The Third Apprentice (15 page)

The two men settled in to wait out the storm. With
travel impossible, they decided to try to rest for the journey ahead. They had
no idea how much ground there still was to cover, so they might as well rest
while they had the chance. The sound of the rain became lighter, returning to
the smaller chunks of bone that had fallen at first, but it refused to stop. It
continued on for hours, the bones piling up outside the opening to the barn.

“It’s going to be
awkward walking through that,” Zamna said with a sigh.

Taren feared the
La’kertan might be right. The land was completely covered, and the bones were
still coming down. Wading through them might soon become impossible. Reaching
out into the rain, he collected a handful of fragments to fashion into a small
fire. Though it was not cold in this land, fire provided a peaceful feeling of
home, and he longed for its comfort.

As the blue magical
flames roared to life, the two men spread out their beds on either side of the
fire. Neither of them were tired, and both felt uneasy about the land they were
in.

Taren could bear
the silence no longer. Propping himself up on his elbow, he said, “Tell me
about La’kerta.”

Zamna looked at him
curiously but remained silent.

“Why did you leave
there?” Taren wondered, finally not too nervous to ask. He had traveled for
weeks with this man about whom he still knew so little. Curiosity finally got
the better of him, and he would press on until he knew the La’kertan’s story.
“Tell me how you ended up an assassin. Did someone train you or did you learn
on your own?”

Zamna settled back
against his bed and stared up at the wooden ceiling. With a sigh, he said, “La’kerta
is an island filled with dense jungles. There are few visitors to be found, and
my people keep mainly to themselves. My family was dirt poor, living on what
the jungle itself could provide.”

“Are there no
cities?” Taren wondered.

“There are,” Zamna
replied. “But my family did not travel to them. There is corruption and
fighting in the cities, and they preferred to stay in the jungle.”

“Is that why you
left?” Taren asked. “Were you tired of living that way?”

“I knew there was a
bigger world out there that I was missing out on. I yearned to explore other
lands from the time I was a child. One day, I just decided to go.”

“Alone? Were you
frightened?”

“I wasn’t smart
enough to be frightened,” he said with a laugh. “I was young and sure of
myself. I worked my way onto ships, mostly cleaning up after the sailors. They
weren’t too happy to have me around, but I managed. I visited lands full of
humans and elves, and I haven’t returned home since.”

“How did you become
an assassin?” This was the most pressing question Taren had for his friend. The
La’kertan did not strike him as a killer, yet that was the profession he had
chosen. There must be a reason.

“I wanted to be
rich,” he began. “Unfortunately, everywhere I went, people looked down on me
and treated me like dirt. The only jobs I could find involved cleaning up after
animals and other manual labor that humans are loathe to do. They wouldn’t
consider allowing me to work alongside them in any respectable position. I finally
tired of it and took to the streets. I’ll spare you the sad story there.”

“But you got off
the streets,” Taren said. “You found work as an assassin.” He was still
interested in hearing more of the story, and he had no intention of dropping
the subject.

With a sigh, Zamna
continued. “Let’s just say when you live on the streets, you have to learn to
steal. Then you have to learn to defend yourself against those who would steal
what you’ve already stolen. It’s a vicious way of life, and only those who are
willing to do what it takes will survive.”

Taren wasn’t sure
he wanted the details of that way of life. It would seem his friend had been
forced into killing from a young age. Life on the streets had to have been
brutal.

Before the mage
could press him further, Zamna chose to continue his story. “One day,
I
saw a man in a black cloak who was wearing a jeweled ring on every finger of
his right hand. I stole three of those rings before he realized I was there. He
was angry but impressed with my abilities. He introduced me to his friends, a
group of highly skilled assassins. I spent the next few years training to
become one of them, and I’ve been doing that work ever since.”

Taren understood. A life of hardship had led him
to become what he was. There was only one question that remained. “If you find
treasure in Ailwen’s tomb, will you continue on in your profession?”

Without hesitation, he replied, “If there is
treasure in that tomb, I’ll never need to take another job. I’ll find someplace
to settle down and enjoy my wealth.”

Pleased by his
friend’s response, Taren smiled. “Then I hope there is treasure beyond your
wildest dreams.” The man next to him was not a hardened criminal who killed
people for pleasure. He had been a frightened child alone in a world that
refused to accept him. He had done what was necessary to survive. Taren
respected his desire to move on to a better life. If he could help his friend
accomplish his goal, he would. Zamna was free to take any and all riches inside
the tomb, with the sole exception being the magical symbol Taren sought for his
master.

T
he rain of
bones ended sometime in the night as the travelers slept soundly in their
shelter. Taren awoke first and looked out into the morning sunlight. To his
amazement, all of the bone fragments had completely disappeared, leaving no
trace of their presence behind. Taren stepped outside the wooden structure to
have a better look at the land. Everywhere he looked, the ground was clear of
debris. All that remained was the same red-brown dirt that had been there
before.

Stepping back inside, he saw that Zamna was awake
and sitting up on his bed. He stretched his limbs and cracked his knuckles
before nodding to his companion.

“You’ll never believe it,” Taren said. “The bones
are gone.”

Puzzled, Zamna pulled himself to his feet and
stepped outside. The mage had spoken correctly. There was no debris. Stepping
back inside, he said, “I guess we won’t have to climb over mountains of bones
today.”

They shared a few rations for breakfast before
packing up their gear. Both men hoped the rain would stay away this day. They
were anxious to get moving, hoping that they would arrive at the tomb soon.

“Did that master of yours say how we’ll recognize
this tomb?” Zamna asked. “There could be dozens of graves in this land.”

“Unfortunately he did not,” Taren replied. “Ailwen
was an incredibly powerful sorceress. I don’t think her remains will lie in a
common tomb. I’d expect it to be something impressive.”

They marched on until midday, when a large
building came into view. Pausing, they stared toward the horizon, taking in the
sight before them. The building was crafted of white stone that shone brightly
beneath the sunlight. Exchanging glances, the two men moved closer for a better
look.

As they approached, they realized this was not one
single building. It was a massive compound. Dozens of buildings of varying sizes
stood tall in the distance. Each was crafted from the same white stones, which
showed obvious signs of wear and neglect.

“Is this a city?” Zamna asked.

Taren didn’t think so. “This has to be what we’re
looking for,” he said, pulling his map from his bag. “If it were a city, it
would not be so weather worn.” Every city they had encountered so far had not
appeared on his map because the map had been drafted long before those cities
existed. As his eyes pored over the structures before him, he could plainly see
that it was ancient. The domed-roof architecture had not been employed for a
millennium, and the crumbling walls suggested their advanced age. “This must be
where the sorceress lived before she destroyed herself and left a curse on the
land. Her actual tomb has to be somewhere inside.”

“Which building do we go in?” Zamna wondered.
There were several small buildings, as well as a few large ones, all of which
were connected by a series of stone corridors. Finding the tomb could take days
if they had to search each building. “Do you have a map of the inside?”

Taren shook his head. An interior map was a luxury
he wished he possessed. “I think we should go in the center structure,” Taren
said, pointing at the large building standing at the front of the compound. “All
of the buildings are connected, so we might as well start front and center.”

Zamna shrugged. It was as good a plan as any. They
marched on, finally coming face to face with the stone door where they hoped to
gain entry. At its center, it bore a large, round stone engraved with hundreds
of runic symbols.

Taren placed his fingers on the stone, feeling the
lines of the carvings. They were rough and cool to the touch, but the runes
were still readable. Unfortunately, he did not recognize some of the symbols.
The writing appeared to be gibberish. “Some of these runes make no sense,”
Taren said.

“Maybe the ancient dialect was different from what
you’ve studied,” Zamna suggested. None of the runes were familiar to the
assassin. If Taren couldn’t read them, he hoped deciphering them wasn’t
necessary to gain entry.

Taren shook his head. “Magic hasn’t changed,” he
stated. “There’s something different about the runes, though.”

“Does it matter?” Zamna asked impatiently. “Can we
get inside without reading the door?”

Taren pressed his hand against the stone entrance,
but it did not budge. Zamna approached and shoved his full weight against it,
but still it held fast.

“Maybe the symbols tell us how to open it,” Taren
said.

Zamna sighed and took a seat near the door. “Then
it’s up to you,” he declared. “I can’t read it, and I can’t perform any magic
on it. If all else fails, try blasting it open.”

“I’d rather not damage anything if I can avoid
it,” he replied. “Anyway, I’m not sure I know a spell strong enough to blast
through the thick stone.” He ran his hand along the rough stone surface of the
door. Its composition was strange to him, as if it had been crafted from an
unknown mineral. Mostly gray in color, it had a strange sheen to it despite its
weathered exterior. Seemingly impenetrable, he saw no cracks or other signs of
weakness.

“If only I had my books with me,” Taren said with
a sigh. “Maybe I could figure out what this says.”

“Take your time,” Zamna said. “You’ll figure it
out.” Hoping Taren just needed some time to solve the puzzle, he settled in
with his back against the stone wall. He was confident in the mage’s abilities
and hoped it would not be long before they were inside.

Taren studied the runes closely, still unsure how
to proceed. After an hour, he realized that most of the words referred to
spells from the four schools of magic. The spells varied in the level of
difficulty as they approached the center of the stone. Seemingly, they were in
no particular order. Different schools were placed next to each other, and
there appeared to be no pattern involved in their positioning. The spells did
not build or complement each other, and he had no idea which one he should
cast, if any.

“You still have no idea?” Zamna asked, growing
impatient. He had hoped to be inside by now. If Taren couldn’t figure out how
to get inside, their journey would be nothing more than a waste of time. “Maybe
we should try a different door,” he suggested.

“Maybe,” Taren said, scratching his head.

Zamna hopped up and led the way as the pair attempted
to circle the grounds. They approached the nearest building, but to their
dismay, it had no door, window, or other visible means of entry. Moving on,
they inspected a third and then a fourth building. None of them revealed a path
inside. Even the corridors between each structure were completely enclosed with
no openings at all.

“Not even a window?” Zamna said in disbelief.
“What kind of place is this? The people who lived here encased themselves in
stone?” He couldn’t imagine living in such a way. Being eternally confined
within stone might as well be death.

“There aren’t too many records of Ailwen’s time,”
Taren said. “Master Imrit found what he could, but there was no explanation of
how to get inside.”

“We might as well go back to the front,” Zamna
said, frustrated by the situation. “At least we found some sort of door. Try
blasting it with your magic.”

Taren agreed and followed his companion back to
the runed door. Summoning his magic, he blasted energy at the door. It stood
unfazed. Trying again, he sent a second energy burst, this time more intense.
Nothing. The door held fast, refusing to allow the pair entry.

Zamna shook his head and sat once again, his arms
resting on his knees. “We’ll just have to wait until you figure it out, I
suppose.” He was quickly losing faith in his companion, but he would wait as
long as he could stand it. Getting into the tomb was his only chance at
retrieving the riches inside, and he hadn’t traveled this far to go away empty handed.

This time when Taren observed the runes, a
zigzagged line stood out to him. All of the spells along that line belonged to
the school of earth magic. Maybe all he needed to do was cast each spell
consecutively, using the door as his target. “I have an idea,” he announced to
his companion.

Zamna did not speak. Instead, he raised his eye
ridges and waited to see what the mage was going to do. Taren moved away from
the door a few steps and focused his energy on the first spell. The
corresponding runes glowed with a green light as the spell hit its target.
Moving on, he cast the second spell, causing those runes to glow. As he moved
to the third spell, he noticed that the first set of runes had stopped glowing,
and the second set was fading. When the magic reached the door, only the
corresponding set of runes remained alight. In earnest, he continued casting
each spell in turn, hoping that when he came to the last one, all of the runes
would light up and the door would unlock. Unfortunately, that was not to be the
case. Once he had finished casting the final spell, only the matching runes
were lit. After a moment, the color faded away, leaving the wall as it had been
before. The door was still locked.

Taren growled low in his throat, annoyed that his
idea had not worked. How was he supposed to open the door if the answer would
not show itself? Staring intently at the runes, he strained his eyes to the
point of pain. He simply could not see the solution to this puzzle.

Searching along the etchings, he found another
line of zigzagging spells, all from the school of air magic. Though it was not
his specialty, he felt he would be able to cast each of those particular
spells. Taking a few deep breaths to center himself, he tapped into his magical
stores for a second try. The runes flashed with silver light as the magic
touched the door, and Taren felt a spark of hope. Concentrating on the second
spell, it too lit the correct runes, but the first set of runes had already
gone out. Determined not to give up, he continued each incantation until he
came to the end. Waiting with bated breath, he stood expecting the door to
open. It did not.

Taren searched his memory for any trace of a clue
as to how to get inside the tomb. The only words that came to mind were
Zamna’s. In his travels, he had heard little about the tomb, but what he had
said stuck in Taren’s mind. If the door could be opened only by a true master
of the arcane as Zamna had suggested, then Taren would likely need to cast
spells from all the schools. Studying the runes again, he searched for a
similar zigzagging line of fire or water magic.

After several minutes, he found such a line of
fire spells. It was not the exact same pattern as earth or air, but it would
have to do. As he studied each of the runic symbols, he realized that three of
them corresponded with spells that were not familiar to him. Had he been a
master of fire, it was possible he could have cast them with ease. Was this why
Imrit had sent all three of them? Did he know more than he had revealed? Or did
he simply wish to cover all the bases? Taren could not be sure. All he could do
was wish that his fellow apprentices had not perished in The Barrens. Their
deaths were senseless wastes. Tissa and Djo deserved to be here beside him to
unlock the secrets held within this tomb.

With his last ounce of hope remaining, he searched
the runes for water spells. The result was the same. An even more random
zigzagging line presented him with seven water spells he could not possibly
cast. Two of them contained runic symbols he had never seen, rendering them completely
meaningless. Staring in disbelief, he forced himself to admit that he lacked
the skills to get them inside the tomb.

“I can’t do it,” he said, placing his head in his
hands. “I’ve failed.” Sitting down heavily next to Zamna, he felt the heat
rising into his face. A lifetime of work had led him to a dead end, and he
would never be able to retrieve the symbol for his aged master. Wishing he had
died in The Barrens and saved himself the agony of this defeat, the tears crept
into his eyes.

With his voice perfectly calm, Zamna asked, “What
does this tomb mean to you?”

Taren wiped his eyes on his sleeve and looked out
at the horizon. “It means immortality for my master,” he admitted. His mind
filled with images of the elderly wizard, hard at work in his laboratory. Taren
realized he would never see him again. How could he possibly return and tell
him he had failed? No, he would not do it.

“I don’t know this master of yours,” Zamna replied,
“but I do know that you admire him greatly.” He turned to look at the young
mage. “If he means so much to you, giving up isn’t an option. I can see that
you’re frustrated, but it was never supposed to be easy to get inside.” He
sighed. “I hoped it would be. I hoped you’d have that door open in a matter of
minutes, and we’d be finished by sundown.” He too looked out over the horizon
where the sun was setting, and the sky was filling with a soft orange light.
“That just isn’t how things work out. You’ve been reading too many fairy tales
if you thought you’d get here and everything would magically work out the way
it was supposed to.” Hissing softly with laughter, he patted his friend on the
back. “Maybe we should get some rest. You can look on it with fresh eyes in the
morning.”

Despite all his quirks, Zamna’s words held wisdom.
The La’kertan was not the sort of man to sugarcoat things or lie to make
someone else feel better. Obviously, he had true confidence in him, and that
made Taren hopeful once more. If his companion believed in him, it was time he
started believing in himself.

Leaning his back to the wall, he stared at the sky
above. There were three moons present in the sky, each of them overlapping the
one next to it. Ruffling his brow, he pointed to the moons and asked, “Have you
ever seen that before?”

The La’kertan shook his head. “In all my travels,
I’ve seen only one moon at a time.”

Taren continued to observe the moons. How could
they possibly have changed? Could it be a result of the curse on this land?
Maybe it was a sign of some kind. Perhaps he needed to cast magic from only three
different schools. Shaking off the idea, he realized it didn’t make sense. Why
only three schools when there were four to choose from?