A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy)

by Eisenhardt, Leighmon

  This gave Marcius pause, because his master, despite all his gruff and bluster, was being serious. Ever since he’d done his first can-trip, Marcius imagined the day when he would be able to explore the boundaries of magic not as a mere novice, but as someone who commanded it with all the authority of a master.

  It was enthralling, like a woman who teases you with thinly veiled hints at pleasures to come, then yanks it away only to allude to something greater.

  The little slice he had gotten of the world only left him desperate for more. "I am, Master Antaigne. I do not wish to follow in my father's footsteps. I don’t want to be a merchant. I'm not sure how much natural talent I have, but I enjoy the practice that you have given me. . . not the bumps though." And with that statement, Marcius found himself rubbing a particularly stubborn bruise on his arm.

  Antaigne let out a great belly aching laugh. "Well, ye will get less bruises when ye follow me instructions more!" The surly dwarf wiped a small tear from his eye. "I have an' offer fer ye then. I want ye to live here. There ain't no way one week per'll month will allow ye te learn what I have ter teach in a timely fashion. Can-trips are supposed ter be something ye learn quickly, shouldn't have taken almost seven years fer that ter happen. Also, I think ye have come far enough fer a familiar." At the last statement, Antaigne sobered. "Come 'ere Fanrir."

  At the call, a black cat-like creature appeared, already perched on the old wizard's shoulder, the animal fading into view like a dream. Marcius had only seen the familiar on a few occasions, since it usually kept itself under the guise of invisibility, which was apparently the norm for the reclusive creatures.

  The creature was mottled gray-black, its leathery looking wings covered in fine fur. The tail split into several pieces like the tentacles of an octopus, wrapping securely around the thick neck of Antaigne.

  Fanrir gave a yawn and snuggled underneath Antaigne's beard, the familiar’s swirling rainbow eyes watched Marcius from between the strands of coarse dwarven facial hair. "So lad, what're thoughts on her?" the wizard prompted Marcius as he absently stroked the animal.

  Marcius wrapped his arms behind his head, digging around for an answer. "I think she is the most fantastic creature I have ever seen. My only regret is that I never had a chance to see her sooner."

  "Fanrir says you flatter her."

  "I was not aware that they were able to speak. Is she as intelligent as a person?" The idea was something that intrigued him.

  Again the dwarf's eyes unfocused, "She says that ye should quit while yer ahead!" This brought a snort of laughter from the wizard. "Let me sit ye down and 'splain about the real importance o' familiars te us wizards. Believe not that drivel ye read from books, merely a wives tale we wizards circulate to keep non-users outt've our 'air!"

  "Well Master, I’m already sitting down, in case you forgot."

  "Bah! Smartass lad, I tell ye! 'Twas' a. . . a. . . figure of speech I think ye humans call it. Anyway, settle down, ye are gettin' a lesson about familiars. The whole truth about 'em."

  The wizard refilled his pipe and took a particularly long drag. Blowing out the smoke, the wizard’s hands started moving in the familiar archaic motions of spell casting. The smoke began to swirl and coalesce into a human shape as the wizard began to speak.

  "The first wizards were humans, as ye no doubt know, but did ye ever wonder how exactly did they learn how to do the complex motions an' stuff ye normally associated with the craft? Original magic was born out o' need; people born with the skills gettin' into danger and calling basic spells ta save themselves and the like. This, as ye know, is known as blood magic, very dangerous and basic, but it got the job done. One day, or so yer legends say, one man with a pet got into danger from wild beasts or monsters. We know not ye type of pet, but we know the person used blood magic involuntarily ter saves himself and his pet. The magic he used had a side effect and became the first familiar spell, very basic and the like. Ye see, familiars are entities from the nether that reside into a vessel when called upon. Ter first familiar taught his master how ter use magic voluntarily. They were different back then than they are now, ‘o course. And thus, magic as we all know it came into bein'. Now the Gods were unhappy about this little discovery 'ere, but that be a story fer another time." As the dwarf spoke, Marcius watched the barely recognizable shapes reenact the ancient story.

  The dwarf took another deep puff and continued, "Nowadays, familiars are an important part o' a wizard’s repertoire, which is why most wizards ask their familiars ter keep themselves hidden. A wizard without a familiar is a sad wizard indeed."

  "What do they bring a wizard, exactly?"

  "Aye, good question, always said if ye don't know something, ask! Well, familiars serve as a focus fer a wizard's powers. It's a magnifier fer magical power; a wizard without a familiar is barely able ter do more than a can-trip. Now, magic is an acquired ability, the stronger one's inherent ability, the more ye will get out o' each other. There is one lil' hitch though." Antaigne paused, inviting Marcius to digest the information and pressure him about the apparent snag.

  "And that is?"

  "Ye have ter give up a part o' yer soul ter support the familiar in this realm," the wizard stated, hands open in a gesture of helplessness. Fanrir gave a sniffle because the action stopped the petting. "The familiar will take on the personality o' the person whom it is bonded ter, so often people don't like what they get. It's an unbiased reflection o' yerself and comes as a shock ter some people."

  In all the books he had read, there was never once a mention of souls as being part of the deal for a familiar. He had always thought of them as a benefit, or a positive quirk, of being a wizard.

  Lorinia was more forgiving in regards to worship, so he wasn’t particularly religious, but this idea put an uncomfortable weight on his stomach. It was his soul, and as with all things of value, he was hesitant to part with it. The part about self reflection didn't bother Marcius. He didn’t believe he was a fundamentally bad person.

  "What does splitting their soul do to a person? Does it hurt? What if the familiar dies?"

  "Ah, goin' fer the throat I see! Well, a familiar be immortal. It only changes after its creation, an’ there be no growing. Now if a familiar dies to. . . let's say. . . another wizard, yer soul returns to yeself. But there be a hitch in that solution as well. It's like breakin’ a pot. Ye can put it back once and glue it, but it is unable to be broken again lest it be unusable. Once a wizard's familiar dies, he can take no more familiar, the stubborn wizards who do. . . become something less than themselves. Yer soul objects ter being pulled about like a new toy. Now the part about hurtin’. . . well, do ye think tearing yer soul in two would hurt? O' course it does, ye dolt!" The dwarf waved his staff for emphasis.

  The answers must have shown their results on Marcius's face, because once again Antaigne's brow furrowed and he leaned over, the front legs of his chair touching the ground for the first time since he sat down. "I ask ye once more lad, be ye serious about bein' a wizard?"

  "What do I have to do, Master?" Marcius mentally kicked himself for his voice shaking on the question. He didn't want to seem like someone who was easily frightened. He then shifted his weight, leaning forward into a position he hoped seemed confident, instead of betraying the nervousness that tightened his chest. Was he that easy to read?

  Antaigne chuckled and stroked his beard. "Well, I have most o' the ingredients necessary, at least the rare ingredients. Ye will gather the mundane ingredients an' the host as well. I already gave yer dad a list. Just ask him fer it."

  "Anything else?"

  "Aye lad, there be firewood ta chop, common herbs that are around these parts ta gather, as well as a few things ta get from yer town. It will be good training fer ye ta gather 'em. Then ye need an animal, preferably small, that will receive the familiar spirit. After receiving the spirit, it’ll change gradually over time, usually as a reflection o' yerself." Antaigne pulled a mug seemingly out of nowhere, already full wit
h what Marcius guessed was ale, and began drinking.

  For being as untypical of a dwarf as he was, some habits die hard. It still amazed Marcius how someone could manage smoking and drinking at the same time. "Now, I say that ye get back ter your home an' get the host and some things that’re more easily gotten' over there. I give ye three days ter be back here. Also, it would be a good time ter deliver the information ter yer father. He expects it anyway."

  "Can I use Ruby for my familiar?"

  "Aye, I thought you would ask that question. Ye can use that horse o' yers. But like all things magic, there be more there than the surface. Ye lose the. . . essence. . . o' the horse; it gets pulled out by the host from ter nether. So the end result is a whole 'nother creature, if ye catch me breeze. Also, a big animal isn't the wisest idea, if ye be followin'. Familiars are a weak point as well as a strong point fer a wizard. A wizard's biggest enemy is 'nother wizard, and killing a familiar is a good way ter start. Unless ye are like that ghoul lover o' a leader who runs the Academy, run'in 'round with that drake familiar o' his; I would recommend keeping yer familiar small an' hidden." Antaigne took another swig of the brew and leaned back on the chair, resting the mug on his belly.

  Marcius waited a few more minutes for Antaigne to continue, but when he didn't, Marcius decided to take a closer look. The dwarf's eyes were closed under the wizard hat and a very faint snore could be heard sneaking forth from under the wide brim.

  Shaking his head at dwarven manners, Marcius decided to head back home to do the tasks the dwarf had given him. The trip would give him time to think. He shouldered his pack. Keeping clear of the magical wards that Antaigne used to protect his house, Marcius gently closed the door and unfettered Ruby from the railing.

  "Just you and me now, old friend," Marcius patted the horse and received a loving push in return. He saddled up and rode back up the path that led in the general direction towards Rhensford.

  He traveled until it was too dark to see, before necessity dictated rest for both him and Ruby. Marcius didn't have much experience camping and had not come prepared for it, but he eventually managed to get a few hours of sleep along the edge of the forest. The sun was high above him when he finally hit the outskirts of Rhensford. He mulled over Antaigne's proposition the entire way.

  It was point of no return. Either he accepted it, or denied it. If he said yes, he’d live the life of a wizard, and if he didn’t, well, he’d be his father. Marcius couldn’t imagine managing a trading company. It felt too mundane, too ordinary.

  He always felt as if he was destined for greater things beyond what other people took for granted. Magic was an easy choice. It was a catalyst for change and power. Great things, good and bad, went hand in hand with being a wizard.

  Still, what if he turned out to be no good at it? His Master had said that magic was like muscle. It had to be trained, honed, and constantly worked at. But that also meant everybody had different amounts of raw material to work with. What if his great destiny was to be nothing more than a glorified court magician, barely able to do more than a few parlor tricks?

  Marcius sighed. He was still tired and the gloomy thoughts did little to make him any less sleepy.

  Chapter 02

  His ride through town was uneventful, and he was grateful to hand the reins to the stable boy as he made for the house door. "Master Marc, your father was looking for you. He just received a message from your tutor," Lars informed Marcius as he strode through the door. He groaned, for he was looking forward to sleep when he arrived.

  "Lars! You wench! Don't you know how to greet someone weary from a full days travel?!" Marcius grinned to show that he was just joking. With a pat on the stiff butler's back, Marcius went upstairs to look for his father, dropping his pack at the top of the stairs.

  "Master Marc, your father is entertaining a few guests. It would be rude to interrupt!" Lars warned.

  "Oh, is that so? Well, more the merrier I always say!" Marcius threw Lars another wolf grin and quickly left the sputtering butler to his own devices. Poor guy. It was too easy to rattle him.

  Most likely his father was in his business room if he was entertaining guests. Marcius arrived, straightening his travel worn clothing and priming himself the best he could. He gently knocked. "Marcius is that you? Do come in." A stately baritone voice addressed him from within.

  Marcius opened the door and a wave of cigar smoked assailed him, a habit he'd never gotten his father to drop. "I heard you were looking for me and hurried to find you." Lian was sitting on his desk and his two guests were in padded chairs facing away from Marcius.

  "Let me introduce you to my guests." Marcius's father was a big man who looked rather out of place in the extravagant garb that most people of upper class were expected to wear. With his close cut brown hair, and hands that were more suited to holding a sword or the wheel of a ship, he looked anything but the affluent merchant he was.

  The clothing was the only indicator, since his father was a traditionalist in the truest sense of the word. It gave his father a rather confused and out of place look that always gave Marcius a chuckle when he stopped to consider it. His father put out the cigar he was smoking, rubbing it into an ashtray carved from the tusk of some exotic creature, before turning to the figure that was sitting to the left of him. "This is—".

  "I can introduce myself, Lian," a raspy voice said. An elderly woman stood up and turned around. Her hair stood in wild strands and blue veins crisscrossed her skin far more bravely than his father's scars. She wore a simple grey dress and typical traveler's cloak. He would have said she looked like any fragile grandmother if it wasn't for her eyes. They were a milky blue, but radiated an intelligence that right away told Marcius there was more to this woman than what was on the surface. "I'm Madam Minerva, you may call me Minnie. Just don't let me hear you." She gave a wink and a mock bow, before sitting back down. Marcius decided he liked her already.

  "Ah Minerva, always the impatient one?" Lian shot an apologetic look to his other guest. "Anyway, this is Lady Alicia Wendeline," he said, gesturing to a person who was sitting in the chair next him.

  Marcius found himself staring, for right in front of him, was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Now he only had the women of Rhensford to judge from, but even Clarissa's pale beauty withered under the fiery visage before him. Her hair was curly bronze and shoulder length; green-blue glittering eyes that flickered with an inner fire were located within a face that was alabaster smooth and flawless. The turquoise robe she was wearing hinted more than a little at the terrain underneath, and the side contained a slit that showed a very shapely leg encased within knee high leather traveling boots. The coy smile that seemed at ease on her face was the coup de grace. She was the type of woman your mother warned you about.

  "Mage Lady Alicia Wendeline," she corrected, her smooth lips became taut at the mistake.

  "I apologize, Mage Lady," his father did a half bow. The whole time, Alicia's eyes never left Marcius's, as if she was challenging him.

  One eyebrow rose, "This would be your son? The one trained by the rogue wizard Antaigne?"

  Marcius's breath caught in this throat, the warning bells ringing loudly in his head. How did she know about Antaigne? But his father gave no indication that anything was amiss, so he went along with it.

  "Aye, Master Antaigne trains me." It was said in a rush, a single breath of nervousness. Marcius cringed inwardly.

  "I would have thought the rogue wizard, for all his repute, would be a bit pickier of his apprentices?" There was just the slightest hint of a condescending tone in the statement and this shattered the seeming spell she seemed to have cast upon him. The haughty way she had spoken was the equivalent of throwing a bucket of ice cold water on him.

  "Well, Mage Lady Alicia," Marcius gave an over dramatic bow, making sure to stress the title to the point of being ridiculous, "I am sure one with as many tribulations as yourself is obviously in a position to judge my abilities. May perchance yo
u could entertain us mere sea porters with the tales of glory your apprentices have achieved?" Lian silently nodded his approval from behind her.

  The sea green eyes narrowed dangerously, and a hint of something flashed behind them."I have only recently been promoted to my position by the Academy. This is my first assignment as an official Mage. I am to keep tabs on the rogue wizard whom has evaded the Academy for some time, and I would keenly suggest that you cooperate with inquires."

  The Academy had various ranks for its members; the first, and lowest, was the title of Mage, given to individuals who recently graduated from apprenticeship. Though, by the very nature of the station and practice, it did automatically elevate her to a position deserving respect.

  Marcius found he was glad the dwarf insisted on teaching him the intricacies of their system. "Knowledge is power, an' the more powers ye have over yer enemies the better," the dwarf, always with a dark twinkle in his eye, often said.

  "Ahem," Marcius's father interrupted, no doubt anxious to intervene, "Marcius please take a seat. Lady Alicia was just about to leave when you walked in." Lian said it with a smile, but in reality it was a thinly veiled order to depart.

  Her face became strained as she walked to the door, "That is Mage Lady, and yes, I was leaving." She stopped in front of Marcius, face to face, and she said in a smooth husky whisper, low enough as not to be heard by the others, "Marcius, I wish to speak with you later. Alone." Her gaze lingered for a moment in silent appraisal, and then she opened the door and stepped out. Lars was waiting outside to escort the woman.

  Marcius couldn't help but notice the alluring trail of her perfume as she left, and the voice she had used left him weak in the knees.

  He rubbed his nose, trying to reorient himself, "Father, what was that about?"