They entered Tustow just as the mid-day crowd hit the marketplace. It seemed as if all of the town's folk were there for the mid-day meal. Tradesmen and merchants packed the square, vying for position to purchase the freshest bread and cheese, or the occasional piece of meat.
Zhimosom wished they had more Coppers to buy food. They had earned a few along the way, but he wanted to save them for emergencies. He and Rotiaqua looked on hungrily as the patrons purchased delicacies they could only dream of.
"I wish we could buy some of those." Rotiaqua took a deep smell of the market. Zhimosom knew she was reveling in the rich scent of freshly baked bread and pastries. Things he himself had rarely tasted, but to which she was accustomed.
"Once we find the Wizard, we can settle down. Maybe then we can spend a few of these Coppers on treats. Zhimosom jingled his purse where he kept the few coins they had earned along the way.
Zhimosom wasn't sure how they were going to find a Wizard here, or what they would do once they found him.
At the far end of the market, in a dilapidated stall, an old man called to the crowd. "Cures - poultices - purges - ointments."
The old man was tall and thin. He wore a dark brown robe tied around his middle with a faded hemp rope. His hair and beard ware light gray, bordering on white. He caught Zhimosom's eye and called over to him.
"Young man. Come over here."
Zhimosom squeezed his way through the crows to the stall where the old man stood.
"I can see you're a fine young man. You don't need any of these healing potions. Do you?"
"No, I don't need any healing potions." Zhimosom turned to leave, but the man and grabbed his arm.
"I have something better."
Zhimosom turned back.
"I have something much better," the man repeated. "A love potion." He nodded his head at Rotiaqua who was examining cloth at a stall nearby.
"I don't need a love potion." Zhimosom shook off the man's grip. He looked at the potions and mixtures. "Are you a Wizard?" Zhimosom asked.
"Why, yes, I am. Is it a Wizard you seek?"
"Yes, we seek a Wizard." Zhimosom was relieved to have found a Wizard so quickly upon entering the town. He thought he might have had to seek one out, but here one was, right in front of him.
"And why do you seek a Wizard?"
"I ... I have powers," Zhimosom whispered to the old man.
"You do?" The old man stood back; his eyes widened and a smile broke out on his sunburned face. "You don't say."
"Yes, I do."
"So what are you seeking? Do you wish to apprentice yourself to a Wizard?" The man leaned forward examining Zhimosom closely. "How long has the power been awake in you?"
"Well over a summer," Zhimosom said.
"Good ... Good. That means you're ready, doesn't it?"
Zhimosom had never thought of himself as a Wizard. One day the power had awoken in him, and he'd created fire. When Rotiaqua contacted him, they'd learned to raise shields and communicate with magic. If not for Sulrad's threat, he would have happily continued his life as a stable hand.
"Are you ready?" the man repeated.
"Ready for what?"
"Ready to start your apprenticeship."
"Apprenticeship?"
"That's why you have sought me out, isn't it? You're looking to apprentice yourself to a Wizard. Learn magic. Right?"
"I suppose so." Zhimosom decided that he would have to learn more magic if he was ever going to be safe from Sulrad and the Baron. "Will you teach me?"
"I could be persuaded. Do you have any coins?"
Zhimosom became suspicious at the request. "I have none," he lied.
"Then you will have to complete a task for me as payment."
"What type of task?" Zhimosom was skeptical.
The Wizard groped in his pocket and came out with a small piece of parchment. "Can you read?"
"I read some,” Zhimosom answered, happy that Rotiaqua had taught him how. He could trouble out most of the words she threw at him, but he knew that Rotiaqua could read it if he couldn't.
"Here. This is what I need you to get," the Wizard said pointing to the parchment that contained a list of ingredients.
Was this what the dragon meant for him to do? Was he supposed to apprentice himself to this Wizard? Would he learn enough to defeat Sulrad so Rotiaqua could go home? Zhimosom tucked the parchment into his pocket and turned to left in search of Rotiaqua.
After Zhimosom explained to Rotiaqua what had happened, they made their way out of town. Zhimosom didn't want to pay for a room at the inn, so he'd convinced Rotiaqua that one more night outside wouldn't kill them. They set up camp not far from town and made a small fire. Zhimosom pulled out the parchment and handed it to Rotiaqua.
"The Wizard wants us to get him an eagle's egg. It's part of our training."
"Are you sure that he's a Wizard? I didn't feel any power coming from him."
"I haven't met many Wizards. I don't know how to tell," Zhimosom said.
"I think we should be wary of him."
"Let's see what happens when we return with the eagle's eggs."
Rotiaqua scanned the horizon. "Where can we find an eagle's nest?"
"A nest? He needs eggs." Zhimosom waved his hand at the parchment Rotiaqua held.
"Eggs are usually found in nests, unless I'm wrong. I'm not the one who grew up on a farm, after all."
"Don't eagles nest in the mountains?" Zhimosom didn't know where eagles made their nests but he'd heard they liked mountains and tall trees.
"Sometimes they nest in trees on the plains."
Zhimosom reached out with his magic. He visualized an eagle, picturing its feathers, its hooked beak and large shiny eyes. He imagined it on the wing, high above them, circling, guarding its nest. He heard the screech it made as it prepared to dive on a rabbit.
"There," Rotiaqua said. "Did you hear that?"
Zhimosom turned just in time to see an eagle plummet from the sky and snatch a rabbit out of the grass across the meadow. The eagle turned and headed for a copse of trees on a small hill not far away.
"Follow it!" Zhimosom ran after the eagle. He lost track of it with his eyes, but he could still follow it with his magic. It landed in its nest high up in the tallest tree in the copse.
He never looked back to see where Rotiaqua was. He felt her running behind him. He knew she would catch up.
He reached the trees and wound his way into the stand, occasionally looking up to try to catch a glimpse of the nest. The leaves obscured his view, so he used his magic.
The tree in which the nest rested had few branches close to the ground. Zhimosom examined it for some way to climb it. The lowest branch was just out of his reach. He jumped up to grab onto it, but he repeatedly fell short.
"Can't reach it?" Rotiaqua asked, after she had caught up to him. She was breathing hard.
"Over there," Zhimosom said. "There's a log. We can lean that against the tree and I can climb it to reach the branch."
They freed the log from the entangling branches. It was heavy, but between the two of them, they were able to drag it to the tree.
Zhimosom tried to lift it up and lean it against the trunk, but it was too heavy. Even with Rotiaqua's assistance, it weighed too much to lift.
"Try some magic on it." Rotiaqua groaned under the weight.
Zhimosom imagined the log weighing less. He visualized it lifting gently off his shoulder to place itself against the tree, where he wanted it. He concentrated his thoughts and energy on it, willing it to lighten and lift into place.
The log seemed lighter, but Zhimosom and Rotiaqua still struggled until it was firmly wedged against the tree trunk. Zhimosom straddled it and worked his way up. He stood carefully on the log and stretched for the lower branch. He pulled himself up and stood. He could just reach the next branch jutting out around the opposite side of the tree. He groped around the trunk, grasping at the thick bark. He seized the branch and swung free, legs dangling, th
en pulled himself up, breathing hard with the effort.
He carefully worked his way up. As he got higher, the trunk started to sway, then bend. It grew thinner and thinner until Zhimosom was afraid the branches was too weak to support his weight.
When he reached the one that housed the eagle's nest, the bird flew off, screeching loudly. It circled the tree complaining, threatening him.
Zhimosom crawled out on the branch until he reached the nest. The branch sagged dangerously, but he was just able to reach the jumble of sticks that made up the nest. He extended his hand and felt around inside, wary that the eagle would return. The back of his hand tingled in anticipation of that sharp beak penetrating his skin.
He felt the nest; the soft feather lining was a stark contrast to the rough stick and mud exterior. He patted around, trying to find the eggs by feel.
The nest was empty.
He raised his head and looked into the nest even though the branch threatened to break and drop him to the ground. It was a long way down.
"It's empty," he called to Rotiaqua. She was looking up at him, shielding her eyes with her hand.
"Come on down, and be careful."
"There are no eggs!"
"I heard you. The eagle's not going to come back and lay some for you. Not while you're clinging to that branch. Come on down."
Zhimosom made his way back to the ground.
"No eggs. Of course." He slapped his hand against his head. "There are no eggs in the fall."
"What are we going to do?"
Zhimosom cast his eye around them. There were several small field stones that looked larger than hen's eggs. They were smoothly polished and just about the right shape. He retrieved two of them.
"Do you know what an eagle egg looks like?" he asked.
"No, I've never seen one."
"Hens' eggs are white or brown. Some bird eggs are spotted, some colored. Let's go with spotted."
"What are you talking about?"
"Just a moment." Zhimosom held his hand out and visualized not a pair of stones, but a pair of eggs. Smooth and rounded, with splotches of brown and gray covering their surface. The magic flowed from him as he did.
Zhimosom imagined the eggs taking shape in his hand. When he opened his eyes, he held two large spotted eggs.
"There," he said triumphantly. "Eagle eggs."
"I hope you know what you're doing." Rotiaqua muttered
"I do." Zhimosom looked around. What would he carry the eggs in? He didn't want to take a chance of breaking them before they reached the Wizard.
"What now?" Rotiaqua asked.
"What will I carry them in? I can't walk all the way back with them in my hand. I'll break them."
Rotiaqua untied her scarf and held it out. He carefully placed the eggs in it. She re-tied it and handed it back to him.
"Come on. Let's get back to the Wizard."
By the time they reached the Wizard, it was late in the afternoon. He was hawking his potions in the market just as he had been when they first saw him.
"We're back," Zhimosom said.
"Did you get it?"
"I got two." Zhimosom carefully opened the scarf to reveal the large spotted eggs.
"Well, well, well. You've done well, son." He patted Zhimosom on the head as if he were a child. Zhimosom flinched but held his tongue.
"Let me just close up and we'll be off."
The Wizard packed up his potions and cures and dropped the rug over his stall, indicating to any potential customers that he was closed. He led them to a room in the top floor of a stable beside an inn.
"Let me have them," he said holding out his hand.
Zhimosom opened the scarf and handed each egg gently to the Wizard. He folded the scarf and handed it back to Rotiaqua, who pocketed it.
"What now?" Zhimosom watched as the Wizard carefully placed one egg on the shelf. He took the other one in his hand and cracked it over a bowl. The shell parted, and a thick clear fluid drained into the bowl.
"Where's the yolk?" the Wizard asked.
"Yolk?" Zhimosom had not considered the inside of the egg when he created it out of the stone. He berated himself for forgetting the yolk.
"No yolk." The Wizard shook the bowl and the fluid raced around it. There was no yolk in the egg.
"Where did you get these eggs?" he asked.
"Up in the tree," Zhimosom lied.
The Wizard looked at him sternly. "Which tree?"
"Over that way." Zhimosom pointed with his chin in the general direction of the tree. "There is a stand of trees ... that way ... and I saw an eagle land there, so I followed it. I climbed the tree to fetch the eggs from its nest." He held out his scuffed and bark stained hands as proof.
"Hmmm. Let me see." The Wizard searched his bookshelf and came back with a large tome. He flipped through the pages until he landed on one. It showed a large light brown egg with no spots.
He looked up at Zhimosom's egg again.
"So, where did you get this egg?" He glanced up at Zhimosom, then quickly back to the book. He waved his hand in the air dismissing the question. "Never mind."
The Wizard fumbled around in a small chest of drawers until he found what he was looking for. He came away with a small hard chunk of burned root. He grabbed his pestle and mortar, and ground the chunk into a fine powder. He glanced back up at Zhimosom as he worked.
"What's that for?" Zhimosom asked.
"Just wait, you'll see."
Rotiaqua sat off to one side, watching quietly. When the Wizard had ground the substance into a fine powder, he asked her to join Zhimosom at the table. He lifted the stone and showed them the powder. He poured the powder onto a scratched mirrored glass.
"Your first lesson as a Wizard." He pushed the powder around the glass with a dirty fingernail.
"Potions. They are strong. This one, for example, is a strong hypnotic. It can make a person do whatever they're told."
With that, he blew on the powder, scattering it into Zhimosom's face. He turned to Rotiaqua and did the same before she could react.
Zhimosom inhaled sharply. A burning erupted in his nose and throat that quickly turned to a tingle. Zhimosom started to feel light headed and mind started to wander.
Focus. He had to focus.
Zhimosom awoke to a sharp pain in his side. Someone was standing over him with a whip. The man was of average height, but easily twice as wide as any normal man. He was built of muscle overlaid with a thick layer of fat. He had a scar that ran from his forehead, across his permanently closed eye, and down his cheek.
"Come on. Morg got no time to wake you all nicey nicey. Get up and get to work."
Zhimosom blinked, trying to make sense of where he was. Something heavy weighed at his neck. He reached up and touched a cold iron collar. He tugged at it, but it was fastened tight. He ran his fingers around the smooth iron ring, but could find no clasp. It had no joint and no seam.
"What's going on?" Zhimosom asked.
"We really going to do this every day?" Morg asked. "That Wizard's powder really hits ya hard, don't it?"
"Wizard's powder?" Zhimosom's mind was foggy. He felt like he should remember, but his head just wouldn't cooperate.
"Come on." Morg poked him in the ribs again. "I got no time for this. Get out of bed and get to work."
Zhimosom surveyed his surroundings. He had been asleep on a pile of straw in a room off to one side of the stables. He could smell the scent of hay mixed with horse dung. He inhaled deeply and caught the scent of a fowl house nearby.
"Come on. Horse stalls aren't going to muck themselves, and after that, there's wood to cut." Morg nudged Zhimosom with his foot. "Get at it."
Zhimosom followed Morg to the stables. He was given a wooden fork and told to clean the stalls. The muck was to be taken to a small cart parked just outside the barn. "Get this all done and then there's the mid day meal. You missed your morning meal sleeping in like you do. I warned you about that."
Zhimosom tried to
recall what had happened. The last thing he remembered was the Wizard and his powder. Powder! The Wizard had drugged him. They must be keeping him drugged. That was why he couldn't remember anything.
He tried to reach inside himself with magic and search for the source of the spell that affected him. It was weak, almost undetectable, but he felt the drug. It was keeping him off balance, barely awake. That was probably why he was so tired.
He tried to use his magic to defeat the drug, but it was too strong, and he was too weak. All he managed was to clear his head a little.
He worked at the stalls all morning. He was just finished when Morg returned. "Come on. You eat with the rest of the slaves today."
Morg led him to a table that sat beneath a tree in the yard. It was covered with a cloth tied down at each corner. The table had platters piled high with roast meat, bread, and vegetables. Zhimosom tore into it, hungrier than he had ever been.
"Slow down, you'll make yourself sick." Morg shoved a mug in front of Zhimosom. "Have a drink to wash that down. I don't want you choking on your food. I need you alive after the meal for wood chopping."
Morg motioned to a woman standing beside the table. She was shorter than Zhimosom and slightly pudgy, with curly brown hair that hung to her shoulders. She stared off into space, as if asleep.
She slowly walked over to him and poured him a mug of watered down ale, then backed away to take up her station once more. Something about her nagged at Zhimosom. She looked familiar, but surely, he didn't know a serving girl in this strange house.
He eyed her while he ate. She didn't look like the other serving girls. Her skin was clear even though she was smudged from work in the kitchen. She stood straight, unlike the others. Something about her screamed that she didn't belong with the rest of the girls, but Zhimosom couldn't say what.
Zhimosom looked at the others at the table. They appeared dazed and slightly confused. He shook his head, trying to remember why he was here. Had he always been here? Where was here? He just couldn't remember.
A clanging sound came wafting on the slight breeze. "That's it. Time to get back to work."
Morg grabbed Zhimosom by the collar and lifted. It choked him as he rushed to stand, abandoning his partially finished meal. He wished he could take the remainder with him to satisfy his lingering hunger.
Wizard Pair (Book 3) Page 14