The Third Apprentice (2 page)

“Don’t fall
behind,” Djo called from ahead.

Taren hadn’t
realized how long he had been staring at the trees. “I’m coming,” he called
back, hurrying to catch up to his companions.

“We should camp
here for the night,” Djo said. “Darkness is falling fast.”

They weren’t sure
if it was truly night or if it was only the lack of light making its way
through the trees, but they were all feeling tired and grateful to take a rest.

“How long were we
walking?” Tissa asked. Everything had looked the same as they journeyed, and
her aching feet were the only sign she had moved an inch that day.

“We’ve gone at
least twelve miles,” Djo declared. He seemed certain of this even though his
companions had their doubts.

“Should we build a
fire?” Tissa asked.

“Yes, but not with
magic,” Djo replied. He scoured the immediate vicinity for fallen branches that
were small enough to lift. There weren’t many, but there were enough to make a
small fire that would help take away the chill of night.

Taren sat back
against a large fallen log. Sifting through his pack, he made note of the
potions he had brought with him. Not only had he brought some concoctions to
restore and energize his magical stores, he had also brought a variety of
medicines in case one of them became ill. With no way of knowing which plants
would be available to him, he had decided to come prepared. Once he was content
he hadn’t forgotten anything, he shut the bag and reclined against the log.

Tissa moved to sit
next to him, pulling her knees close to her chest. “How long do you think it
will be before we reach the end of The Barrens?” she asked.

“A few days at
least,” Taren replied. Seeing her uneasy expression, he added, “I wish we were
out of here now.”

Tissa nodded her
agreement. She twisted at the small gold ring that she wore upon her left hand.
It was a magical ring, a gift from her mother. Should she choose to use the
small amount of magic it held, it would bring her comfort. Knowing that magic
was forbidden here, she decided against using the ring. “It’s hot in here,
isn’t it?” Beads of sweat had formed on her brow, and she was visibly
uncomfortable.

“It does seem to be
getting warmer,” Taren agreed. The light was fading fast, but there was no
chill to accompany it. Instead, the air seemed to be getting denser.

Djo finished
building the small fire and leaned back against the trunk of a tree. “We don’t
need the heat, but it might keep any night creatures away.” Though it was
unlikely there were any creatures in these woods, the fire was a sign of home.
Looking upon it gave them hope and calmed their nerves.

Finally, the trio
fell asleep in the long dark of the forest. When they woke, it was still mostly
dark, and they were unsure how long they had actually slept.

“We might as well
get moving,” Djo said as he kicked dirt over the smoldering remains of the
fire.

Taren and Tissa
retrieved their packs, and once again the apprentices resumed their march. The
next few days went by slowly, with little conversation. Travel had proved
uneventful until the fourth day. As he walked ahead of the others, Djo did not
see the small branch that caught his foot. He fell hard, landing with his hands
out to his sides. The fingers of his left hand brushed lightly against the path
they were avoiding. Standing back on his feet, he brushed the dirt away from
his robe. Taren and Tissa stared at him, wondering if he knew he had touched
the path.

“I only brushed
it,” he said, seeing the concerned looks on their faces. Both of them had fear
in their eyes, and he felt uneasy as well. Inside, he tried to convince himself
that nothing would come of his misstep. “Let’s get going.”

Taren and Tissa
continued behind him until he stopped. Coming to his side, they stopped as
well.

“Did you hear
something?” Djo asked.

The other two shook
their heads. They stood for a moment longer, listening before continuing on
their way. After a few minutes, they stopped again. This time, an unmistakable
growl sounded from behind them.

In unison, they
turned and saw a manlike creature, who appeared to be made of stone. He had a
wide set of wings similar to the wings of a bat. Crouched low to the ground, it
was clear the creature was ready to strike.

“Run!” Djo shouted.

The trio dashed
through the woods, hoping to outrun the creature whose heavy footsteps pursued
them. It grunted through its stone nostrils as it ran, its hot breath moving
closer and closer. With a swipe of its massive clawed hand, it grabbed Djo, who
had been closest to the path as they ran.

Tissa slowed for a
second, but Taren grabbed her arm, forcing her to continue her flight. Without
looking back, they heard the cries of their companion. There was nothing they
could do. To their horror, the creature was not satisfied by taking the one who
had touched the path. It continued its pursuit of the remaining two
apprentices, gaining ground on them as they tired.

Taren and Tissa struggled
for breath as they were forced to keep running. The trees grew denser, forcing
them to dodge around the massive trunks while avoiding tripping over spent
limbs. Tissa stumbled only a moment, but the creature was there to catch her.
As her scream pierced the air, a shiver went down Taren’s spine.

The creature
continued to pursue Taren, its presence looming ever closer.
Keep running,
keep running
, he told himself. If his body gave out now, he would be dead
for sure. His only hope was to ignore the pain growing in the bones of his feet
and the pounding of his heart in his ears. Faster and faster he pushed himself
to run, but the creature continued to gain ground. Just when Taren thought he
was sure to die, he burst through the tree line and into the sunlight. He had escaped
The Barrens.

S
tumbling out of the woods, Taren no longer
felt the hot breath of the stone beast on his neck. Daring to cease his flight,
he turned and peered between the trees. The beast was walking away, its back
turned to the apprentice. He considered a moment whether he might survive
reentering the woods to see if his companions were alive. A ghastly howl filled
his ears as the monster stooped next to a motionless figure draped in yellow.
It was Tissa, whose blood now dripped from the beast’s sharp claws. Taren
turned away, unable to bear the sight before him. His stomach turned sour, and
he hung his head for a long moment.

A voice startled him back to reality. “Did ye come
oot o’ those woods?” a surprised man asked.

Taren looked up to see a farmer dressed in patched
clothing. On a rope he led a yellow goat and a black-faced sheep with a red
fleece.
Strange wool
. Staring at the sheep, he could hardly believe his
eyes.

“Ye didna use magic in thare, did ye?” The farmer
looked Taren up and down, making note of his mage’s robe and leather shoulder
bag. The flap had come open on the bag, revealing rows of potions strapped
neatly inside. The shocked expression still worn on the mage’s face revealed
that he had seen the beast that lived inside the woods.

Taren looked at the man, his eyes wide. His mind
still whirling from his encounter with the monster, he found no words available
to him. Though he felt the urge to look behind him once more, he resisted. He
could not bear the sight of his fellow apprentice being devoured by a beast.
Instead, he sat heavily on the ground, still reeling from his harrowing ordeal.

The land stretched out before him in vibrant
color. No recognizable grass sprung from the ground. Instead, patches of a
spongelike substance in varying colors adorned the ground. There was a
noticeable lack of trees to this land, yet a walled city stood less than a mile
away, its wooden buildings rising high into the sky. Farmhouses dotted the
landscape in the distance, and brightly colored livestock walked the fields.
They were too far for him to determine exactly what species of animal they
were, but their movements reminded him of cattle.

The farmer approached Taren, who still had not
managed to utter a single word. Placing a hand on the young mage’s shoulder, he
said, “Do ye need help, lad?” He knelt down for a closer look at the mage, who
was trembling slightly. “Ye should get yerself to town,” he suggested, taking
Taren’s arm.

Assisted by the farmer, Taren once again found his
feet. He looked ahead at the town and nodded slowly. The farmer pointed toward
the western side of the city.

“Town’s called Rixville, and thare’s a gate on the
western-facin’ side. Ye should get yerself some rest.”

Soundlessly, Taren’s feet began to move. As if in
a trance, he slowly made his way to the city. The farmer watched for a few
minutes as Taren walked away. Finally, he was satisfied that the young man
didn’t need any more help, so he led his animals away. Taren did not look back.

The city sat less than a mile from the edge of The
Barrens. A wooden wall nearly eight feet in height surrounded the entire town,
protecting it from dangers Taren was unaware of. Smoke rose from a dozen
chimneys, and the sounds of voices calling out filled his ears as he
approached. Taren turned his feet westward and approached the gate where four
guards chatted lazily with one another. Three of them were sitting, while a
fourth leaned lazily against the wall.

The standing guard looked Taren over only once,
his bored expression unchanging. “Have business in town do ye?” he asked.

Taren nodded. “I’m looking for an inn,” he
replied, not knowing where his voice came from. Everything seemed surreal since
encountering the stone beast.

“Head down the main street and take the second
left,” the guard said. “The Wigglin’ Wyrm is the third building on the right.
It’ll do ye fine for a drink and a rest.”

Entering the town, the scent of roasting meat
wafted to his nostrils. Taking in a deep breath, his stomach rumbled, begging
to be filled with the sweet-smelling meal. How long had it been since he
stopped to eat? He could not recall. Following his feet, he turned at the
second street, which was far narrower than the main road. A man carrying planks
came around from a corner, nearly bashing Taren’s head with a sliding board.
Noticing the movement from the corner of his eye, the mage barely had time to
duck. Luckily, he reacted in time, and the board narrowly missed him. Turning,
he ruffled his brow at the man carrying the load.

The mustachioed man returned his gaze. “Watch
where yer goin’ then!” he shouted before continuing on his way.

Taren shook his head and cupped his hands over his
eyes. Rubbing his face briskly, he tried to shake himself from the daze that
had come over him. A hot meal and something to drink would help, he decided.
This day had already proved too eventful, and he needed time to gather himself
before deciding whether to move on. Master Imrit would be sorely disappointed
if he returned now, assuming it was possible to return. For all he knew, the
beast was still waiting for him to reenter the woods. He would have to press
on, but for now, he had earned a rest.

The Wigglin’ Wyrm stood only a few steps away, its
wooden sign dancing on the breeze. It bore the image of a skinny golden dragon
with a mug of frothy ale in its hand. The outside was in disrepair, with
crooked shutters and a few shingles missing from the roof. Stepping inside, he
was surprised to find it well kept. The common room was already bustling with
activity, despite it still being early. Most of the men inside should have been
working, but they had chosen revelry instead.

Taren found a seat at the bar as far as he could
get from the other patrons. A heavy woman in a low-cut bodice approached him
with a wide smile, the gap between her front teeth displaying itself as a thing
of beauty.

“What’ll ye have, love?” she asked.

“Whatever you have cooking will be fine,” he
replied. “And I’ll be needing a room as well.”

“Got some lovely stew,” she said with a wink.
“It’s nice and hot. Ye can have yer choice o’ rooms. Might have to double up if
it gets busy, mind ye.” She scurried off behind the bar, disappearing through a
squeaky wooden door.

The thought of sharing a room didn’t appeal to
Taren. This town was unknown to him, but he was aware of the general distrust
of wizards in this area. Still, there was little choice unless he was prepared
to scour the town for a different inn. It would be dark in a few hours, so he
resigned himself to staying put regardless of who might be joining him in his
room.

The large woman returned and placed a steaming
bowl in front of him. Flashing another smile, she grabbed a mug from beneath
the bar and filled it with a golden liquid. “Our house ale,” she stated
proudly. “Best in the city.”

“I’m sure it is,” Taren replied. Taking a sip, he
fought the urge to spit it out. The ale was thin with an overly strong taste of
alcohol. Now he knew why so many people shrugged off work to visit the
establishment. Bringing a spoonful of stew to his mouth, he blew on it to cool
it before taking a taste. To his surprise, it was quite good. The meat tasted
fresh, and the potatoes and carrots were cooked perfectly. The slice of bread
that accompanied it was still warm from the oven. It was flavorful and reminded
him of the bread Vita would occasionally bake. He missed his home already.

Finishing his meal, he asked the woman, “How much
do I owe you?”

“Ten coppers fer the room and two fer the food,”
she replied. “But ye won’t be ready fer bed yet. Thare’s a lute player comin’
in a bit.”

Taren wasn’t in much of a mood for a party. Though
he was feeling better after his meal, he still planned to retire early and get
a good night’s sleep before deciding what to do in the morning. Fishing in his
bag, he produced the coppers and laid them on the counter. “I thought I might get
to bed early,” he said.

The barmaid came around to his side of the bar and
pressed herself against him. “Ye sure?” she asked with a grin. “Ye’ll have more
fun here. Young men like ye need to have a little fun.” She nudged at him with
her elbow, her eyes twinkling.

Nearly forgetting to breathe, he squeaked out,
“Not tonight.” Quickly, he rose to his feet and pushed his stool back toward
the bar before bolting up the stairs. The woman’s laughter filled the air as she
watched him frantically escape to safety. Apparently she was just toying with
him, but his lack of experience with women had left him panicked and red in the
face.

Taren ducked into the first room at the top of the
stairs. It was small with few furnishings: two small beds spaced about a foot
apart, a wooden table with a single chair, and one tiny square window looking
out over the city. A pitcher of water and a washing bowl sat upon the table,
and Taren was glad to wash the dirt away from his face. After scrubbing at his
skin, he ran his wet fingers through his shaggy brown hair. He stared at his
reflection a moment in the bowl, staring into his own deep brown eyes and
wishing he could wash away the sights he had seen earlier in the day.

With a sigh, he removed his leather boots and lay
back on the bed near the window. Placing one arm behind his head, he stared up
at the ceiling and waited for sleep to find him. After a few moments, he
crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. Still, sleep eluded him.
He tossed a few times, finally ending up on his right side. Drifting off to
sleep, he dreamed he was back in The Barrens, with the other apprentices at his
side. This time, it was him who touched the path, standing upon it with both
feet as his two companions watched in horror. The stone beast appeared before
him, slashing at his face before he had time to react. He awoke with a start,
sitting straight up on his bed.

Thunderous applause erupted from below as the
celebration continued into the night. Looking out of the window, Taren could
see that night had fallen, a million stars filling the sky. Rubbing at his
temples, he hoped to shake off the disturbing image of his dream, but he was
too shaken. Stumbling in the darkness for his boots, he slipped them onto his
feet and headed back downstairs to join the crowd. The raucous noise coming
from the common room would not have allowed him to return to sleep anyway.

It had to be near midnight, and the common room
was packed with people. Not only had a lute player taken to the stage, but a
drummer had set up as well. Together they played a variety of songs, happily
taking requests from the boisterous crowd. Taren shuffled to a table in the
corner, leaning his head heavily on his hand. A server approached him, but he
waved the girl away. He wasn’t interested in any more of the house ale.

After sitting through a few songs, he felt even
more awake than before. It was unlikely he would get any sleep this night. An
uneasy feeling came over him as he realized that a figure at the opposite end
of his table was staring at him. The man was dressed in dark-brown leather with
a cowl covering the majority of his face. His eyes, however, were completely
exposed, glowing in the dimly lit room. They were yellow like a cat’s, with
wide slits for pupils. Clearly, this person was not human, but Taren had never
heard of such a race. Such creatures must live far from the land of Ky’sall.

Taren found himself staring back at the man, who
finally stood and marched toward the young wizard. Taren tried to look away,
hoping the man would walk past him, but no such luck. The yellow-eyed man took
a seat next to Taren, setting his mug down on the table.

“You seem out of sorts,” the man said in a raspy
voice. He brushed back his cowl, allowing Taren a clear view of his face. His
blue-green skin was scaly, obviously reptilian. His snakelike head featured
rows of spikes on either side, his nose little more than two nostril slits
above his mouth. “I’m not from around here either,” he added.

Taren stared a moment, not sure how to respond.
Never in his life had he encountered another of this man’s race. “I’m from
Dobra,” Taren admitted. Though he had been born in a farming village, he had
spent a few years at the Mage’s College in Dobra before moving to its outskirts
to live with Master Imrit. It was as good a hometown as any.

The reptile man nodded. “You’re a mage,” he said.
“We don’t get many of those around here.” He sipped at his drink, waiting for
Taren to continue the conversation.

Taren wasn’t sure what to say. What was this man’s
interest in him? Was he just being friendly or was there some ulterior motive?
“Yes, I’m a mage,” he finally said. “My name is Taren.”

The man smiled, turning up the corners of his
wide, scaly mouth. “My name’s Zamna,” he said. “I’m an assassin.”

Taren was slightly taken aback by the man’s sudden
announcement of his profession. “Why would someone hire you to kill me?” he
asked out loud. Instantly, he regretted allowing the words to leave his mouth.

Zamna laughed a strange hissing laugh. “If I’d
wanted to kill you, you would be dead. I don’t converse with my targets.”

Taren’s tense posture relaxed a bit. Clearly this
man was an undesirable. Taren hadn’t noticed, but when Zamna moved closer to
him, the table nearest to him cleared out, each person slowly vacating his
seat, one after the other. “Then what do you want with me?”

“You look like someone who has a mission to
accomplish. This town gets a handful of travelers each year, but none of them
are wizards. Something has drawn you this way, and I thought you might be in
need of a little assistance. I occasionally provide services as a bodyguard,
and I know this land fairly well.”

Taren grew suspicious. “How do you know about my
mission?”