by Lana Axe
Zamna shrugged. “Suit yourself, I suppose.” Rolling onto his side, he turned away from the mage and closed his eyes.
Taren sat up a while longer before finally lying back on his bed. The stars were dim overhead, despite the obvious lack of clouds. The night sky had a purple hue to it, with splashes of pale pink mixed in. He wondered how this land had become so colorful, but the snoring of his companion let him know there was no use asking. Deep down, he already knew the answer: magic.
Chapter 4
After days of marching southward, Taren felt as though an eternity had passed. There had been little conversation so far, and no interesting sights to observe along the way. Finally the land began to change. Sparse patches of green grass sprouted in random spots along the road, and a few small trees stood in the distance. Taren felt relief to see the terrain becoming more like his home. Only one remaining farmhouse with its multicolored livestock could be seen far from the road. Taking one last look back, Taren bid farewell to the strange, colorful land.
“Something has been bothering me,” Zamna said, breaking the long silence that had existed between the two travelers.
Taren, startled by his companion’s sudden desire for talk, asked, “What is that?”
Zamna paused in his walking and turned to face the mage. “You said your parents couldn’t pay for your education. I don’t understand why this Red Council would take you away and then expect someone else to pay for it. If they wanted to train you, they should have done so regardless of payment.”
Taren was surprised that the La’kertan would point out the injustice of his situation. A man who kills for money surely looks out only for himself. Perhaps Taren had misjudged him. “It isn’t right, is it?” he replied. “It’s their way of weeding out the poor and giving the rich, noble families the opportunity to get ahead. There are very few mages who aren’t from prominent families.”
Shaking his head, Zamna commented, “The ruling elite. It’s the same in my homeland, only worse.”
“How so?” Taren wondered.
“There are many factions who desire power,” Zamna explained. “You join one, and the others are ready to hunt you down.” Having said all he was willing to reveal, he resumed his course along the road.
Though it hadn’t lasted long, Taren was grateful for the momentary pause. His feet were not used to so much walking, and occasionally he had a hard time keeping up with his companion. The La’kertan had a fluid, silent motion about him, and he moved with ease over the flat terrain. Taren suspected he would move well through any environment, and he wondered what the reptilian homeland must be like. The question would have to wait for another day. Zamna was not forthcoming with personal information, and Taren had no desire to risk angering his companion with questions.
The trees became less scarce as they moved along the road. The ground now appeared completely green, with no sign of the strange grass that surrounded Rixville. The land before them was wide, with tall grass and long stocks bearing fluffy-white tufts at the top. An occasional yellow flower reached high, its face shining high above the grass. Most of the trees were saplings, but there were a number of them to be seen, some of them coming close to the edge of the road. The air seemed fresher, and Taren breathed it deeply into his lungs. He felt more at home than he had the past few days.
A high-pitched squeal broke through the air, startling Taren from his reverie. Zamna instinctively drew his daggers and crouched low to the ground. Taren knelt down next to him, hoping his companion would know what had made the sound and whether it was a threat to them.
Zamna brought a finger to his lips, instructing the mage to remain silent. Taren clamped his mouth shut, only then realizing that it was hanging open. The squeal pierced the silence once again, followed by a loud snort. After a moment, footsteps pawed at the ground. A smile stretched across the La’kertan’s face. Taren did not understand.
“A spiny hog,” Zamna whispered, licking his lips.
Nodding that he understood, Taren stood cautiously. Spiny hogs could be rather nasty, and the males were terribly aggressive. It stood under a tree, looking the same as the feral hogs he had seen in Ky’sall with its wiry, red-brown hair and a single row of black spines running in a ridge along its back. Taren made note of its tusks curling up from its mouth to its snout.
“A male,” he whispered, “about twenty yards away near that tree.” He gestured his thumb in the direction of the hog.
With a single nod, Zamna crept forward into the grass, disappearing from view. Taren stayed put, wondering if he should follow. He’d never actually hunted an animal before, but he hated to stand still while his companion did all the work. He would be sharing in the reward of a fresh dinner, and it didn’t seem right to stand idle.
Looking in the direction of the hog, he could see no sign of Zamna. Then, the hog suddenly turned and sniffed the air. It must be aware of Zamna’s presence, he thought. Cracking his knuckles, he bent low and extended his hands toward the hog. Muttering an incantation under his breath, he focused his energy at the creature. A single beam of green magic cracked through the air, extending from his hand to the hog. Missing the animal by only inches, it hopped in the air and turned its attention to Taren. Before the mage could chide himself for his mistake, Zamna leapt forward from the grass, his dagger finding its target in the hog’s neck. It hung lifelessly in his arms, never knowing what had taken its life.
Taren made his way to his companion, while Zamna immediately set to work gutting the animal. The sight was gruesome but not unbearable. If they were going to have fresh meat, something had to die. Taren searched the ground for fallen branches to start a fire. If he couldn’t assist in catching dinner, the least he could do was help cook it. Finding a suitable amount of wood, he trampled the grass and fashioned a ring of stones to contain the flames. Arranging the wood in a neat pile, he extended a hand and shot red magic into the center. A fire roared to life.
“Got it on the first try,” Zamna jibed, hissing softly with laughter. “What were you trying to do anyway? Blow it up?”
“Had it worked, it would have paralyzed the creature, making it easier to catch,” Taren explained.
“Well, at least you distracted it, I guess,” Zamna replied. “It’s easy to sneak up on a person, but an animal can smell you coming. I’m glad I didn’t have to wrestle with this one.” He lifted the head of the hog and presented it to Taren, who was already fashioning a spit. The mage took it with a smile and placed it over the fire to cook.
Though the meat was a little tough, having something fresh was a welcome change from strips of dried beef. Taren ate his fill plus a few extra bites. Zamna seemed to enjoy the meat as well, as he devoured a large portion of the hog’s hind quarter before stopping to take a breath.
His stomach feeling ready to burst, Taren rummaged around in his pack for a solution. Finding a bundle of Golden Thread leaves, he pulled two of them out and placed one in his mouth. It had a slight tanginess to it, which was not unwelcome after a meal of so much meat. Extending his hand, he offered the second leaf to Zamna. “It will help with stomach upset,” he declared. “Also, it will fight any bacteria that might not have cooked away. You can’t be too careful with these unfamiliar food sources.”
Zamna hesitated for a moment, looking at the leaf. Slowly he reached for it and turned it over in his hand. With a shrug, he placed it in his mouth and chewed. His eyes squinted as the sourness hit him, and he resisted the urge to spit it out. The aftertaste was tolerable, but he wouldn’t be so quick to take medicine from his companion the next time. Reaching into what was left of the hog’s carcass, he found a suitably small bone. Reclining against the base of the tree, he picked at his pointed teeth. With a supportive hand on his midsection, he let out a sizable burp. “I think we’re done for the day,” he commented.
Taren nodded. His legs and feet were aching, and walking on a full stomach would only add to his discomfort.
“Tell me, mage,” Zamna began, “wha
t lies inside Ailwen’s tomb that is of importance to you?”
Taren hesitated in his answer. Zamna had said the tomb’s door was sealed with magic, and only a mage would be able to get inside. The La’kertan had come along for the treasure, and it was possible he intended to take everything—including the symbol. Would this man kill him once they had retrieved it? Being nonmagical, he couldn’t hope to use it for himself, but it was probably worth a fortune to the right buyer. Did anyone know the symbol’s true potential besides Imrit? Maybe it was safe to talk to Zamna, but Taren wasn’t sure.
The symbol had been lost for centuries, and there was no talk of the sorceress Ailwen anymore. Taren and the other apprentices had never heard of her when their master first described her immense power. No book at the Mage’s College had recorded anything about her life. It was as if she never existed. It was doubtful other mages had studied her as closely as Imrit. His interests were quite different from those of his peers, and he had often been ridiculed because of it. It was possible that this quest was in vain, and no such item actually existed. It was also possible that the item had been destroyed, or that the tomb had already been plundered. Some thief might have sold the symbol for its value in precious metals, never knowing its true potential.
“Is your mission so secret?” Zamna wondered. With a shrug, he continued to pick at his teeth. If the mage did not wish to tell him, he would not force him. Zamna was sure there would be plenty of other treasures beside the one his companion sought. He doubted Taren was out to double-cross him. The young man had tried to ask Zamna to stay behind, whether it was because he feared him or because there was some danger ahead mattered not. Zamna was a man of his word. He would help this man in his journey, and hopefully be much richer for it. His days as a hired knife might soon be at an end.
“I seek to retrieve an item for my master, one that is rumored to be buried inside Ailwen’s tomb,” Taren explained. He had no desire to keep Zamna in the dark, but he wasn’t sure how much was safe to tell. Imrit had not instructed the apprentices to keep the matter secret, but he might have thought it went without saying. He expected them to rely on each other, but surely he knew they might encounter others along the way. What if they needed help from an outside source? Imrit had never mentioned such a scenario.
“A magical item, no doubt,” Zamna replied with renewed interest. “Why does your master not travel with you?”
“He is too old,” Taren replied. “He couldn’t possibly make the journey. This is my final test before I achieve the rank of master.”
“You need to prove you can face peril?” Zamna asked, chuckling slightly.
“I suppose that’s part of it,” he said, slightly offended. Obviously, his companion had no idea what it meant to become a master of the arcane. It was everything to Taren. Making Imrit proud mattered more to him than anything else in the world.
“Am I allowed to know more about this item?” Zamna asked. “Or is it some deep dark secret that only mages can understand?” He paused a moment and added, “You might at least say what it looks like. I wouldn’t want you to overlook it among the other items in the tomb.”
Taren’s heart nearly stopped for a moment. He had no idea what the symbol actually looked like. Imrit had never described it. It was possible the old man did not know. There were only a few surviving accounts of the symbol, and those were in decaying tomes. How would Taren know when he came across it? Was this part of the test? Surely Imrit would not have sent his apprentices on a quest if he didn’t believe they could succeed. There had to be a way to know for sure when he came upon the symbol. When I’m in its presence, I will know it, he tried to convince himself. Though he could not shake off all doubt, he decided to trust that his master had given him all the necessary information.
Zamna shook his head. “Fine,” he said. “Just one more question. If this magical item is so precious, why would you want to return it to your master? Why not keep it for yourself instead?”
“Because my master requests it,” Taren replied. “He is the only father I’ve ever known, and I’m loyal to him.” Taren looked at the ground. “I couldn’t live with myself if I betrayed him.” In his mind, he thought of the symbol’s alleged ability to grant its wielder eternal life. His master was aging, and he did not want to lose him. He would gladly hand it over in hopes that Imrit would be around for many long years, still passing on his wisdom to Taren. Without thinking, he asked, “Do assassins know much of loyalty and honor?”
Zamna sat forward and threw his toothpick into the fire. “If I take a job, I complete it. Is that not loyalty? Am I not a man of my word?” He shook his head.
“I didn’t mean—” Taren started to say.
“Believe it or not, there are people in this world who deserve to be killed,” Zamna spat. “Don’t judge me with your high-and-mighty attitude. Your people sell young children into slavery. Would it not be appropriate to kill an owner who treats his slave badly?”
“I…I don’t know,” Taren replied, stumbling on his words.
“Trust me, mage, people like me are doing you a favor. You live your sugar-coated life and believe that everything works out in the end. I’m one of those people making sure that things do, in fact, work out for the better.”
Taren regretted his words and wished he could take them back. His companion had clearly been offended, and that was not his intention. For the last few days, he felt they were becoming friends, and he hated the thought of losing that. “Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to disparage you or your profession. And you’re right. I have led a sheltered life. I know very little of things outside my books.”
“When I make a promise to a man, I keep it,” Zamna said, the anger draining from his voice. “Others might look down on me because of my profession, but I am an honorable man.”
“I believe you,” Taren stated. “I apologize.”
Zamna waved his hand dismissively and leaned back against the tree. Hissing with laughter, he said, “You probably thought I’d cut your throat and rob you once we were outside town.”
Taren forced himself to laugh as well, hoping it didn’t sound too contrived. He would never admit how he had truly perceived his companion at first.
“Believe it or not, you’re worth more to me alive,” Zamna said. “If that tomb holds riches, then this journey will be worth the trouble a hundred times over.”
“Do you know someone who has been there?” Taren asked.
“No,” Zamna replied. “And that’s why it must hold treasure. If anyone in my circle had plundered it, there would be tales spoken for generations. In my travels, I’ve heard only that the tomb exists, and that it’s impossible to get inside if you can’t perform great feats of magic. I guess that means a master of the arcane has to open the door.” He grinned at his companion.
“I’m not a master,” he reminded him.
“True,” Zamna stated. “But you will be soon. Who knows? Maybe your master made up the part about an item. Maybe your real test is to open the door.”
“If that’s the case, we might be in trouble.”
“How so?” Zamna sat forward once again.
“Well, my master sent three of us to find the tomb. Maybe we need three mages who have mastered different elements in order to get inside.” The prospect was daunting. How would he ever find more mages along the way?
“Let’s hope that isn’t the case,” Zamna hissed. “I’d hate to walk all that way for nothing.”
“Do you think we will come across other mages?”
“No idea,” the La’kertan replied. “I suppose anything is possible. We’ll just have to keep our eyes open for them.” After a pause, he asked, “What element does an herbalist master?”
“Earth,” Taren replied. “Though there are different ways to go with earth magic. In truth, there are different courses to pursue with all the elements. So even if we found more mages, it would be impossible to know if they had the correct skills to gain entrance to th
e tomb.”
“I suppose they’d need the same skills as your former companions,” Zamna said. “I wonder if your master knew only one of you would make it. I’ve never heard that a team of wizards would be required to open the door. I’ve only been told that it takes a master. I’ll put my faith in your skills.” As he finished speaking, he laid out his bedroll and stretched himself onto it.
Taren remained sitting, staring into the fire. Maybe Zamna was right, and his true test was to open the door. Imrit would probably grant him the title of master if he returned able to prove he’d been inside. The symbol had to exist, though. Master Imrit had spoken of it with fire in his eyes. Taren was determined to search every corner of that tomb until he found it, even if it took decades. He would not return to his master empty-handed.
Chapter 5
Morning brought a bright sky and soft white clouds drifting overhead. Both men were up early, their energy restored by last night’s feast. Though Zamna seemed to have calmed by the time he went to sleep, Taren worried there might still be contention between them.
“I didn’t mean to insult you last night,” he said as he slung his bedroll over his shoulder.
“Forget it,” Zamna replied without looking up.
“No hard feelings?” Taren pressed.
Zamna looked at him quizzically. “Hard feelings?”
“It’s an expression,” Taren explained.
Zamna grunted. Rising to his feet, he said, “Let’s get moving.”