he knew this was a journey he would have to undertake alone. But how could he tell a killer that he’d changed his mind? This man was expecting payment in the form of treasure. Taren couldn’t possibly provide that. He made up his mind to sneak out quietly, avoiding the situation altogether. With luck, Zamna would not consider him worth tracking down.

  Taren rose from the bed and quickly collected his few belongings. Opening the door quietly, he tiptoed into the hallway and down the stairs. If only there were a back door to the establishment, he wouldn’t have to pass through the common room. Zamna might be sitting there waiting to leave. To Taren’s relief, only a few men sat around eating breakfast. The reptilian man was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had changed his mind and decided against spending miserable days crossing a desert. There was a good chance someone had plundered the tomb in ages past, so there was no real reason for Zamna to come along. Except, of course, that he was familiar with the area and might not be bad to have around in a fight. Taren shook the thought away. No, he would travel alone and retrieve the symbol unassisted.

  Stepping out into the sunlight, Taren breathed the fresh air deep into his lungs. He closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun, momentarily basking in its warm embrace. Out of nowhere, something crashed into his midsection. Opening his eyes, he stood face to face with Zamna, who was once again hooded. Taren’s mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.

  “You’ll be needing that bedroll,” Zamna said, still holding it against the mage’s torso. “The sand will be uncomfortable if it gets between your scales,” he added, hissing with laughter.

  Taking the pack, Taren slung it over his back. “Thanks,” he muttered. It would add weight to the bundle he was already carrying, but it would provide more padding than the thin blanket he had brought.

  “We should get a few more supplies,” Zamna said. “You’ll need more water than me, and we don’t want to run low on food. We might need to pick up some medicine as well, just in case.”

  “I can handle that myself,” Taren informed him. “I’m an herbalist.” Unlatching his shoulder bag, he held it open for Zamna to look inside.

  The assassin nodded his approval. “Let’s get some food then.”

  Stepping down from the inn stairs, Taren said, “Look, this really is something I should do alone. You don’t need to come along.” He couldn’t dare say what he was really thinking. He did not trust this person, and he’d been an idiot to invite him along.

  Zamna narrowed his eyes. “You’ll never make it alone,” he said. “The only reason you got away from the stone beast was because the other two were slower than you.”

  Taren stared at him in disbelief. Had he revealed more than he meant to last night? His memory was blurry, and he could not recollect when he had returned to bed. Perhaps he had partaken of too much house ale, despite promising himself he would have no more of it. The mage vaguely remembered the reptile man insisting they drink on their agreement. What had he told this man about the symbol? Revealing too much might put him in danger. This assassin could easily take it from him once he’d retrieved it. It was possible he was a mage as well and was hiding it.

  “Ailwen’s tomb is rumored to be full of riches,” Zamna said, filling the silence. “Now that you’ve put the idea in my head, I’m going, and I’ll need a mage to open the door.”

  “Why is that?” Taren wondered.

  “Because it’s sealed with magic,” Zamna replied, shaking his head. “Do you know nothing of the place you’re going?”

  “I know a little,” Taren replied, trying to hold his head high. In reality, little was known of the tomb. Master Imrit had studied more than anyone else on the subject, and he had little information to pass on. Once he had discovered its location, he had mapped out the route that his apprentices should take and left it at that. How to get inside and retrieve the symbol was up to the them. With the three of them together, surely they could figure it out. Imrit had grown old and impatient, and his apprentices were eager to please. They had convinced themselves they could do anything. Never once had they imagined not making it out of The Barrens.

  The other apprentices were gone, fallen at the hands of a monster. Taking in a deep breath, Taren resolved to complete his quest, and return with the symbol or die trying. What harm could there be in allowing Zamna to join him? Two heads were better than one, weren’t they? Letting out the breath slowly, Taren said, “Let’s get what we need and be on our way.” His chances of success seemed good, as long as Zamna proved to be a man of his word. If he wasn’t, Taren would probably find out sooner rather than later. After all, if he intended only to rob him and kill him, he would probably do it as soon as they left town. Taren decided he would take the risk. Alone in the wilderness, he would likely die anyway.

  Together they walked down the narrow street leading into the main thoroughfare. Market stalls lined each side of the wide road, and numerous vendors called out in loud voices in hopes of attracting customers. Taren’s eye fell on a baker’s stall, where sticky sweet rolls displayed themselves with pride, begging him to indulge. Resisting the urge, he pressed on. This was not the time to satiate his sweet tooth. Provisions needed to be kept light for the long journey ahead. Walking all day with a heavy pastry in his stomach would only lead to problems.

  Though Taren had brought some rations from Imrit’s cottage, he had no idea how long the journey would take. It couldn’t hurt to purchase more while he had the chance. The pair stopped at a stall where nuts and dried fruit were stocked in abundance. A thin man with a gaunt face smiled at them from behind the counter.

  “What’ll ye have?” he asked.

  “Do you have any dried meat?” Taren asked, hoping the local cuisine was not too different from what he was used to.

  “Aye,” the man replied. “We got beef strips and crickers.”

  Taren paused a moment, wondering if he should ask what crickers were. “Two pounds of beef for me,” he said, before looking over at Zamna.

  “A pound of crickers,” Zamna said. “We also need three pounds of dry fruit and four pounds of nuts. You can mix a variety together.”

  With a nod, the man began filling thick paper pouches with the requested provisions.

  “Do you think that will be enough?” Taren asked.

  “There will be more along the way,” Zamna promised. “I know what’s edible out there.”

  Taren nodded, glad to have his companion’s knowledge of the area. The young apprentice had a good knowledge of plants, so he doubted he would accidentally ingest anything poisonous, but he wasn’t sure what he would find in this strange land. Of course, what was poisonous to him might not be to someone of Zamna’s race. Taren had no idea.

  The merchant handed over the bags to Zamna, who shoved them inside his pack. With his hand out, the man stared at Taren. Rummaging in his sack, Taren pulled out a few copper coins.

  “Is this enough?” he asked.

  The man nodded. “Good day to ye.”

  “What are crickers?” Taren asked as the pair headed back to the road.

  “Dried crickets,” Zamna replied. “Good source of prote
in.”

  Taren felt himself start to gag, but he swallowed hard to fight it. Zamna could keep the entire bag of crickers for himself.

  As they approached the city gate, they stepped aside to allow a few farmers to enter with their carts. The bright-blue fur of the mules hauling the wares into town caught Taren’s eye. They were much more impressive than the brownish-red mules he was used to seeing. They trotted along the road, bringing a splash of color to an otherwise drab city.

  “We’re leaving just in time,” Zamna commented. “It’s market day.”

  Taren wouldn’t mind taking a look at the colorful wares in the cart, but he knew there was no time to waste. The sooner he could get going, the sooner he could find the symbol and return to his master. With a final look, he said goodbye to the city of Rixville. He hoped to be passing this way again soon, when it was time to return home.

  Stepping outside the gate, a system of well-worn roads spread out before them. Those running east-west had seen the most travel, as evidenced by the deep ruts cut into them. The road leading south was less worn, but it was clearly visible. The landscape was dotted with houses and farms of varying size, but there was little to be seen close to the road. The land was mostly flat and covered in the spongy, bright-colored grass Taren had noticed before.

  Choosing the south-leading path, they marched side by side in silence while Taren took in the sights of the area. Zamna kept his eyes forward, carefully watching the way ahead. He moved in a businesslike manner, his head occasionally glancing to the side. After a few miles, Taren could bear the silence no longer.

  “How long do you think it will take to reach the tomb?” he asked.

  “Hard to say,” Zamna replied. “A few weeks at least, assuming the land is traversable and we don’t have to go out of our way.” He kept his gaze forward as he spoke.

  “Are you originally from Rixville?” Taren asked, in an effort to prolong the conversation.

  “No,” he snorted, shaking his head. Clearly he thought the question was daft.

  “Then where are you from?” Taren wondered aloud. Zamna was the first he had seen of a reptilian race, and he’d never read about them in his studies.

  Dropping his head, Zamna sighed. He disliked being interrogated, and he had no intention of sharing much with this young wizard. However, in order to satiate his curiosity, Zamna was willing to answer this one question. “I come from a land far across the sea. It is known as La’kerta.”

  Taren raised his eyebrows, hoping to find out more about the reptilian homeland. “So you’re La’kertan then,” he said.

  “Yes, Ky’sallan,” Zamna snapped, clearly agitated.

  Taren decided not to press his companion any further. Perhaps as they traveled he would open up more and allow Taren to know him better. For now, the mage pictured a land crawling with reptiles, some of them on two legs, others on four. Did they crawl out of the sea in some pre-larval stage like a salamander? Looking at his companion’s scales, he decided he couldn’t be any type of amphibian. His skin was too dry. Still, he wondered if he might have hatched from an egg. Keeping his mouth tightly shut, he held back the question for a later time.

  The road stretched on as they continued their march away from the city. The walls grew farther away until nothing could be seen of Rixville. Farms came and went, and Taren finally got a better look at the animals he had seen from a distance. They were indeed cattle, as he had suspected earlier, and they came in a wide assortment of colors. Some of them were solid, but the majority were dappled with a multitude of hues. One in particular stood out to him, as it had a bright-green head and brown and white splotches on its back. It reminded him of the ducks that used to inhabit the small pond outside his dormitory window. This land was a far cry from the Mage’s College grounds.

  One farm spread wide enough that it nearly touched the road. Taren instantly recognized some of the herbs growing in neat rows just behind a wooden fence. Straying from the road, the mage dared to approach the fence.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Zamna warned. “Those go for a lot of money, and the farmer won’t take kindly to a thief, even a magical one.”

  Taren halted in his tracks. He had no wish to antagonize anyone, but he regretted the scarcity of ingredients in this land. “Why are there no wild plants in this region?”

  “Nothing grows wild anymore,” Zamna replied. “It’s been that way for centuries. Every tree, every plant, every bit of food comes from those farms. Eventually we’ll reach the woods, and you’ll see all the plants you could desire.” His tone sounded almost bored.

  Stepping back onto the road, Taren resumed his march. “I’ve brought quite a variety of potions, but it couldn’t hurt to harvest more ingredients while I travel,” he stated. “You never know what we might need.”

  “So that’s what’s weighing you down,” Zamna remarked, pointing at Taren’s shoulder bag. “You brought more than you needed. The first rule of the road is to travel light.”

  “There are a few more sewn into pockets in my robe,” Taren said with a smile. Undoing a small toggle, he opened a flap on the hip of his robe to reveal five small vials.

  “Let me guess,” Zamna said. “Those are the most important.”

  Taren shrugged. “Depends on the situation. Some of those will replenish my magical stores should I become depleted.”

  Wrinkling his brow, Zamna asked, “Don’t you regenerate that naturally?”

  “No,” Taren replied. “Elves do, but we humans have to rely on potions. We also have a harder time learning magic. For a time, I wished I had been born an elf.” He laughed softly, remember his childhood fantasy of being a tall, blond-haired elf.

  “How do they taste?” Zamna asked.

  “The potions? They’re not too bad. I craft my own, and I usually add a drop of honey or fruit juice to contrast the bitterness.”

  “I don’t know how much of that we’ll be finding,” Zamna remarked.

  They continued until sunset, when Zamna finally suggested they take a rest. Taren was grateful for the opportunity to sit, and his stomach had been rumbling for hours.

  “Is there anywhere to find cover?” Taren asked.

  “Cover from what?” Zamna sounded puzzled.

  “Rain, animals, anything,” Taren replied. “It seems strange to sleep out in the open.”

  “Used to feather beds are you?” the La’kertan hissed. “You’ll be all right. It doesn’t rain here, and there are no wild animals this close to the farms.”

  Taren almost accepted this explanation, but he could not. “If it doesn’t rain, how do the farms stay fertile?”

  “Magic,” Zamna replied. “I’d think a mage could recognize it.”

  Taren felt embarrassed. He had no ability to sense whether another person practiced magic. Again, he wondered what it must be like to be an elf and have that ability. Could Zamna sense the magic? “Are you capable of magic?” he asked.

  “Capable?” Zamna echoed. “Perhaps. I’ve never tried.” With those words, he unrolled his bed and sat down cross-legged.

  “Should we build a fire?” Taren wondered. He had no idea if it would be cold at night. Another thing he had not prepared for. If he used magic to warm himself, he would become depleted too fast. If only he had mastered the element of fire.

  “Not necessary,” Zamna said. “The temperature stays constant.”

  Relieved, Taren unrolled his bed as well and sat across from his companion. Zamna reached inside his pack to retrieve the provisions they had bought earlier that day. Offering them to Taren, the mage gladly took the strips of beef and some fruit. Zamna was content to keep the crickers to himself, and he lazily popped them into his mouth as he reclined on his arm.

  “Tell me,” Zamna began. “How did you come to be a magical human?”

  The sudden interest in his life took Taren by surprise. Zamna’s tone was sincere, almost friendly. Taren may have been too hasty in fearing him, as it seemed the reptilian man had no interest in kill
ing him.

  “I was the third son of nine children born to a yeoman, or so I was told. My family was poor, and I stood to inherit nothing. Luckily, I exhibited a spark of talent for magic when I was just learning to walk. I was taken into basic mage training.”

  “Who took you?” Zamna inquired.

  “The Red Council makes it a point to visit all children in Ky’sall to determine whether they have magical inclinations. If so, they are taken for training. Many are sent home after a year or two. I was lucky.”

  “How so?” Zamna asked as he popped another cricker in his mouth.

  “I had enough magical aptitude to be allowed to continue my training. Unfortunately, my parents were expected to pay for my tuition, as often happens. They couldn’t afford it. My sisters needed dowries, and I was a burden.”

  Zamna leaned up on his arm to look at the apprentice. “But you obviously found a way to continue your training.” Lifting a hand, he gestured to Taren’s robe and bag full of potions.

  “My master, Imrit, took a liking to me. He saw potential and encouraged me to work hard. The Red Council would have sent me to work as a house servant if Imrit hadn’t taken me into his own home and allowed me to study alongside his older apprentices.”

  Zamna lay back to stare up at the stars. “How nice,” he said, sounding only half interested. “What then?”

  “I studied day and night,” he replied. “I took a liking to herbalism, and I put all my energy into it.”

  Zamna scoffed. “Why not learn to cast lightning or something impressive? I can’t imagine anything more boring than cooking potions all day.”

  Taren did his best not to become offended. How could this man possibly know the intricacies of potion crafting? It was possibly the most sought-after profession among mages. Few had the skills necessary to concoct mixtures that worked correctly. “I do have basic knowledge of the elements,” Taren explained. “I can cast many different types of spells, but I can master only one craft. I have chosen herbalism.” He felt pride as he spoke. Truly, crafting magical elixirs was his passion. Mastering an element had its appeals, but a human could hope to master only one arcane subject in a lifetime. It was far too taxing to focus on several at once. Taren was content with his lot.