Xandar awoke to the sound of hammering. It wasn’t the harsh, loud hammering of putting a nail through a wall or trying to crush the entire thing altogether, but the gentle, precise hammering of leather uppers to the soles of shoes. It appeared that Mr. Hamnik had started his work early that morning.
Xandar rubbed his eyes and shifted in his narrow bed. His gray cat awoke and crept closer to him, demanding his morning attention. The view that greeted Xandar from the single window in the room was that of a slate of steel and drizzling rain. Xandar swore, turned to the other side, and pulled the blanket higher. The rain had ceased by the time Xandar got up, but the sky was still overcast and it was hard to tell the time.
He had finished his education at the High Magic University some months ago, and throughout all the long years dedicated to his studies had been holding on to the unwavering belief that work would find him once he graduated. It was a common misconception. For years his mother had been saying that there would never be a lack of work for a smart wizard who studied well and got good grades. At the university, other students would brag about the secret societies that gave them a vague promise to take them on as apprentices or talk about the distant lands where generous kings were just praying for a wizard to knock at their palace doors. Rumors about the adventures that graduated students had set out on - and the wild rewards they acquired throughout those adventures - circulated the taverns students often frequented and an aura of electric anticipation hung in the air. But even if the stories were true - Xandar soon discovered - they were true somewhere far, far away, and not in Rovalia.
Rovalia was a large town, the biggest in the kingdom. It was the place people came to in order to conduct business, to buy, sell, trick, and scheme their way to the top of their ambitions, yet nevertheless, work was something one had to work very hard at finding. Secret societies only accepted experienced wizards and experience was hard to come by, while venturing to faraway lands was a risky endeavor that held no promises of glory.
Xandar had been writing pamphlets for hours, then spent days making sure those found their way under every door and were glued to each window in the city, but despite all those efforts, the majority of his days were still free of clients.
He walked out of his little room and followed the descending stairs to the kitchen that Mr. Hamnik would let him use. He soon came back up with a cup of strong tea and a fresh bowl of water for the cat. He kept a piece of dried sausage in a closed box in his desk’s drawer. The cat - who was still asleep, curled into a fuzzy gray ball on the unmade bed - got up and stretched when he heard Xandar opening the box, knowing he was mere seconds away from getting a treat.
When the cat was fed and the cup of tea sat steaming on the little writing desk, Xandar took out his spell book and settled down to work, leafing through the pages and memorizing various lines, sometimes taking notes, writing, and sewing different spell elements together. He was soon lost in the task, oblivious to the passage of time, and only raised his head when the cat suddenly jumped on the table, rubbed his head against Xandar’s book, and hopped onto the window sill. From there he would climb the sloping roof and jump down to the little yard below.
“Have a good day, Alberon,” Xandar called after him, then quietly added, “It will surely be more eventful than mine.”
When he was done preparing his spells, Xandar changed into his robes - the simple, dark gray ones - and wrapped himself in a warm cloak. The spell book, along with a bag containing a few copper coins, he hid in various secret pockets in his belt and robes and went out. He passed by the shoemaker's workshop where the little man was still working tirelessly.
“Good morning, Mr. Hamnik,” Xandar greeted him as he walked by.
The shoemaker looked up, surprised, “Morning? It’s already mid-day!”
The morning rain had left the streets wet and covered with mud, full of puddles that sprouted at the sides, and sometimes in the middle of roads. Chariots passed by, splashing muddy rainwater from their wheels, and drops still clung to the clothes of passers-by.
The shoemaker's shop was located at a strategic location on the main street, squeezed between a clothing store and a herbalist who would not openly admit that she was selling anything other than tea and herbal infusions. To the north, mere minutes of a walk away stood the Pouncing Fox Inn, and to the south and east, the street ended with a square upon which stalls sprawled and to which local farmers and bakers - even traveling merchants - brought their goods. More taverns and inns huddled around it. East of the market but not too far away from it, the blacksmith had set up shop, and it was to that shop that Xandar was heading that day. It was the first time that Bragdar, the town’s blacksmith, wanted to use Xandar’s services, and the wizard hoped that the job would turn into a long-lasting relationship. Blacksmiths always had work, and at times, that work entailed a little more than just shaping metal.
Xandar could smell hints of coal smoke in the air as he made his way around the market square and the closer he got, the more intricate the invisible presence had become - a combination of the acrid smell of steel mixed with the almost sweet scent emanating from hot iron. The doors to the workshop were wide open, like the jaw of a great dragon, and as one would expect from such a beast, deep within its throat a fire burned. It was surrounded by a strip of trodden grass and plenty of space - as if the neighboring houses were trying to keep their distance - and was hard to miss.
Once inside, as he listened to the sound of metal pounding on metal, Xandar’s eyes wandered along the walls, studying the tools and the equipment with fascination. He had considered becoming a blacksmith once - had even started an apprenticeship at his hometown one summer - but that was also the occasion that had led him to meet a mage for the first time. Once he had witnessed magic, there was no turning back. Still, Xandar admired the craft. His thoughts trailed off and only when a loud voice boomed from somewhere deep within the shop did they return to the space his body had been occupying.
Bragdar was all Xandar had expected from a blacksmith - he was tall, his bare arms heavy with muscles, and his soot-covered skin had a reddish glow as if an internal furnace was casting its light from deep within him.
“Oh, there you are!” the man exclaimed, swaggering towards Xandar with heavy steps, “You walked in so quietly, I hardly noticed you,”
He reached out a hand covered with a thick leather glove. Xandar shook it reluctantly.
“I almost thought you wouldn’t show up, but I guess that what they say is true, wizards are not morning creatures, eh?” he said, smirking at Xandar’s apparent embarrassment, and before the wizard had a chance to reply, added, “Don’t waste your words, it’s what you can do that I care about, come.”
Xandar followed the blacksmith as he led them in the direction of the light and the heat. On a large table beside the furnace, a number of weapons were laid out. Bragdar picked up a greatsword with the same ease he would lift a kitchen fork and moved it this way and that, testing the blade’s balance.
“Some adventurers came into town the other day, needed their tools fixed,” he told Xandar, “I did some mending and strengthening, sharpened some blades, but one of them wanted some enhancements my hammer was not good enough for.”
“I assumed as much,” said Xandar and reached into his robes where his spellbook was hidden, “I prepared some spells for accuracy and damage, one strength spell too.”
“Well, that’s what most of them want,” Bragdar chuckled, “But for this blade we’ll need something different. This guy wants the sword to make people run away before he even swings it.”
Xandar studied the weapon. It was the most intimidating sword he had ever seen - the metal it was made of was so dark that it appeared almost black, the pommel was covered with spikes - like a morning star - and the blade looked sharp and vicious. Other than the unique shape of the pommel, there were no decorations on the greatsword, nothing delicate or sophisticated about it. Its entire appearance said blunt force. Xandar did not know much about swords, but as far as he could tell - even without any spells to enhance it - it was the kind of weapon that made people want to run away once they saw it. He tried to picture the kind of warrior that could wield a sword like that, and the image that came to mind was not of a man who would rather evade a fight.
“I suppose I could craft a spell like that, but I’ll need some time to prepare it,” Xandar said after some thought.
Bragdar furrowed his brow. “Isn’t there some spell for that already?” he asked, impatient.
“There are components and parts, maybe the exact spell already exists, but even if it does, I might need to change it and adjust it to this.. situation,” Xandar started to explain, “And that’s not to mention-”
Bragdar raised one large hand in the air.
“Alright, alright, I get it,” he said, “How long do you need?”
Xandar paused to think, “I can have it for you by the end of the day,”
Bragdar nodded.
“Just try to make it fast, I told these guys their weapons will be ready today.”
Xandar kept replaying the conversation in his mind as he walked out of the blacksmith’s shop. How could a person - a tradesman, non the less - give an estimation for a job when he didn’t know how long said job would take? That was the problem with people who did not understand magic. They thought it was all so simple, just a swing of a wand, and all their troubles would go away. They did not understand the complexity of magic, and would not even give thought to the rules.
Xandar went back the way he came, around the square, and then turned west and started making his way toward the magic university.
The university wasn’t too far from the center of town, but it was built slightly apart from the rest of it. There were only a few shops around it and even fewer houses. It was surrounded by a tall fence made out of black steel which stood open, though most people did not view that fact as an invitation. It was composed of three buildings: the larger two were Thunderwave Hall - where junior students resided, began their journey, and learned the basics of energy manipulation - and Wish Chamber - lodging place for the senior students. It was also the place where courses in advanced high magic took place. The third building was tall and narrow like a spear and ended with a sharp cone. It was called Truesight Tower and was dedicated to a most impressive library. It was to that building that Xandar was heading.
Beyond the tall bars of the gates, an array of cobblestone paths ran from the entrance to the three buildings, connecting and serpentining between them. Patches of soft grass sat between the three towering structures, sprinkled with a few shrubs and trees. The grass and shrubs were neatly kept, aside from the occasional burned patch - likely the result of some students trying to flaunt their skills. That day, however, the university grounds seemed deserted. Wizards did not like rain.
Xandar turned right and followed the path to the Truesight Tower, where the library was located. It was silent inside the building, and Xandar’s footsteps echoed as he walked down the dark corridor. He was not familiar with the librarian that was on duty that day - it was a highly desired job among young wizards and the competition had led to quite a high turnover, oftentimes with several students holding the title simultaneously and working in shifts, making the library available at any time of the day or night. Xandar was about to pull his university card from his robes, but after scanning him from head to toe, the librarian nodded with approval, identifying Xandar as one of their own. Xandar was used to that, people often told him that he looked like a wizard. Whether it was the nervous movements of the hands, the haunted look, or the bags under his eyes, Xandar was not sure, but even without his ceremonial robes or pointy hat something gave him away.
The library was teeming with quiet, yet determined life. Students were climbing long ladders to reach books on tall shelves, scanning the aisles, pointing their fingers at the tomes on display, and mostly sitting hunched over scrolls and yellowish pages, their lips moving soundlessly as they read.
Xandar had spent enough time in the library throughout his student years to know where to start his research, and soon he too found a niche to hide in and sat there, surrounded by books and reading frantically, scribbling words in his notebook. He didn’t lift his head from the books for hours, but at last, he managed to compose the spell that he needed. It was a combination of a deterring spell that could be used on a place, and intimidation, which would normally be cast on a person or a creature. Xandar made a few alterations, taking elements from existing spells and restructuring them until he was happy with the result. The final part was testing the spell, an action that was not allowed in the library. He considered sneaking to the basement of the Wish Chamber - it was the largest of buildings and its basement a labyrinth of passageways that students often used as a hidden laboratory - but soon realized that the seclusion of the cellars would not be enough. He needed test subjects. Going back to the forge was the best option.
Xandar had been sitting facing a wall, and he got up and turned just in time to see a tall, skinny wizard with a mop of curly hair on his head approaching him.
“Xandar? Is that you? It’s been a while, man!” the wizard said in all the excitement that a whisper could convey.
Xandar’s facial recognition was not among his strong suits. He did his best to try and remember who the other wizard was, but his expression must have given his confusion away.
“It’s Atli, we took Introduction to Deviation together, remember?” he said, his excitement unwavering.
“Right, Atli, of course…”
“How have you been? How’s work? Are you here doing research for a job?” Atli spat the questions out without pausing.
“Something like that,” Xandar said, hesitantly, not sure which question to answer first.
“Good for you!” Atli beamed, “Did you join a magic society? Is it a stable job?”
“No, just a one time gig, nothing stable at the moment,” Xandar admitted.
Atli nodded, “I hear you, man, it’s tough out there. I wrote to all the secret societies in town but they didn’t even reply. A friend of mine managed to get invited to an interview, but their expectations were so high, you’d have to have years of experience to get in!”
Xandar felt he had to repay him with a question, “So what have you been up to?” he asked.
“This and that, you know, but I’m going to be leaving soon, actually,” Atli replied.
“Where do you want to go?”
“The Magic Circle University. They say they need research assistants, which would give me the option to get some money while I’m working on my own practice, you know, deviation, which is what I’m really passionate about. And it’s a modern town too, where people know what good quality deviation is, and you know me, I like to focus on methodology, which is not exactly what people appreciate here. No, here they would rather go to some cottage witch who will read their tea leaves and give them some vague, mushy promises that all will be well and they’ll find true love than get a highly detailed, heavenly-body-based, profound reading..” Atli paused to take a breath, “But I’m just ranting. So what are your plans? Going to stay in town?”
“I guess it’s too early to give up on finding work here, so I’ll keep looking.” Xandar shrugged.
“What kind of work are you looking for? Private? Something with the guilds? Adventurers? I hear that’s a hot market,”
Xandar opened his mouth to answer, searching for the words in his mind, but Atli’s eyes opened wide and he barged in, overtaken by excitement:
“Oh, actually I have something that might help you, someone’s looking for wizards for some special society or project, I wasn’t entirely sure, but it sounds promising.” he opened the leather bag he wore across his bony shoulders and rummaged in it for a while, producing at last a piece of scroll that had been folded over several times. He handed the paper to Xandar.
“Why don't you try it out, then?” Xandar asked, reaching for the scroll.
“I don’t know if working in a group is for me, really, and a full-time job might not leave me enough time to develop my deviation practice, but you should look into that, who knows, maybe something good will come out of it.”
He gave Xandar a tense smile, nodding all the while, then straightened up, closed his side bag, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Well, I must get going, lots to do, great seeing you, man!” and without awaiting a reply, turned and left.
Xandar had been unfolding the note absentmindedly as they spoke. It was written in tall, sharp letters, and it read:
“Wizard needed to join a powerful team of experts! You would be working on cutting-edge projects while using the most advanced magical frameworks. Must be proficient in abjuration, conjuration, transmutation, and enchantment spells. Knowledge of necromancy is a plus. Must be a self starter.” whatever that meant, “High education is a must! To apply for an interview, ask for Erdrik Havnar at the Barking Toad Inn.”
The rain had returned by the time Xandar walked out of the university gates. He frowned, mumbled a few words and after a moment, an invisible aura appeared around him, causing the drops to slide all around his cloak and robes without being able to touch him. Xandar was not one to shun away from minor inconveniences, but there were not many things he hated more than rain. Moreover, the simple spell tended to produce awe-struck glares from passers-by, which Xandar had hoped would help establish his reputation as an experienced wizard.
Bragdar was hard at work when Xandar arrived at his shop and he had to wait, watching the large man wielding his hammer as the flames cast a reddish glow on his face. When Bragdar was done, leaving the piece of metal he had been hammering to cool, he wiped the sweat from his face and walked over to Xandar, resting his large fists on his waist.
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“So, spell’s ready?” he asked.
Xandar nodded. He reached inside his robes and took out his spellbook.
“Let’s see the sword,” he said, getting up.
Bragdar led the way inside the spacious workshop and Xandar caught himself tapping his fingers on the leather cover of his spellbook absentmindedly. The sword was laid out on a large table, surrounded by two other, smaller swords, a few daggers, one helmet, and a few sets of metal plates that Xandar wasn’t sure what they were used for.
“We should move the other items away,” he said, picking up a dagger and carefully placing it aside.
Bragdar leaned over the table and swept all the weapons aside with one movement of his forearm, leaving the sword in question at the center of the desk.
“There, all nice and tidy,” he chuckled.
Xandar could feel the blacksmith’s eyes on him and shifted nervously. He opened his book and placed it on the desk, moved the sword a few times for no reason but to allow his hands to spill some excess energy, and cleared his throat. At least they were alone, he thought. He ran his eyes over the words another time, though he had already remembered them by heart, and opened his mouth to speak just as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder from the direction of the entrance.
“Look, he’s working on your stick, Kaizer!” an excited voice said.
It came from a particularly short man with pointy ears who wore colorful clothing and carried some sort of a string instrument on his back. His unusually large, slanted eyes sparkled over a wild, mischievous smile. It was not the first gnome Xandar had ever seen but even so, he could not help but stare. Next to the gnome was a tall, muscular man with a grim, inpatient look on his face. The rest of their party consisted of two slender, hooded figures who entered silently and moved like shadows. One wore a green cloak and carried a bow and quiver on its back, the other figure’s robes were black, and it seemed to carry no weapons. A lock of silver hair fell out from the darkness within the black hood. Xandar averted his eyes.
“It’s not a stick, Tomlin,” the man called Kaizer grumbled, he eyed Xandar from top to bottom and added, “Is this going to take long?”
Xandar swallowed, “No, not long,” he mumbled.
The gnome’s attention had already shifted and he was busy inspecting Bragdar’s tools, but Kaizer remained planted at his spot, watching Xandar intently. The black hooded figure had also approached, facing him silently. Behind them, the figure in green moved the hood of its cloak aside to reveal an elven woman with auburn hair and an unreadable expression.
Xandar picked up his spellbook and ran his eyes over the lines again. Holding the book up, he managed to hide most of them out of view. He hated having to work with people watching over his shoulder, but it was too late to turn back. He focused on the words, first in the book, and then, once they’ve settled, in his mind, until he felt ready to read - or rather whisper - them aloud.
Crafting a spell for intimidation and fear was the simple part, it was all about determining the energy source for the spell to work which had Xandar scratching his head at the library. The simplest thing to do was to borrow the energy from the wilder of the sword, but Xandar wanted to be more sophisticated than that. If the sword was meant to intimidate and cause a potential enemy to flee, it might as well borrow the energy for the spell from the same enemy, weakening as well as terrifying, but what if the warrior drew his sword near his party members? Would they be affected? Would the spell have to calculate who out of the people, or creatures, next to the sword wielder was hostile? And to what range? It had taken Xandar hours of research, but he figured the spell out at last and felt very pleased and confident with his achievement. At least until that moment.
He finished speaking the final word and closed his eyes as a surge of energy rushed through him. For a moment there was no one else around him, no adventurers, gnomes, or elves, no watching eyes, no Bragdar. The workshop itself dissolved into thin air around him. The magical energy was tingling on his skin and rushing like electricity through his veins. But it was gone as quickly as it began, leaving Xandar feeling lightheaded for a moment. Slowly, he lowered the book down, closed it, and straightened his robes. They were all staring at the sword expectantly. Even the gnome, who leaned closer to Kaizer and asked:
“So what is it supposed to do now exactly?”
Xandar opened his mouth to answer but Kaizer interrupted.
“Improve my precision, uh,” he began, giving Xandar a meaningful look, “...and strength, and all that.”
“I also sharpened and strengthened it, don’t forget that,” Bragdar added, and picking up the sword with a light motion flipped it in the air and handed it to Kaizer, hilt first.
“Actually, I haven’t had a chance to test the spell yet, so perhaps we could try to-” Xandar began to say but a menacing look from Kaizer made him stop mid-sentence.
“I’m sure it will work,” he said slowly, letting each word drop like an anvil, “if it doesn’t, I’ll have to come back and get you to fix it.”
The big warrior glared at Xandar for what felt like a long while, and then finally averted his eyes to study the sword in his hand. He took a few steps back, moving away from the rest of the party, and tried swinging it a few times.
“Feels good?” Bragdar asked, grinning like a wolf.
Kaizer nodded, “Feels good, but I’ll only know how good it really is when I get to use it.”
Xandar found a low stool next to the wall and sat down while the party examined their weapons, paid Bragdar, and left. He had been studying the elvish ranger until she returned a cold, emotionless stare, and Xandar turned away. He had promised himself to join a party of adventurers one day when he was more experienced. It was something you had to do at least once in your life, otherwise, you would end up like the plump, soft, and lazy wizards who taught at the university. Studying the group, Xandar tried to imagine himself as one of them. It would have made an interesting story to tell, for once, not to mention the potential of real profit. And who knew, perhaps after spending enough time in close proximity to the elven ranger, her cold stare would soften, but that was a fantasy for another occasion. For the time being, sleeping outside and constantly living in fear of being attacked sounded simply too uncomfortable to Xandar.
The party was leaving, with the ranger and the figure in the black cloak walking out without bothering to say a word, when the tall warrior seemed to hesitate.
“I’ll be right there,” he called after the rest of his party, “Forgot to ask something,”
When they were gone he turned to Xandar, “So, does it do the thing that we talked about?” he asked, and suddenly his tone was hesitant. It was so shy and uncertain that it seemed to shrink the man himself, making him appear less like a strong warrior and more like an overgrown child with a sword.
“Of course, it will not only cause your foes to flee, this spell will even make them weaker,” Xandar said.
“But it didn’t intimidate anyone now,” Kaizer’s face contorted as he was making a real effort at thinking.
“The sword only affects those who are hostile towards you, it would not work on your friends,” Xandar explained, and that seemed to put Kaizer’s mind at ease.
He nodded, “That is good, yes,” he said, and then added, “Just don’t tell anyone about it,”
Xandar was taken by surprise, the hint of embarrassment in the warrior’s tone stood in such contrast to his appearance that for a moment he felt lost for words.
“Of course,” Xandar finally managed to say, and nodding one final time, the warrior left.
They both followed him with their eyes until he was out of their sight, then Bragdar looked at Xandar and laughed.
“They’ll never stop surprising you, huh?” he said, “Always coming up with some strange idea for a new magical weapon, those adventurers,”
Xandar nodded. He had seen adventurers before, mainly in the taverns and inns across town, but it was the first time he had worked for one. He decided that it was not a fact he was willing to share with the blacksmith.
Bragdar approached the now almost empty table upon which the party’s weapons had been laying and spilled a bag of coins onto its surface. His hands moved with speed as he counted the coins, quickly calculating and arranging them into two piles. One of those piles was significantly smaller. He counted the coins once again as he placed them in his hand and extended it to Xandar.
“Your share, wizard,” he said.
“Two gold and five silver?” Xandar asked, staring at Bragdar agape, “That’s hardly enough to cover food and living for a week,”
“That’s the price I gave the big guy when he came in, the rest is for my work,” Bragdar said.
“This was almost a full day’s work, researching and crafting this spell, it’s worth much more!”
Bragdar shrugged, “Well you can tell me your rates and I’ll know next time. That was my agreement with the party and that’s what I’m paying you, fair and square. Besides, you didn’t even ask about the price when you came in.”
Xandar had to admit that the blacksmith was right.
“Alright,” he said at last and started to make his way out.
“Good doing business with you,” Bragdar called after him. Xandar could hear the coins rattling as the blacksmith bounced them in the palm of his hand.
It was dark outside when Xandar got out of the blacksmith's shop. The rain had ceased by then, for which Xandar was grateful, and the air had a crisp, fresh smell. The realization that he had not eaten anything that day struck him, accompanied by a hollow feeling in his stomach, and Xandar set out to find a tavern to spend his evening in. Luckily, taverns were in abundance in Rovalia.
The Night Owl was the closest and the cheapest, but Xandar passed it by without even taking a look inside. It was located nearby the university and was often frequented by students and graduated wizards who wanted to spend time with like-minded individuals. It was the place where he could stumble upon Atli, or another wizard he knew, and the thought of having to answer another ‘So how’s business going?’ question, made his head hurt.
If he turned towards the university, advancing further to the east - to the outskirts of town - he could find two more places there, quiet, small taverns where Xandar was sure he would not be bothered, but he wanted to see some life around him, even if it was a life he was not taking an active part in.
The biggest tavern stood in the middle of town, not far from the square. The Tipsy Horse was a lively place where sounds of laughter and loud conversations drowned out the music - often played by a traveling bard - and from which people, and other creatures, often staggered out, too drunk to walk. He could hear The Tipsy Horse before he saw it: someone was playing a lute and clear voices were singing a song he had not heard before. People were clapping and laughing and Xandar picked up his pace, longing to lose himself in the crowd, to be part of the party.
The tavern’s doors swung open just as Xandar walked around the corner. A man stumbled out with the confused yet determined expression of one who had been filling up on fluids all night and now was in a pressing need to release them. He noticed Xandar, stared for a moment, then, his expression going sour, said: “Hey, it’s you.”
Xandar kept walking towards the tavern doors, choosing to ignore the man - he did not seem familiar and was likely drunk - but the stranger would not relent.
“Yeah, I know you, you’re that wizard who made my sheep all messed-up two months ago!” he said, raising his voice.
Xandar stopped as apprehension started to settle in. “The farmer with the disobedient sheep, right?” he asked gingerly.
“Well they sure are obedient now,” the farmer spat, “Only the dumb beasts don’t listen to me!”
Xandar tilted his head. “That’s strange, the spell was supposed to increase their ability to understand your commands and listen,” he said.
“You said the sheep were too dumb to get what I’m saying, that’s why they were not listening. Well now they got all smartened up, picked themselves a leader, and only listen to him!” the farmer exclaimed, “You owe me my money back!”
“Wait, let me solve this problem, I can come by tomorrow, examine the sheep and correct the spell, it shouldn’t be too complicated,” Xandar offered, “It must have been a small mistake, those things happen, I can-”
“You can keep your magic to yourself, that’s what you can do,” the farmer broke in, “You wizards think you’re so smart. I want my money back, ya heard?”
Xandar cleared his throat, “Crafting the spell took several hours, not to mention the research and the travel, that was quite a lot of work, and the price I asked for is reasonable for the industry,” he said, trying to hold his ground though his voice began to quiver.
“So you’re not gonna pay me back, huh?” the farmer said, and with that, he turned towards the doors and called: “Bart! You come out now for a little bit, won’t ya?”
Xandar decided not to wait for Bart.
“I’m sorry you feel this way,” he said, turning back on his heels and picking up his pace, “Find me if you change your mind and want me to correct the spell!” he called over his shoulder, and after a moment he was out of sight.
For a moment Xandar considered casting invisibility on himself but he was already too tired and assumed that the farmer's anger would soon pass, along with the effect of the drinks he had consumed. He walked through narrow streets and stuck to the shadows, making a large circle around the center of town. He found a little tavern he was not even familiar with and sat down there, picking a distant corner where he could rest unbothered. He ordered a large plate of baked potatoes, sausage dripping with oil, and a large mug of ale to wash it all down.
By the time the food had arrived, Xandar was already ravenous, but despite his hunger, the hearty pile of food proved to be a challenge and he ordered another pint to help him through the task, then two more once he was finished.
He had arrived at Rovalia to study - the city was known for its magic university and library. It was a known town, packed with action and frequented by travelers. It had sounded like the perfect place to start his journey as a wizard in, but the events of the day - combined with the lack of events of the days before - left Xandar in a sour mood. Perhaps Atli was right, perhaps there was just too much competition in town for a young wizard with no name or reputation to make it.
By the time Xandar had left the tavern, the city streets were empty and a cold mist hung in the air. His head was slightly spinning and the events of the day mixed into a confused cacophony. Xandar was relieved to find the windows to the workshop dark, indicating that the shoemaker was asleep. He was in no condition to talk.
A small shadow tore itself from the tree beside the house and ran to Xandar as he walked around the workshop toward the back door. Alberon caught up with him and rubbed against his legs, almost causing him to lose his footing.
They walked up the narrow steps together, and when Xandar crawled under the blankets on his bed, he smiled to himself, feeling the weight of the cat as he settled to sleep on him.
“What do you think, Alberon?” he mumbled, “Should we also journey to a faraway kingdom and work for some king?”
Alberon meowed.
“Or maybe we should join an adventuring party and get all powerful? Huh? Do you want to be Alberon the adventuring cat?” Xandar said softly. Alberon began to purr, sending warm vibrations to Xandar’s leg. Xandar fell asleep in an instant.