The Third Apprentice (10 page)

“Why didn’t the
fire subdue it?” Zamna wondered, remembering the sight of flames the mage had conjured.

“The land is
cursed,” Taren replied with a shrug. “My guess is the laws of magic have been
altered somehow.”

“What made you use
frost?” Zamna asked. “I wouldn’t expect cold to harm a creature from the Arctic.”

“Honestly? It was
all I could think of,” Taren admitted. He thought back to his lessons with
Master Imrit, and recalled a strange bit of advice the old wizard had given
him. “
Sometimes the least likely solution is the best one,” he said. “My
master told me that once, and it appears he was correct.”

“Sounds like something a mad sorcerer would say,”
Zamna replied.

“Only someone who had tried and failed repeatedly
would think of such a thing,” Taren replied with a grin. He admired the
tenacity of the old wizard who had experimented at length with so many
different spells. It was that careful study that had led him to information
about the symbol.

Zamna brushed at the dust covering his leather
clothes. “What you did was pretty amazing,” he admitted. “You saved us. No
doubt of that.” He turned to look again at the collapsed rock wall. Though it
had taken some prodding, the mage had come through in a dire situation. Zamna
felt a new level of respect for the young man. Previously, he had little
confidence in the young man’s abilities. His doubts were now gone.

“I did what I had to do,” Taren said, hoping to
glaze over his pride. He was impressed by his own abilities, but he didn’t wish
to appear overconfident or arrogant. Inside he was the same old Taren, a young
man with an affinity for herbs and potions. He was no fighter, and he was not a
master wizard yet. That title would come only after he had retrieved the symbol
and placed it in his master’s hands.

“You should probably rest after that,” Zamna
suggested. “You must be tired.”

“Actually, I feel great,” the mage replied. “That
potion not only rejuvenates magic, but it also gives your entire body a boost.
I could probably walk farther tonight than any other.”

Zamna laughed softly. “Then you should probably
make several more, and make a few for me as well.”

Taren smiled and looked inside his bag. He had
enough ingredients to craft only five more rejuvenation potions in addition to
the ones he had prepared before leaving Imrit’s cottage. He hoped that would be
enough to get him to the tomb and back. The ingredients were difficult to find
and extremely costly if they had to be purchased.

They continued heading southward through the night
and stopped to rest as the sun reached its peak at midday. The desert stretched
on ahead of them, forcing them to continue their nightly march for a few more
days. After what seemed an eternity in the wasteland, a village came into view
on the horizon. They had survived the desert.

T
aren was
overjoyed by the sight of the village in the distance. “We’ve made it!” he
shouted, his voice elated. “A warm bed and food that isn’t dried out,” he
added.

“It’ll be a welcome
change,” Zamna replied.

The two moved
quicker with the village in view. The deep, shifting sand gave way to
hard-packed dirt. The town lay a couple of miles from the edge of the desert,
but the walk was tolerable knowing there was an end in sight. Taren couldn’t
hold back a smile as sparse patches of green grass appeared scattered over the
land. Though this area was not a lush green forest, it was the most beautiful
sight he’d seen all week.

As they moved
closer, they realized this was no village. What appeared small from their angle
was actually a large city, spreading far to the south away from the desert. There
was no wall surrounding it, which meant it was probably not susceptible to the
sandstorms of the nearby desert. The city appeared to stretch on for miles, a
welcome sight for Taren. Other mages might reside here who had knowledge of the
tomb. Though he would have to use caution when inquiring about it; he knew
nothing of these people except that they formerly traded with the Sisters of
Gy’dan.

“I thought the Sisters
said this was a village,” Zamna commented as they approached.

“She said they
hadn’t been here in a while. It must have grown.” Taren’s feet met with the
stone-paved roadways of the city. The structures before him were also built of
stone, likely due to the absence of wood in this area. The buildings were
sturdy as well as pleasing to look at. Taren felt at home among the cozy rows
of houses.

Two towering stone
posts bore a large sign engraved with the city’s name: Yilde. As they proceeded
farther inside the city, the buildings became more cramped. They were lined up
neatly, but the sides were almost touching. Only a small animal could fit
between the stone structures. People were scattered here and there, going about
their various activities. No one paid any heed to the two travelers. Not even
Zamna’s strange appearance could draw their attention.

The people appeared
human, but their skin was different than any Taren had seen. It was ashen-gray
in color. He found it strange that they were not more bronze, considering the
intensity of the sun at this location. He shrugged it off as just another race
he had failed to learn about in his studies. With his head always buried in
books about herbs, he had missed out on a lot of education. It was obvious the
ancestry of these humans was far different from his own. With the lack of
reaction from the citizens, he decided they must be well aware of the various
races in the world of N
ō
l’Deron. Though it was not near any ocean port, Taren
wondered if this city might serve as a center of commerce. If it had been worth
the Sisters’ time to cross the desert to trade here, the city must certainly have
been special in some way.

As they passed by
the buildings, a sign caught Taren’s eye. A mortar and pestle painted in white
upon a wooden sign signaled the presence of an apothecary. “Maybe the
proprietor will allow me to use his equipment,” Taren said. “I’d like to
replace a few potions before we leave.”

“Looks like there’s
a tavern ahead,” Zamna said, pointing to a building a few doors away. It bore a
large sign with a frothy mug painted in bright yellow.

“I’ll meet you
there,” Taren said, heading up the steps to the apothecary.

A small bell rang,
informing the shop owner that a customer had entered. Taren looked around and
saw rows of shelves neatly lining the walls of the shop. Each shelf was filled
with bottles and jugs of various sizes, and glass jars full of herbs and other
items. In the farthest corner of the shop was a small laboratory featuring a
metal table, mortar and pestle, an alembic, flasks, and vials. An open door
into a back room revealed the location of the athanor, but Taren didn’t plan to
make potions complicated enough to require a furnace.

A skinny man with a
long white beard appeared from the back room and stared at the young mage.
“Yes?” he asked, his tone impatient.

Taren couldn’t help
feeling that he had interrupted the man. “I’d like to make use of your
laboratory, if you’ll permit me,” Taren said. “I’ve brought my own
ingredients.”

“If you won’t be
purchasing anything, it’s hardly worth it to let you use my equipment,” the man
replied, looking the mage up and down. “Besides, how do I know you won’t break
something? Do you even know what you’re doing when it comes to potion
crafting?” He eyed Taren suspiciously.

Opening his
shoulder bag, he held it up for the apothecary to inspect. “All of these were
crafted by my hands,” he announced. “I am an herbalist from Ky’sall.”

The old man raised
his eyebrows and said, “I haven’t had a visitor from Ky’sall since…ever. You
may use the laboratory for a fee of one silver coin.” He stood with his arms
crossed, awaiting Taren’s payment.

“Of course,” Taren
replied, fishing in his bag for the money. A silver was a lot to him, but he
doubted the opportunity to use quality equipment would come again on this
journey. With a polite smile, he handed the man a silver coin.

“Help yourself,”
the man said. Walking behind the counter, he sat upon a wooden stool to observe
the apprentice’s actions.

The setup to the
lab was similar to that of Master Imrit’s, only smaller. He suspected this area
was for crafting quick potions at a customer’s request. The bulk were probably
made in an unseen room that offered a more comfortable workspace. He sat down
and pulled out an assortment of herbs and some powders he had refined prior to
leaving Ky’sall. It took more than an hour, but he managed to finish three
rejuvenation potions before his neck began to cramp from the uncomfortable
workspace. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he decided this would have to
suffice. He’d needed to use only one so far, and he hoped there wouldn’t be
much need to use the rest.

Standing and
stretching his back, he thanked the apothecary, who had not taken his eyes off
the mage since he entered the shop. Making his way down the wooden steps, he
walked up the road to the tavern where he intended to meet Zamna. The La’kertan
was seated at the bar, a mug held high in his hand. Loud music was playing,
courtesy of a five-man band on the stage. The tavern was packed with people
enjoying the evening entertainment.

Zamna lifted his
mug to his companion as he entered the common room. Taren climbed onto the high
stool next to the La’kertan and looked around the room. They were the only two
people who appeared foreign to this land. Everyone else had the same
ash-colored skin and black hair of the people they had already encountered. If
this city saw its fair share of foreigners, it must be at a different time of
year.

“The food here is
good,” Zamna remarked. “You should get something to eat.” He banged a hand
against the counter to summon the bartender. “Meat!” he called as the man
looked his direction.

With a nod, the
barman disappeared behind a door, reappearing moments later with a large bone
covered with meat. Taren accepted it graciously, looking it over only after the
bartender walked away.

“What sort of
animal is this?” Taren asked after smelling the unusual meat. It did not remind
him of anything he had eaten before.

“A tasty one,”
Zamna replied, barely listening. His attention was focused on the stage, where
two ladies were now dancing.

Taren bit into the
meat and found it to be rather sweet. Its wild taste was unfamiliar, but Zamna
was correct in his description. It was savory and satisfying to the mage’s
palate. The barman returned with a mug of ale, which Taren gulped greedily. It
had a rich flavor that the young man found appealing. Before he knew it, he had
drunk three mugs full of the golden liquid.

Zamna nodded
approvingly at the young mage’s ability to drink. The music went late into the
night, the guests chiming in with tunes of their own. Finally, the bartender
called out that the tavern was closing for the night. The musicians packed up
their instruments and headed for the door.

Taren and Zamna had
neglected to secure a room for the night. When pulling himself to his feet, the
room spun around, forcing Taren to sit down once again.

“We need a room for
the night,” Zamna said. “Two if you have them.”

“We’re full up,”
the barman replied. “You’ll have to look elsewhere.”

“Where else is
there?” Zamna asked.

“You can try the
inn two streets over,” he replied.

With a nod, Zamna
helped his companion from his stool, squeezing his arm tightly to steady him.
The pair stumbled out of the tavern, both laughing at their predicament.

Taren proved a poor
navigator when intoxicated. After crossing two streets, he insisted they had
not gone far enough to begin their search for the inn. Zamna knew better and
led the inebriated mage in the correct direction. The pair stepped inside, only
to be told that the inn was closing.

“Do you have any
rooms for the night?” Zamna asked.

“All full,” the
woman replied unsympathetically.

They stepped back
out onto the street, and Taren rummaged in his bag for something to counteract
the effects of the alcohol he had consumed. Though his vision was poor, and the
world seemed blurry, he managed to find the one he was looking for. His head felt
much clearer within seconds of downing the blue liquid.

On a board outside
the door, a poster displayed the image of a man with deep-set eyes. It offered
a large reward in exchange for the man’s death. Retrieving the poster from the
wall, Zamna studied the face of the wanted man. “This man was in the tavern,”
he said. “I could claim the reward.”

“You’d have to kill
him,” Taren said, coming to his side. “Why would you want to do that? He’s done
you no wrong.”

“Apparently he’s
done someone wrong,” Zamna pointed out. “With this posted so prominently, it
must be no crime in killing him.”

“I want no part of
this,” Taren declared. It went against everything he had been taught to take a
person’s life unnecessarily. No matter this man’s crime, he would have nothing
to do with killing him. In his mind, there were better ways of punishing
criminals.

“This is a massive
reward,” Zamna said, holding the poster out. “Fifty gold pieces!”

“Surely the tomb
will have more treasure than that,” Taren said, attempting to change the
assassin’s mind. Perhaps it was impossible to persuade a killer not to kill,
but he had to try.

“The tomb may have
been raided centuries ago,” Zamna replied. “I might come away empty-handed. At
least this way I’m assured some gold.”

“It isn’t safe,”
Taren said. “We know nothing of this land.” The last thing he wanted was for
Zamna to put himself in danger.

Zamna seemed
unconvinced, so Taren tried again. “If this man was easy to catch, someone else
would have done it by now. Like you said, that’s a substantial reward.”

Zamna hissed with
laughter. “Maybe there’s no one around here with the skills I possess.” He
stood confidently, convinced that he would easily be able to finish the job.

“Don’t do this,
Zamna,” Taren said, failing to find better words.

Zamna shook his
head. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not asking you to help. I’ll take care of
this on my own, and we can meet up again in the morning.”

Taren sighed,
wishing he had better skills as a negotiator. “Why don’t we wait until the
return journey?” Taren asked. “There could be treasure enough to last you a
lifetime in that tomb. If we find it empty, we can return here for you to claim
the bounty.” It was Taren’s last attempt. He was fresh out of ideas to convince
his companion not to act.

“By the time we get
to the tomb and back, someone else will have done the job,” Zamna replied.
“I’ve made up my mind. Meet me at sunrise near the city’s southern border. We
will continue our journey together, and I will be fifty gold pieces heavier.”
He flashed his pointed teeth at his companion and disappeared into the night.

Taren waited a
moment, hoping the La’kertan would change his mind and return. Finally
accepting that Zamna was determined to carry on with his plans, he made his way
down the road to look for another inn. There were few lights to illuminate the
city at this hour. Most of the inhabitants had already bedded down for the
night. There were too many roads and too many buildings and not enough people
to ask for directions.

Taren followed the
only light he could see in the distance. A single lantern swung slightly from a
nail affixed to the side of a barn. A man sat inside, a bottle in his hand.

“Excuse me, sir.”
Taren said. “I’m looking for a place to spend the night.”

“Inns are probably
full,” the man replied with a hiccup. “You can sleep right here on the hay for
a copper.”

Wonderful
, Taren thought. But it was better than nothing, and
at least there would be a roof over his head should it begin to rain. Flipping
the coin to the man, he unrolled his bed and laid it on the soft hay, a good
distance away from the large pile of manure stacked in the corner.
Unfortunately, he could not escape the smell. It permeated his nose and pierced
his sinuses, making it difficult to sleep. His mind wandered to thoughts of Zamna
and whether he had made the right decision in allowing him to go off on his
own. He could not be a party to murder, but Zamna was a loyal friend. He
regretted not standing at his side, but he wasn’t sure he could live with
himself if he took part in killing a man for money.