Orblazar perched atop Xandar’s cluttered desk, his tiny eyes gleaming in the dim light. He tilted his head with an expectant look when Xandar approached.
“At least you’re pleased to see me,” Xandar murmured, reaching out to stroke the spiky crest of the miniature dragon’s head. Orblazar attempted to nip at his finger in return.
It was early in the morning, and the cellar remained shrouded in darkness, giving Xandar the impression that he had beaten everyone to the scene. However, at the sound of his voice Erdrik’s office door opened, its customary creak somewhat hesitant. A sliver of soft light spilled into the corridor, casting Erdrik’s angular face in shadow as he stepped out.
“Ah, it’s you, Xandar,” he acknowledged, emerging into the dimness. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here this early.”
He cupped his hands, uttering a few incantations before unveiling them, unleashing a luminous orb that ascended toward the ceiling, gradually expanding. Several more followed suit, dispersing in different directions until the corridor and the hall were bathed in their yellowish glow.
“Is Mauriel still upset?” Xandar asked, his voice carrying a timid hopefulness. Yet, something in Erdrik’s expression quickly dispelled any lingering hints of optimism, causing them to scatter like startled birds evading a prowling cat.
“Mauriel quit last night,” Erdrik said gravely.
“Because of me?”
“Seemingly due to a myriad of reasons, but it shouldn’t matter. If she cannot rein in her emotions and refuses to heed my guidance, then perhaps this isn’t the place for her,” Erdrik concluded.
Despite the orbs of light illuminating the hall, the room seemed to grow dark around them.
Xandar cleared his throat. “You also wanted to talk to me,” he reminded Erdrik, realizing that the weight of the decision that had loomed ominously just hours before seemed to have lost some of its significance.
“I am thoroughly disappointed with your recent actions,” Erdrik began, never one to pass up the opportunity for a well-delivered lecture. “But I need a good wizard who understands the intricacies of our business now more than ever. I will warn you, though; a mistake like that won’t be tolerated again.”
Xandar nodded. “So, are you going to start searching for someone new to oversee our clients?”
“Already found him. A bright young graduate with lots of enthusiasm and some consulting experience,” Erdrik said, reading Xandar’s questioning gaze and adding, “There’s a lot of work and we can’t afford wasting time on an extensive interviewing process at the moment.”
Time seemed to move by at a slower pace than usual. After an hour that stretched out like an entire week, Xandar lifted his head out of habit, realizing he had been expecting to hear Mauriel walk in, only to be pinned back into his seat by the stark reality. No snarky banter sounded from Blombo, and even Orblazar displayed uncharacteristic restlessness. The once-electrified silence from the day before now seemed almost tolerable compared to the oppressive stillness that took its place.
Xandar looked up at the sound of footsteps coming from the top of the staircase, welcoming the interruption but not with excessive enthusiasm. Although Mauriel had only recently joined the team, the thought of someone else occupying her desk felt oddly wrong. He sighed, turning his head in anticipation of the approaching visitor.
He dwelled on Erdrik’s description of the fresh recruit as he waited, a brilliant recent graduate with consulting experience, sensing that there was something wrong with the picture, though he couldn’t say exactly what. Perhaps the puzzle pieces clicked into place a bit too seamlessly–the time it took to find him and the exact blend of qualifications he supposedly possessed. The notion of their newly joined consultant being a recent graduate also struck Xandar as peculiar, now that he thought about it. Why would this newfound colleague, fresh from magical studies, pursue a role that clearly didn’t entail any spellcasting? But it all became clear when a tall young man with curly hair and glasses appeared in the hall, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of Xandar.
“Xandar! What brings you to this neck of the woods, man?” Atli exclaimed, his usual visage of deep contemplation breaking into a smile.
“You told me about this job, remember?” Xandar said hesitantly, rising to exchange a handshake with his fellow student.
Atli clasped his hand with the full force of his enthusiasm, channeling his distinct twitchiness into the handshake. It took a moment, but realization soon illuminated his features, followed by an excited laugh. “I didn’t realize it was the same place! I was actually at the faculty offices when I crossed paths with Mr. Havnar,” he confided in a hushed tone, leaning in for emphasis. “Would you believe I was about to reapply for my old librarian position?”
Xandar furrowed his brow, also lowering his tone. “Erdrik mentioned you had consulting experience.”
“I’ve been doing readings for people here and there while on the road, you know, part of honing my craft. I figured that analyzing where people are and where they’re headed, offering advice - it’s a bit like consulting, isn’t it?” Atli shrugged, adding, “And Mr. Havnar seemed in quite a hurry to fill the role, which certainly didn’t harm.”
Xandar nodded, attempting to keep pace with Atli’s brisk speech.
“So, where have you been all this time? I heard you left town a while back,” he asked.
Atli pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose. “Oh, that’s a tale for another time, and I should really go greet my new boss. But we’ll have plenty of chances to catch up now that we’re working together!” He nudged Xandar on the shoulder, took one step toward Erdrik’s office, realized he hadn’t introduced himself to Blombo, and hastily retracted his steps to shake the older wizard’s hand.
“That friend of yours seems a little jumpy,” Blombo observed when Atli vanished behind Erdrik’s office door.
“We were classmates at the university, but we’re not that close…” Xandar blurted, immediately regretting the cold response. However, Blombo’s mind had already veered elsewhere. “I reckon it’s going to be quite entertaining to watch, but I’ll sure miss Mauriel,” the seasoned wizard said, catching Xandar off guard.
He didn’t expect to hear the words coming out of the grumpy old wizard’s mouth, hinting at a sentiment he rarely showed, and the mention of Mauriel stirred up the familiar cocktail of guilt and melancholy. He tried to immerse himself in work, finding little solace as Orblazar’s cold reptilian eyes bore into him from across the table, serving as a constant reminder of her absence.
The spell designed to facilitate Lord Pantschtig’s communication with his lizard companions was ready for testing an hour later.
“Excellent,” Erdrik’s short eyebrows shot up as Xandar shared the news. “A great opportunity for Atli to learn about our testing procedures!”
Xandar smiled, albeit reluctantly. “Alright, we’ll go to one of the further halls then, to avoid disturbing Blombo.”
“You could use the waiting room; it’s vacant anyway,” Erdrik offered.
“Sure.”
“Waiting room?” Atli chimed in.
Xandar lowered his eyes momentarily. “I’ll tell you some other time.”
He found Atli casually exploring the waiting room as he returned with Orblazar napping in his basket. The tall wizard meandered around, inspecting the books on the low table and briefly testing the comfort of each piece of furniture, seemingly on a mission to evaluate their ergonomic qualities.
“This is rather pleasant,” he noted upon seeing Xandar. “Erdrik said it’s a waiting room, right? Why isn’t it in use?”
Xandar scratched his head, trying to think of an explanation that would avoid the topics of Mauriel and Lorius as much as possible, but Atli’s thoughts had already carried him to a new destination.
“And what’s that?" Atli pointed at the basket in Xandar’s grasp, breaking into laughter as he drew nearer, noticing Orblazar opening his little eyes to offer a mildly curious glance. “Is it a lizard?”
“It sure is. Apparently, some lord has a whole bunch of those and wants a spell that would allow him to engage them in conversation,” Xandar explained, his voice resembling a whisper from the abyss compared to Atli’s bubbling excitement. He set the basket on the table and began drawing a circle.
“Are we summoning something?” Atli asked when Xandar prompted him to step closer.
“Erdrik prefers that we follow protocol in case of an accident,” Xandar explained without looking up.
“I thought circles were only for summoning spells,” Atli noted.
“They are, but it also serves as a protective measure in case a spell is miscalculated or not pronounced correctly. Those things could potentially have dire consequences,” Xandar said, surprised at how strongly he had grown to believe the words himself.
“Oh, I see, I see…” Atli muttered, nodding with a thoughtful expression.
Xandar completed his casting without any disruptions, but as he initiated the summoning of the energy source, Atli was poised to assault him with more questions.
“What’s happening now? Is it some sort of protective measure?” Atli blurted out as the initial sparks of light flickered through the room.
Xandar’s hands froze in mid-air. He took a deep breath before saying, “Drawing an energy source.”
“Why do we need an energy source? I mean, couldn’t we just cast the spell as is?” Atli charged, and Xandar had to suppress the irritated twitch that tugged at his face muscles. Atli’s manner was neither challenging nor condescending, his questions not the type to smugly imply superior knowledge; rather, his demeanor exuded pure, unbiased curiosity, such as one might find in a young child. It was harmless, and Xandar knew he shouldn’t respond with annoyance, but it proved to be a challenging task.
“I suppose it makes sense,” Atli mused. “It’s just that we never practiced that in university. Or do you think that-” he stopped mid-sentence, catching Xandar’s exasperated gaze. He raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. Please, go on.”
Xandar forced a smile, not wanting to make Atli feel uneasy. “It’s alright.”
He closed his eyes this time, summoning forth the energy source, only reopening them when he felt the bright light seeping through even his closed eyelids. He found Atli studying it with grave seriousness.
“So, does the spell go through this... light cloud, so if it’s wrong, the cloud would stop it?” Atli whispered, as if voicing the question quietly would be less distracting.
“No, it’s for me to connect to when casting the spell. This way, it provides the necessary energy instead of me using-”
“Instead of using your own energy!” Atli interjected, his voice awestruck, as if he had just stumbled on a profound revelation. “I get it now. Alright, sorry, do continue.”
Xandar withdrew a sapphire-adorned ring which Lord Pantschtig had provided from one pocket, presenting it to Atli. “The next step would be linking the spell to the ring. Once that’s done, the mere act of wearing it will trigger the spell,” he said, figuring that anticipating the question would prevent further interruptions.
This time, Atli merely nodded, and Xandar was able to cast the spell without having to address further inquiries. The ring didn’t look any different when the casting concluded, yet now, bore a faintly tingling sensation when touched.
“Here,” Xandar extended his hand to Atli, “Want to give it a try?”
Atli accepted the ring with cautious reluctance that seemed out of character considering his usual enthusiasm, turning it this way and that. “The effect is only temporary, right?”
“If you’re concerned about hearing lizards for the rest of your life, fear not. The magic is confined to the object. Simply remove it, and any influence it has on you will be gone.”
Atli studied the ring for another long moment before sliding it onto his index finger, casting worried glances at Xandar, as if not sure he’s executing the procedure correctly.
“Ask him a question,” Xandar suggested.
“What should I ask him?”
“Something a lizard would know.”
Atli contemplated for a moment, patting his closely cropped goatee. “Oh, I’ve got it,” he said at last, turning to Orblazar, who regarded him with wary anticipation. “Do you know we’re humans, or do you think we’re just larger, less scaly versions of lizards like yourself?”
“The ring only lets you communicate with him; it doesn’t grant him self-awareness, you know,” Xandar pointed out.
“You suggest a question, then,” Atli protested.
“What does he like to eat?”
Atli squatted next to the low table, leveling his head with Orblazar’s eyes. “What kind of food do you fancy?”
He looked back at Xandar a moment later. “I don’t think it’s working,” he began to say before abruptly turning back to the basket. “He said worms!”
The tall wizard leaped to his feet at once, erupting into loud laughter. “Tasty worms! He said ‘tasty worms’!”
The laughing fit lasted a few seconds, soon subsiding into contained giggles, prompting another, more enthusiastic attempt. “Do you like Xandar?”
A moment passed and another burst of laughter ensued. “He said ‘like worms’!” Atli called, tapping Xandar on the shoulder.
“Alright, I think we got the idea,” Xandar declared, extending his hand towards Atli. “I believe this is sufficient proof.” Atli returned the ring with evident reluctance.
They strolled back to the main hall with Atli’s questions buzzing around Xandar like a friendly yet overly excited swarm of bees. Even Orblazar retreated deeper into his blanket nest, as if seeking refuge from the barrage.
When they reached Erdrik’s office, Atli was the first to burst in, exclaiming, “It worked! He told us that he liked worms! This is astonishing; I bet anyone would want a spell like that! Would it work with other animals as well, or would that require a distinct spell for each creature? This could be sold commercially, don’t you think? Farmers would surely find it valuable-”
Erdrik raised his sizable hands, effectively silencing Atli without uttering a word. “Have you ensured the lizard understands you and doesn’t just respond to the sound of your voice?”
Atli furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”
“Did it merely say whatever crossed its mind, or did the response correlate with the question? It might be prattling on incomprehensibly. We need to confirm it understands us as we understand it,” Erdrik explained with an air of fragile patience.
“I believe so. We asked about his preferred food, and he responded with ‘worms,’” Xandar intervened. “He might be limited in the variety of conversational topics he’s likely to engage in, but the response was undoubtedly within the context of the question.”
“Very well,” Erdrik said, clasping his hands together. “We’re ready for delivery, then.”
The cellar fell into silence once Atli departed. Erdrik had dispatched him to pay a visit to Lord Pantschtig and arrange a meeting, and Xandar soon realized that, despite the ceaseless queries, unnecessary remarks, and overall interruptions, Atli had proven to be a surprisingly effective distraction. With him temporarily absent and a ponderous silence descending upon the main hall like a heavy curtain, there was no refuge from his own thoughts. He sifted through the ink-stained papers on his desk, skimming through his notes in search of something to occupy his mind. Now that the spell for Lord Pantschtieg was completed, he needed a new undertaking, but his search yielded nothing.
A stack of scrolls lay scattered on Erdrik’s desk, which he was in the process of organizing when Xandar peeked through the doorway. Erdrik looked up, arching his eyebrows expectantly.
“Just wondering what I should tackle next, considering the lizard speech translation spell seems to be finished,” Xandar said, his fingers tapping absentmindedly on the doorframe.
One of the papers Erdrik was reviewing slipped from his grasp and curled into a tube on the table. “Don’t you have a list? I always make sure to have a list–a prioritized one–so I’m always aware of the next item on my agenda.”
“Well, it seems I’ve gone through all the items on mine. I need a new one,” Xandar shrugged.
“My hands are a bit occupied at the moment,” Erdrik said, glancing briefly at the scrolls and papers occupying his table. “Give me some time to finish organizing here, and we can explore the next project that’s lined up.”
Back in the hall, Blombo greeted him with a smirk. “Feeling a bit bored, are we?”
“I suppose.”
“Perhaps you could lend me a hand, then.” The older wizard swiveled in his chair. “See, I’m working on a spell that’s supposed to manipulate a person’s mind. In a generosity-related way, to be exact.”
“Is that for the…” Xandar began, allowing the words to linger in the stagnant air.
“The lady of the night?” Blombo offered without hesitation, and Xandar nodded. “That’s the one. She wants folks to feel just happy enough to part with a generous payment, but not so generous that they’d come knocking on her door the next morning, demanding a refund.”
Xandar perked up. “How can I help?”
Blombo shot a look over his shoulder. Behind them, well beyond the gentle glow of the light orbs floating above, Erdrik’s assortment of books had now sprawled to occupy three entire closets and numerous additional shelves.
“Could you check if we’ve got anything on mind manipulation?” The seasoned wizard asked. “There’s much to go through over there, and my old legs won’t appreciate an extended standing session.”
Xandar threw himself into the task with unwavering determination. Normally, such an assignment would have felt monotonous, but on that particular day, the methodic labor lulled him into a dream-like trance, rendering him oblivious to the passage of time. When he finally surfaced, reporting to Blombo that the search yielded nothing of significance, he realized that Mauriel hadn’t occupied his thoughts even once during the entire endeavor.
“What kind of collection do you have there, Erdrik?” Blombo called into the hallway upon receiving the news. “Not a single tome on mind manipulation?”
“That falls more under charms and enchantments. Perhaps the library would prove more useful for such matters,” Erdrik’s voice drifted from the nearby room.
Blombo sent an inquiring look at Xandar, who returned a reassuring smile. “Leave it to me.”
The librarian offered Xandar a casual nod as he strolled past the reception table. It had become so customary for him to visit the great hall that even the newest librarians knew him by name, eliminating the need for Xandar to flash his permanent visitor card on every occasion.
He walked without hesitation past the conjuration aisle, breezing by the seldom-visited fey and elemental cove, and directed himself to the far wall where the two lower shelves were dedicated to charms and enchantments. The neighboring wall, not too distant, marked the beginning of the necromancy section–an arrangement that had always struck Xandar as peculiar. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t spare a second glance at the section, but this time a sudden movement flickered in the corner of his eyes. When he turned, Lorius’s dark eyes were fixed on him from beneath lowered, gray eyebrows. The necromancy professor’s expression was a blend of concern and warning, and he appeared rooted in place, an open book still in his hands.
Lorius closed the book at once a moment later, shifting his gaze and hastening his pace as he began to move away. Let him, Xandar thought, but an unexplained force seemed to take over him, and as if propelled by their own volition, his legs carried him in pursuit. He retraced his steps, Lorius now obscured from view, but managed to emerge on the opposite side of the aisle, coming face to face with the wizard.
“Hello, Xandar,” the wizard greeted with evident displeasure, suspicion clouding his gaze.
“I suppose that Mauriel had already told you, so no point in evading it,” Xandar began, his words tumbling out so fast he didn’t even have time to weigh them, fingers fidgeting nervously. He drew a breath, closing his eyes momentarily before saying, “I just wanted to apologize. Call it a prank gone wrong.”
Lorius studied him impassively for a moment. His voice was somber when he spoke. “Whatever Mauriel was meant to tell me, she must have deemed it unimportant. She only told me she was going away.”
“Where is she going?” Xandar blurted out.
“She chose not to disclose her plans with me,” Lorius said, and Xandar thought he detected a touch of bitterness in his voice this time. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” The sentence hung unfinished as Lorius maneuvered past Xandar, hastily exiting the hall and leaving Xandar glued to his spot.
No amount of distractions or interruptions proved helpful after that. His legs felt twitchy, his hands restless, and his mind became a cacophony. Even when Atli returned in the late afternoon, armed with excuses that did little to calm down an irate Erdrik, Xandar couldn’t stop thinking about Mauriel. Fear and guilt mingled, with a hint of triumph now that he knew she had left Lorius. The memory of her anger the other day made him flinch, but he had to try and stop her somehow, to ask for her forgiveness and convince her to stay. The minutes stretched into hours until he thought he would explode, and when the time had come for him to leave, he shot out of the cellar like a bullet.
Atli was on his trail before he managed to reach the university’s gates. “Are you headed for a bite to eat?” he called after him, appearing by his side a moment later.
“Perhaps later,” Xandar said.
“Oh, I thought perhaps we could sit down for a drink. It’s been an age since we had a proper chat, and I have so many questions about this place.”
Pushing the gates to open, Xandar stepped onto the cobblestone road without breaking his stride. “Could we do it another time? I just have some errands to run.”
“Of course, of course,” Atli chimed after him, running his fingers through his unruly curls. He turned to depart, lost in contemplation as he often appeared, when a thought occurred to Xandar.
“Hey, Atli?” he called, and the wizard pivoted in an instant. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find some elven wine, would you?”
It was quiet outside, making Atli’s voice seem particularly high-pitched as it cut through the mist-filled night air.
“The demon thought Lorius was your offering to him?” Atli erupted into incredulous laughter, only going quiet again when he met Xandar’s less-than-amused look. “You have to admit, man, it’s quite amusing.”
Xandar let out a heavy breath. “I suppose it is.”
“And trying to make that guy disappear in the first place? I guess I never thought you had it in you,” Atli’s tone held no accusation, only wonder-filled observation.
“Me neither,” Xandar said solemnly, the weight of his recent actions settling upon him. He hadn’t been quite himself lately, his thoughts, values, and habits devoured by a jealousy the likes of which he had never experienced in his life. Perhaps, in some latent part of himself, the same part that compelled him to apologize to Lorius earlier that day, he had recognized this. But, hearing the words articulated made them all the more real.
“But love makes us do all sorts of crazy things,” Atli shrugged, pulling Xandar out of his thoughts and attempting to lighten up the atmosphere.
“It sure does.”
The outskirts of town lay silent, a stark contrast to the bustling center where two-story buildings huddled together. South of the university, cottages stood sparingly, giving way to expansive fields that stretched into the distance. Behind them, the glow of city lights persisted, emanating from the windows of houses and taverns. Atli slowed his step, eventually coming to a gradual stop.
“I should be getting back to town,” he said apologetically, “but I’ll be looking forward to hearing how it played out tomorrow!”
“Sure,” Xandar nodded, raising his left hand, which had been clasping a long green bottle. “And thanks for the help. I’d never have found this without you.”
Atli offered a humorous bow in response, waved his hand, and turned back toward the city, leaving Xandar in the darkness of the edge of town. Xandar might have doubted how well Atli fit into their organization, but there was one thing Xandar couldn’t deny–the peculiar, springy wizard had an extensive network of useful, albeit strange, acquaintances. It turned out to be an interesting evening, filled with unusual encounters and culminating in Xandar procuring a bottle of elven wine from a character who insisted on speaking with an Orcish accent and professed allegiance to the Dwarven gods. Xandar chose to nod, smile, and refrain from unnecessary questions. Eccentricity aside, the man possessed an impressive array of drinks and other mind-altering substances, all available at a reasonable price. Though he raised an eyebrow at Xandar’s request, he parted with the bottle without further inquiry. He felt that luck had smiled upon him as he exited the alcove the man had called home. However, now, standing before the dimly lit row of cottages, with the vast darkness beyond them stretching into the horizon, Xandar’s confidence was beginning to waver.
He had seen Mauriel’s house once before, walking her home after their celebration at the Tipsy Horse, but the building seemed cloaked in deeper shadow than his memory suggested. Stepping closer, he found no lights in the windows. With cautious and hesitant steps, he drew nearer. It seemed quiet inside. For a fleeting moment, he considered leaving the gift on the doorstep and leaving, yet a soft rustle caught his attention.
Footsteps emerged from the darkness beyond the house, and soon, a diminutive figure materialized, clad in oversized gloves and wearing a mud-stained dress over heavy boots. It caught sight of Xandar and momentarily froze before releasing a deep exhale, pressing a glove-covered hand to the chest.
“You nearly gave me a fright,” she said, closing the distance and taking the form of a middle-aged woman with tousled red hair and sharp green eyes. Her face was marked by lines and sun spots, defying the rigid standards of flawless elven beauty, but it also lacked the aloof distance such elven features often conveyed. There was an impatient, hasty-air to her demeanor, differing from the customary elven calm. But the spark in her eyes and the sharpness of her features hinted at a lineage that wasn’t merely human either. She removed one glove, the other hand clasping a bundle of weeds, and ran her fingers through her hair, briefly exposing a pointed ear. “How may I assist you, young man?”
“I, um, was looking for Mauriel,” Xandar stammered.
“Then you just missed her,” the woman said, “She left less than an hour ago. If you don’t mind waiting, I was about to prepare some tea.” She ambled towards the doorway as she spoke, swinging the door open. A small, orange-furred creature darted out, sniffing Xandar with interest.
Xandar scratched his head, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly embarrassed. How would Mauriel react to finding him awaiting her in her own home? If she truly wished to leave town and sever ties with anyone she crossed paths with, perhaps not with overwhelming enthusiasm, he decided.
“I wouldn’t want to bother you,” he began, remembering the bottle in his hand, “but could you pass this to her?”
“Wine?” The woman extended her hand, inspecting the bottle with interest.
“Yes, elven wine,” Xandar said. He observed her expression, half expecting awe, but furrowed his brow in confusion when she sniggered after glancing at the label.
“Pi Malma? Didn’t know they sold this stuff here,” she laughed.
“Is it not good?” Xandar blurted in surprise. He could still envision the way Mauriel raised an eyebrow at Lorius’s mention of the wine, but now, as he thought of it, he might have misinterpreted her expression. “I… I had reason to believe Mauriel likes it.”
The woman’s smirk softened into a warm smile, and she placed one cold, claw-like hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”
“And could you tell her it’s from Xandar?” Xandar added, wincing as if afraid of her response.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
But the woman didn’t bother to interrogate him further. Instead, she rushed inside, reappearing shortly with a piece of paper and a moist quill, ink dripping on her already soiled tunic.
“Alxadar, you say?”
“It’s Xandar,” Xandar corrected her gently, “And, well, he says he’s sorry.”
Erdrik stood in the center of the main hall, inspecting a small vial crafted from dark glass and painted with silver stars.
“This is too little,” he said, “There should be more stars here.”
“But you specifically said not to go overboard and suggested ten or eleven starts. This here is precisely ten,” Atli argued, though without much conviction.
“I know what I said, and it wasn’t an exact decree of ten or eleven. Ten or eleven, if possible, was the suggestion. This bottle clearly needs more. It’s a matter of employing judgment, not adhering to some arbitrary rule,” Erdrik carried on.
After the previous day, during which Atli took longer than necessary to return from his meeting with Lord Pantschtig, Erdrik was in a combative mood. It started with a lengthy lecture the other night on the topic of timelines and efficiency, extending into the following morning as Atli prepared the bottle for Blombo’s enchantment.
Atli examined the vial for a while, turning it this way and that. “So, are you suggesting adding a few more here and here, for instance?” he asked, pointing at patches that seemed more sparingly adorned than the rest.
“Exercise some common sense,” Erdrik snapped, “And you can work on that when we return. We have a meeting to attend.”
Lord Pantschtig’s mansion stood in the northern part of town, and Erdrik had arranged for a chariot to carry them there, wanting to convey a respectable appearance. He didn’t insist on Blombo joining, and the elderly wizard was more than content to remain in the shadows of the cellar. Xandar had already grown accustomed to the bickering that ensued whenever Erdrik and Mauriel were in close quarters, half expecting a similar dynamic with Atli, but it appeared that Atli didn’t know the rules to that game. Erdrik’s relentless criticism came washing over him, leaving the tall wizard appearing diminished.
They passed through towering gates and were guided by a servant to an entrance room, where painted dragons stared at them from every wall. Atli approached the short man with several long strides, all hesitation brought on by Erdrik apparently forgotten.
“Who painted those?”
The servant was clearly not expecting the question. “Lord Pantschtig enlisted a diverse array of artists from all corners of the world...” he stammered, uttering the words slowly as if coming up with them as he went along.
“Aren’t those inherited? Were his ancestors somehow related to dragons?” Atli’s enthusiasm surged.
“Some were, um, inherited from the Lord’s great-great-grandfather, who was-” the servant told him as they walked, casting suspicious side glances as Atli, but they reached their destination before he managed to complete the sentence.
“Lord Pantschtig awaits you inside, gentlemen,” he bowed, opening the doors with apparent relief.
The dragon motif intensified inside the grand lounge, manifesting in metallic and glass statues that accompanied an array of paintings on the walls. Blades with serpent-shaped handles gleamed in display, and a sprawling rug covered the vast seating area, depicting two serpentine dragons entwined in mid-flight. Lord Pantschtig occupied a long sofa, surrounded by an assortment of lizards. Xandar immediately recognized Orblazar, whom Atli had brought back the other day, and a mental image of Mauriel entering the cellar with the creature on her shoulder flashed through his mind.
But more captivating than the reptilian companions was Lord Pantschtig himself. Xandar expected to meet an old man, demented and bloated with self-importance, but instead found himself faced with a youthful man with handsome features and flowing black hair. His athletic form was evident despite the layers of attire he wore, and an open, welcoming expression adorned his face, speaking of little, if any, self-importance. He rose from his seat as the doors opened, extending his arms in a genial gesture.
“Welcome to my humble abode!” he chuckled, pausing to introduce himself and extend handshakes to all present. When Xandar’s turn arrived, the man’s smile broadened.
“Xandar! I’ve heard much about you! Mauriel always assured me that the finest of wizards was at work on the spell!” he exclaimed, a light frown taking the place of his smile. “Speaking of Mauriel, I thought she would be accompanying you today.”
Erdrik cleared his throat. “Atli will be stepping in for Mauriel in all client-facing duties.”
Lord Pantschtig studied Atli briefly before resuming his customary smile. “Of course, of course.”
Xandar decided that the man wasn’t as unintelligent as he had initially presumed.
Two more servants strolled into the room, one bearing a tray laden with a teapot and a set of cups and saucers, the other carrying an elegantly arranged assortment of biscuits and cakes. Lord Pantschtig ushered them to take a seat, dismissing Erdrik’s suggestion to delve straight into the spell presentation with a wave of his hand.
“What kind of host would I be if I hadn't offered you tea and refreshments first?” he said amiably.
Though the array of miniature cakes and pastries appeared enticing, Xandar found his appetite absent. He sipped his tea, surveying the room and watching Erdrik’s face reddening as Atli, undeterred, proceeded to inquire about the paintings.
“So, which of these little guys would you like to test on first?” Erdrik seized the first opportunity to redirect the conversation, attempting to conceal his annoyance with a forced smile.
A long, green lizard nestled in Lord Pantschtig’s lap, and he carefully placed it beside him before rising to retrieve another, which was steadily making its way toward Erdrik. Xandar instantly recognized Orblazar. “Orblazar here is already somewhat familiar with the spell. Perhaps he would be the most inclined to speak,” Lord Pantschtig said, lifting the small brown lizard and stroking it.
“I wonder if he’ll be chattier with you,” Atli blurted out, ever ready to shift the topic. “With us, he seemed fixated on worms.”
Lord Pantschtig regarded Atli with a polite smile. “I certainly hope so.”
“But now, as I think about it, perhaps it does mean that the spell didn’t function as intended. Maybe he truly couldn’t understand us fully?" Atli went on, oblivious to the threatening glares directed his way by both Erdrik and Xandar.
“Why don’t we proceed with the test and let Lord Pantschtig determine that for himself?” Erdrik said through clenched teeth. This time Atli was wise enough to heed the advice.
“The spell consists of two parts, allowing your speech to be understood by the lizards and enabling you to comprehend them. However, both functions are governed by a single object–the ring,” Erdrik explained, producing the Lord’s gem-inlaid ring. “The magic will work as long as you wear it. I suggest removing it when not required to preserve the crystal’s energy.”
“How long does the crystal last?” Atli asked as Erdrik handed the ring to Lord Pantschtig, eliciting a warning-filled glance.
“Years, if not misused. A crystal of this size and quality can potentially last a century or more, but it depends on the frequency of usage, of course.”
“And if the crystal depletes its energy sooner than expected? Would we be replacing it?” Atli pondered out loud.
Xandar, watching Erdrik intently, braced himself for the confrontation that was sure to erupt once they left the mansion.
“Our contract doesn’t cover that,” Erdrik pointed out icily.
Lord Pantschtig got up from his seat, Orblazar in one hand, bringing the focus back to the test at hand. “I realize it is something I hadn’t considered when we constructed the agreement, so it’s only fair if it is left out.”
Wearing the ring on his ring finger, he directed his attention to Orblazar, drawing a deep breath. “I can’t wait to hear what you have to tell me, my friend.”
A moment passed, the room holding its breath in silent anticipation. Eventually, the Lord’s eyes brightened, and he shifted his gaze between them, repeating words that he alone could hear. “He’s hungry!”
The testing stretched for an additional three hours, which was two hours longer than Erdrik had deemed reasonable. Atli’s notion concerning the lizard’s grasp of the questions proved to be a spark in a field of dry bushes. Combined with the lizard’s shared interest in worms, Lord Pantschtig began to suspect. He insisted on subjecting each of his pets to the test, Erdrik arguing the entire time, and only when he managed to extract one response that wasn’t worm-related did he relent.
The journey back to the cellar was filled with tense silence, a disquiet Xandar found more disturbing than Erdrik’s wrath.
“How did it go?” Blombo called out as they entered the hall.
Erdrik ignored him, marching straight to his office. “Atli, I’d like to speak to you in private,” he said curtly, without a backward glance.
Xandar awoke to the persistent meowing of Alberon. The sun had already cast its warm glow, and the gray cat expressed his hunger through a combination of vocal protests and head butts. Xandar opened his eyes with difficulty, finding the brightness of the room overwhelming and wondering if spending too much time in the cellar had caused his eyes to develop some kind of light sensitivity. However, the cat’s demands for attention and food soon diverted his thoughts.
“Alright, alright,” he muttered in a hoarse voice, offering soothing strokes to the gray lump of fur as he rolled out of bed.
Getting dressed and attending to the cat proved to be simple tasks, consuming no more than half an hour of Xandar’s time and leaving him at a loss for what to do with the remainder of the day. He was reluctant to leave the cellar the previous night, lingering even after Blombo had called it a day, and Atli departed with a sullen expression and a rare lack of desire for conversation. It wasn’t until Erdrik closed his office door behind him, raising his short eyebrows at the sight of Xandar, that he realized he had been stalling.
“You’re still here?” Erdrik barked in a strained attempt at humor. “I thought you’d be in a tavern by now, drinking the week away.”
Xandar had been standing by the shelves on the further side of the hall, back half bent as he crouched to investigate the books on the lower shelves. He straightened at the sound of Erdrik’s voice, suddenly becoming aware of a stiffness in his back. What was he still doing there? he wondered.
“I figured I’d take another look at the books for Blombo, just in case he missed anything,” he stammered, though he knew that it was a lie. He had been waiting for Mauriel, clinging to the hope that she would magically appear, setting all grudges aside. But instead of Mauriel flashing her brilliant smile at him, he got Erdrik, standing at the center of the hall like a confused-looking and taller than necessary sign.
“I suppose you’re right,” Xandar sighed as he dragged himself towards the corridor.
They left together, walking alongside each other in awkward silence.
“So, do you think Atli has potential?” Xandar finally asked.
Erdrik furrowed his brow. “He didn’t tell you? He quit, talking about a toxic work environment and more rubbish of that sort. I was even willing to give him a second chance, appreciating there’s a learning curve to consider, but apparently he wasn’t up for the challenge.”
They had reached the building entrance. To Xandar’s surprise, he found that though the sun had already set, the darkness held a lighter tone than it had a mere week ago. Summer was on the horizon, and despite his somber mood, the prospect had an uplifting effect.
“It’s not a job for just anyone,” Erdrik went on, “It’s a complex role with conflicting responsibilities. It takes a unique sort of individual to handle it well. But I’ve no doubt we’ll find him or her soon enough.”
We already found her, Xandar thought as they bid one another goodnight, But, I drove her away.
The morning flowed slowly, thick as honey yet as appealing as mud. Xandar spent nearly an hour wrestling with the notion of breakfast, pondering where and what to buy, only to realize there was a lump in his throat, blocking any thoughts of hunger. Another hour slipped away in contemplation, unsure whether he should attempt to speak to Mauriel once more or heed Erdrik’s counsel and drown his sorrow in drink. Unable to decide, he dressed himself and descended to the kitchen for a cup of tea. It was there that he saw the note.
‘Meet me at my place, Shrub street, second house from the tailor.’ The signature initials, which spelled ‘E.H,’ left no room for confusion.
The rhythmic sound of hammering carried from Mr. Hamnik’s workshop, and Xandar approached cautiously, mindful not to disturb the elderly shoemaker at work. But Mr. Hamnik, with his keen ears, had been anticipating his arrival, his eyes fixed on the entrance as Xandar appeared, holding the note like a flag.
“Your friend came by in the early hours of morning. Asked if I could wake you up too, but I told him that I am just your landlord, not your servant, so he left this note instead,” Mr. Hamnik said, lowering his gaze and resuming his work. Xandar needed no further encouragement.
He made his way through town with springy, impatient steps–too excited to maintain a steady pace yet cautious not to break into an outright run. One singular thought dominated his mind: Mauriel. It was a long stretch, of course, and he had scant reason to suspect that Erdrik’s message had any connection to her, but a part of him couldn’t help but hope.
Erdrik’s residence nestled near the northern neighborhood, though not quite north enough to be considered part of it. It was larger than most buildings at the town’s center where Xandar dwelled but didn’t live up to the standard of immaculate lawns and stone walls characteristic of the northern quarter. City life still bustled here, though in a quieter, more dignified manner. A wooden fence, recently painted, enclosed green grass and a few flower pots, while a stream of cobblestones led the way to the entrance.
Erdrik swung the door open on Xandar’s third knock, leaving the young wizard with his hand suspended in mid-air, ushering him inside with an air of urgency.
“I know it’s your rest day, but this was a matter that couldn’t wait any longer,” Erdrik informed him once inside, his tone devoid of any apologetic notes. He waited for Xandar to settle on the large sofa that dominated the living room before resuming his speech, pacing the room as he did so. “I stopped by the cellar this morning to pick up some paperwork I had forgotten when a visitor arrived. A herald from the palace,” he paused for emphasis, fixing Xandar with his pale eyes. “The king requires our services.”
Xandar straightened up, bouncing to the edge of his seat. “The king?”
“The bloody king!” Erdrik exclaimed, his tense expression momentarily giving way to a smile before turning serious again. “This means no more games and experiments. If we’re to work for the royal palace, we must exhibit the highest level of professionalism. Now, we already have a solid magic-crafting team, what’s missing is a representative.”
“Mauriel,” Xandar blurted out without thinking.
“Mauriel left, Xandar, need I remind you?” Erdrik shot back. Just as he opened his mouth to continue, a shrill voice sounded from the other room, and a small woman with a miniature frame and rat-like features appeared in the hallway. “Keep it down there. The children are still asleep,” she hissed before retreating.
To Xandar’s great surprise, Erdrik replied in a thin, sorrowful voice he could never have imagined coming from his blunt, square face. “Sorry, dear!”
He cleared his throat before turning back to Xandar. “As I was saying, Mauriel made it clear she doesn’t wish to work with us any further.”
“But perhaps she could be convinced,” Xandar said. “You must admit, no one managed to survive long enough and play the part as well as her. The clients loved her, and even you had little criticism for her work recently. Without her, it would mean training someone anew, with no guarantee they would stay.” He found Erdrik considering his words with evident reluctance.
“It would be better, of course, to have someone on our team who already knows the ropes, but Mauriel’s mind appeared to be made up, and I am not going to beg her.”
Xandar stood up, an unfamiliar air of certainty taking hold of him, allowing words he wouldn’t normally dare voice to flow out with ease. “We don’t need to beg, Erdrik. Only apologize.”
The outskirts of town didn’t appear as deserted in daylight as they seemed at night. Lush fields filled with green vines and sand-colored wheat were reclaiming their vitality in the slowly increasing warmth. Beyond them, in the far distance, farmhouses surrounded by fields punctuated the landscape. The row of stout cottages, acting as a border between city and agricultural life, looked more inviting under the sun. Though shorter than their town-center counterparts, these houses flaunted a variety of bright colors, adorned with decorations and encircled by delicate gardens. A line of trees was spaciously planted behind them, creating a natural fence. The tree closest to Mauriel’s house was interesting in particular, thanks to a red-headed figure standing on a ladder, clinging to one of its branches as they battled to saw it off.
“I think they’re outside,” Xandar remarked as Erdrik, oblivious to the scene, approached the front door.
The sight that greeted them as they made their way around the short building was an unusual one. Someone stood beside the tree, holding a ladder while the figure atop it battled a long branch. Fallen branches littered the ground, and just as they approached, another one fell from the tree, victim to the saw.
Xandar immediately recognized Mauriel.
“Hey, careful!” she called out, shifting slightly to kick the fallen branch away from her foot.
“I’ll be careful, just don’t move the ladder!” came the response from somewhere within the tree. A small, orange figure that had been sitting unnoticed by the trunk suddenly sprang up and dashed towards them, barking and wagging its tail. It was the bark that captured Mauriel’s attention, and she turned back, her expression transforming when she caught sight of Erdrik and Xandar.
Xandar chuckled awkwardly. “Is this a bad time?”
Mauriel glared at them across the table as they sat down in the small yet cozy living room some time later. Her mother bustled in the kitchen, insisting on inviting Mauriel’s guests for some tea and biscuits, despite her daughter’s objections.
“That’s alright, mom,” Mauriel said, her face a mask of frozen anger. “They were just leaving.”
“Nonsense. They came all the way here to speak to you; the least we could do is offer them some tea.”
“Why were you cutting off branches?” Xandar asked quietly when her mother disappeared into the kitchen.
“Mother thinks it blocks the sun,” Mauriel answered begrudgingly.
Erdrik clasped his hands together, drawing their attention back to him. “The reason we came to speak to you today is to see if you would consider working for me once more.”
Mauriel’s expression changed, the cold giving way to pleased smugness. “That didn't take long,” she said with a smirk, “I knew you wouldn’t be able to find anyone better.”
Xandar sensed that Erdrik was about to say something unpleasant in return but held his tongue back.
“We haven’t spent sufficient time looking yet, but that’s besides the point,” he said, hiding his annoyance behind formality. “We were hired for a new project. A very important project, for that matter, and I can’t afford the time to search for and train a new assistant.”
“Head of customer relations and counselor,” Mauriel corrected.
“Call it what you will. The point is that this is a very important, and, should I say, high-paying project, one for which I need a solid, professional team.”
Mauriel studied his face for a long moment before finally asking, “So who’s this very important project for?”
Mauriel’s mother glided into the room before Erdrik could formulate a response, bearing a tray adorned with cups of steaming tea and a saucer displaying chaotically arranged biscuits, some of which bore strange colors and shapes. Erdrik offered a polite nod as she lowered the tray onto the table. Returning his attention to Mauriel, he said, “For the royal palace.”
“For the king?” Mauriel’s mother broke in, receiving a frustrated glance from Mauriel. She went silent but remained in the room, keenly observing the exchange.
“I see,” Mauriel responded with frigid politeness. “That is very interesting. However, I have already accepted a job at the elven court. A very high paying job, I might add, where I would be working with people who are calm and respectful.”
A pregnant silence enveloped the room, during which Xandar could sense the throat-clogging sensation from before returning. It was Mauriel’s mother who finally disrupted the stillness.
“You have a job with the elven court? You never told me anything about that.”
“It’s very recent,” Mauriel hissed.
“How did this happen? Weren’t you planning to take a translation job for those poets pretending to be elves again? And need I remind you, it wasn’t a very well-paying one,” she fixed her sharp stare at Erdrik, adding with an afterthought, “What can you expect from poets, right?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t going to-” Mauriel began, stumbling over her words, but her mother interrupted again.
“And if there really was a job at the palace, would you be willing to take it?” she persisted. “Those snobs always look down on us, ‘halfsies’. You’d lose your mind within a month, if not sooner, with your temper.”
Erdrik observed the exchange with a sealed expression, then retrieved his bag from the floor, unveiling a scroll. Reaching over the low table, he offered it to Mauriel. “I revised your contract somewhat. I would suggest you give it a thorough read.”
An hour passed before negotiations concluded, marked by animated arguments and sections of the agreement being hastily scratched out and scribbled over, but at last, Mauriel had no additional comments or requests. She scrutinized the paper one final time and returned Erdrik’s impatient glare.
“So, are we in agreement?” he prompted.
Mauriel hesitated, a fleeting uncertainty crossing her features. “There’s just one more thing I want to do before I sign,” she said, turning her gaze to Xandar for the first time that day. “We need to talk.”
It was bright and sunny outside, the sun reaching its zenith and casting warm beams on the green garden strewn with the branches Mauriel’s mother had recently trimmed.
“I don’t know if you got the note, but I truly am sorry,” Xandar began, “It was childish of me, and I promise I won’t do anything like that again.”
Mauriel’s stance softened slightly as she smiled. “I received the note, and the wine, which was really sweet of you,” she graced him with a genuine smile. “And I wanted to make sure there are no misunderstandings between us if we are to work together again. I like you, Xandar, I really do. But as a friend. And it’s not just you; I don’t date humans as a rule. It’s too complicated with the age difference and all.”
Xandar raised his eyebrows, the question forming on his lips, but Mauriel was faster.
“That thing with Lorius was nothing more than a game. Fun for a while and with a definite ending in sight. Even if race and lifetime weren't in the way, he’s not someone I can fully trust. Maybe he thought I fell victim to his charms, but I can tell when someone is putting up a show,” she raised one eyebrow. “But I can’t promise there won’t be someone else, or that one day it will be serious. I need to know that you can live with that without trying to send whoever it is I’m seeing into another dimension.”
Xandar scratched his head, examining the ground beneath his feet. “So, you’re saying that if lifetime and age weren’t an issue, perhaps-”
“Xandar…” she cut in, stopping him mid-sentence, though the threat in her tone seemed more theatrical than earnest.
“Yes, I can live with that.”
He should have felt rejected, realizing that it wasn’t Lorius standing in his way all that time but a reality the nature of which he couldn’t change, but instead, Xandar felt relieved.
“Do you know what Pi Malma even means?” Mauriel asked in an afterthought as they walked back into the house.
“Something beautiful and ethereal, I presume?”
Mauriel shook her head, suppressing a knowing smile. “It translates loosely to ‘bug-mash’. It’s the cheapest wine elves ever produce, only consumed by teenagers who can’t afford the good stuff.”
A chariot awaited them outside the university’s gates, the morning already too bright for Blombo’s eyes to see properly. He resolved to use a parasol, with Mauriel holding his hand for additional support.
“You really went out of your way, Xandar,” he pointed out once they settled inside the chariot, the drawn curtains offering relief for his sensitive eyes.
Xandar adjusted his hat. It was the one he had bought along with the purple robes, matching in color with the grasshopper constellation outlined in silver thread on the front.
“You should take an example next time,” Erdrik noted, regarding the elder wizard’s gray robes and misshapen hat with cold scrutiny. Erdrik too was clad in his finest clothes, and his tall hat seemed particularly polished. Mauriel was a sight to behold in a blue dress, her hair made into an intricate net of braids. Her leather-bound notebook was open in her lap as she reviewed her notes.
“When we reach the throne room, let me lead the discussion. I’ll present our company and describe our services and achievements,” Erdrik instructed. “Mauriel, you’re to listen and jot down notes.”
“And ask questions,” she added.
“Yes, once we’ve given them a chance to express what they want.”
“I know how to do my job, Erdrik.”
They faced interrogation from two impassive-looking guards before being granted entry through the tall palace gates. Another guard then escorted them into a spacious waiting hall where the painted faces of different members of the royal family looked down on them with various degrees of disdain. A pitcher of wine and an assortment of fruits beckoned them from a long table, but when Blombo made an attempt to approach, Erdrik intervened.
“You can eat and drink all you want once the meeting is over.”
Several long minutes passed before the distant echo of footsteps could be heard in the hallway beyond, heralding the arrival of a young man with glasses and a mask of aloof superiority that could rival even the royal family’s. “My name is Squab. His majesty will see you now,” he said, turning without awaiting a reply and striding down the corridor.
Xandar hadn’t given the meeting much thought until that moment. Aside from brushing his hair and donning his finest robes, he hadn’t done much to prepare. But as they navigated through marble corridors, passing by elegant statues, the realization slowly dawned on him. This wasn’t yet another client meeting; it was an entirely different level, one that could potentially alter the course of their lives.
Squab came to an abrupt halt before two grand doors, flanked by additional guards. They pushed the heavy doors open at his signal, revealing a vast audience hall before them. Long windows stretched beneath the lofty ceiling, allowing sunlight to flood the room. The glass of the majestic chandelier above fractured the light into tiny droplets, casting colorful patterns on the walls. Perched atop a pair of tall thrones adorned with crimson velvet, standing on legs carved to resemble the predatory paws of some mystical beast, sat two imposing figures.
Squab, taking the lead, entered the hall, positioning himself to the right of the door and spreading one arm in a sweeping gesture. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes, announcing in a shrill, piercing voice that resonated throughout the hall, “Presenting Dragoneye - Magic Solutions!”