Year 3043 AGD

Month: New Year

First Day

Continent of Terroval

City of Safeharbor

Cliff’s End

Nim’s mansion

“Shaylyn?” Victor asked as he awoke in a soft, warm bed, something soft and moist pressing onto his forehead. No, not Shaylyn. She’s been gone for over a year…

“Who’s Shaylyn? Is she pretty?”

The voice was soft and melodic but definitely not mature enough to be his old teacher. Victor’s head shot into the air, suddenly wide awake. It took a moment for the previous night’s adventure to run through his mind and remind him where he had gone to sleep. He was at Nim’s mansion.

Directly to his left stood a beautiful young woman. The blue ribbon in her hair told Victor that it was Lia, not her twin sister, Megan. That was, of course, assuming that the girls didn’t switch ribbons occasionally to play tricks on people. He had been unable to notice any significant difference between the two young ladies in his few short encounters with them. It didn’t help that his face turned bright red whenever one caught him studying her, either. Lia was wearing the same outfit as when he had gone to sleep, which made sense because it had been early morning at that time. She held a blue robe that looked a little too big for him yet comfy.

“She is the most beautiful woman I have ever met, but you’re a close second.” Victor said without hesitation, smiling at the young maid. He really wasn’t all that interested in girls yet, but Shaylyn had always told him, “Kindness has its own rewards.”

“Aren’t you just the cutest thing? If you were ten years older, I’d make sure you believed those words.” She winked down at him and held the robe open for him to put on.

“Uh…” Victor eloquently stated as he realized that he was naked underneath the blanket. He had heard Bartholomew telling the girls to burn his and Shawnrik’s clothes as soon as they got into the tub. Lia rolled her eyes before tossing the robe onto the bed and turning around, giving him the chance to wrap the oversized robe around his body and tie it in place.

“It’s the smallest one we could find,” she said, talking to the wall. She then turned her head slightly so that he could see the smile on her face as she continued. “It’s mine.”

He tried not to act surprised or embarrassed. By the way his face was warming, he knew he wasn’t doing a very good job. “I thank you for the use of your robe, m’lady.” Victor gave his best attempt at a stately bow, which caused her to look wide-eyed at him and giggle. Feeling he had regained some of his pride, he smiled.

“If you will just follow me, I will show you to the dining room.” She walked towards the door that led into the upstairs hallway, expecting her young charge to follow.

Nim’s mansion was not as large as the house he had broken into the night before, yet it seemed much more elegant to the young thief’s eye. Paintings lined each side of the hall, and there were sculptures placed throughout. Lia led him down the right side of the large stairway into the entry hall of the house, towards a large statue of a great cat hovering over its prey, and then right into the long hallway behind the other set of stairs. There was only one set of doors set into the left side of the hallway, but they continued on towards the end of the corridor where it opened up into another room. As they walked, Victor looked out of one of the massive windows on his right, seeing beautiful flowers encircling an outdoor fountain and the street where it crept up the hill on the other side of the hedge.

He found himself entering a room that would be able to hold all two stories of The Serpent’s Dagger inside of it. He guessed that the ceilings had to be at least twenty-five feet high. Grand, arching windows all along one side overlooked yet another garden full of flowers, trees, and manicured shrubs. The room was built around a table roughly five times as long as the room was tall. Like everything else in the house, it was a work of art.

His gaze was drawn to a painting that took up the entire left wall, spanning all the way down to a doorway, which he assumed led to the kitchen, at the other end of the room. It depicted a battlefield with two armies facing each other—one wearing white armor, weapons gleaming in the light, the other in dark armor, weapons dripping with blood. The land around the armies was desolate. In between the two legions stood a man. At least, Victor assumed he was a man. His body from the waist down looked as normal as any human’s, but his upper half seemed to be split into two separate men. One side was trying to head towards the army of the light, his head adorned with a white headband, weapons glowing like the sun. The other wore all black and his mouth was painted open, seeming to be yelling orders to the army of the night. There was a sense that everyone depicted on both sides was staring at the man in the middle as if waiting to see which side he would choose. With this realization came a thought: When he chooses, the carnage will begin.

“Ah, Victor. Admiring my painting, are we?” Victor tore his gaze away from the giant mural to see Nim walking his way, wearing a black robe made out of more of that silk stuff. Over his right breast was a lightning bolt surrounded by flames. This was the first time he had seen him without a hood, and the effect was startling. His eyes were even more striking in the light of day than they had been from the dark of his cowl. His hair was cropped short yet sparkled in the light like metal. As he moved closer, Victor realized that the hair had interlocking pieces that caught the light like a suit of armor.

His hair is scaled! It hit Victor like a hammer.

Nim looked down at him, clearly not enjoying being ogled in his own home. “What?”

“Okay, really… where can I get hair like that?” Victor’s hand twitched as he stopped it from heading towards Nim’s head.

“You have to be born to the wrong people at the right time,” Nim countered, one eyebrow higher than the other. “Seriously, though, do you like my painting?”

“Yeah, I do! It’s so detailed, and it says so much without saying anything. Who did it?” He found that it was hard to look away from the painting now that his attention had been brought back to it.

“I did.” Nim turned towards the painting. The two stood staring at it, lost in their own thoughts. Neither heard Lia as she quietly excused herself from the room.

“It’s really good,” Victor said quietly after some time had passed. “It’s like I can feel the emotion coming from both sides. I can see the struggle the man in the middle is going through. Is it about the nature of man being both good and evil? His struggle to find his place in it all?”

Nim looked down at him in surprise. Okay, Nim, remember that he just looks eight. He’s really more like a smart, old man stuck in a child’s body. That’s got to be it; he’s really some powerful wizard playing mind games with me. There is no way an eight-year-old’s thoughts can get that deep. “Are you sure you’re only eight? Maybe you just didn’t grow or something?” he asked, only half joking.

Victor’s thoughts were all aimed towards the painting, so it took a few seconds for the question to register. “Oh, no, I’m only eight. Shaylyn told me that I was different because of who my parents were… and because of something else that went on around my birth. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it much, so I let the issue lie. Just talk to me like I’m older, and we’ll get along fine.”

Nim couldn’t help the small shake of his head as he asked, “Shaylyn who?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Um, Shaylyn was my teacher. She raised me from birth, pretty much. She was a like a mother to me until about a year ago.” Victor walked up and down the length of the painting to get a closer look at different segments of the battlefield.

“What do you mean by ‘was’? Did something happen to her? Was she a mystic?” Nim’s emotions flew between elation at finding the boy and worry for his old friend.

“Yeah, I think I heard her called that once or twice. As to what happened… there was a fire. I assume it was caused by the blood mage. I wasn’t there to see the battle, but the house was a mess when I got there. Now I’m living with Ol’ Man Walkins. So is Shawnrik.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. She died?” Nim couldn’t keep the sadness from his voice. He had known the mystic, Shaylyn Arasmé. She had helped him when he was younger. Of course, she had gone by a different name then. It would be a detriment to all if she had died. Ol’ Man Walkins… I wonder if that’s Michael C. Walkins? Maybe that fight we had made him into an old man before his time.

“Oh, no, she’s not dead.” Victor said without a hint of doubt.

“You said that there was a blood mage. That the house was on fire. If she isn’t dead, then why isn’t she raising you still?”

Victor shrugged because he really didn’t know the answer. “I said there was a battle, but she was gone before the blood mage. I am sure she’s not dead. And I’m sure that whatever is keeping her away is important.”

I hope you’re right, kid. Be safe, Tyrdra, for all our sakes.

“What about my question on the painting, though?”

Nim didn’t feel like letting his thoughts wander over the idea that his old friend might be dead, so he answered Victor’s initial question. “Well, I think that your observation is rather good, but I got a deeper sense of it as the painting slowly came together. It almost felt like divine inspiration. At first, I thought that the figure in the middle was going to be me, narcissist that I am, but after it was finished, I knew that it wasn’t. As much as it pains me to admit, it’s on much too grand a scale for little ol’ me. No, I think that this is a turning point in the battle between good and evil—maybe even between life and death themselves. On one side lies salvation for the world; on the other, destruction. The choice that man makes will tip the scale one way or the other. As it is, the sides look almost even. But I counted, and there are five more men on the side of destruction. I don’t know if that means anything, but there it is. Either way, it doesn’t much matter to me as long as the coming war allows me to turn a profit or spread my influence.”

Victor listened silently as he spoke, nodding in agreement with the man’s assessment of the battlefield. “Shaylyn would say that it would be better for the man to choose the side of good.”

“What do you think, Victor?” Nim asked, really wanting to know what was in the boy’s heart.

“I think… there is going to be a war. People are going to die. The face of the world will change. One way or the other, it’s still just a turning point. Even if he chooses the side of light, the darkness still has four more on him.”

“What war? Did I miss something?” Shawnrik came into the dining room, following Megan. The emerald green robe he wore must have belonged to Megan because it was just big enough to cover him.

“Yes,” Nim said. “You almost missed our early afternoon meal. Now, let’s sit down and enjoy before it’s time for dinner.” He eyed Victor with newfound respect as they took their seats for the meal.

Shortly after the food arrived, so did Ashur. He sat down without a word and dug into the plate that had been set for him. The atmosphere was rather subdued, the two boys not knowing if they were supposed to talk at the table. It was allowed at Ol’ Man Walkins’s place most of the time, but sometimes the man would get violent if someone spoke at the wrong time. Since the men were both being quiet, the boys decided to be, as well.

Halfway through the meal, Jenn, no longer wearing her maid’s uniform, came into the room. She now wore a sleek, black outfit that was just loose enough to conceal a lot of weapons, Victor thought. Silently, Nim stood and went through the door at the end of the dining room, Jenn right behind him. They were in the other room long enough for everyone else to finish the late lunch.

Upon his return, Nim announced that the tailor was there and sent the boys to get measured for their new clothing. Victor and Shawnrik had never been fitted for clothes, but it didn’t take long for the novelty of the situation to wear thin. Neither knew how long he had been poked and prodded by the tailor and his assistants, but when it was all over, each had a nice, new outfit. As he was leaving, the tailor told Nim that he would have more ready in the morning. Next, a shoemaker was brought in. He said it would take a day or two to make the shoes, but that he would send a pair over for each boy in the meantime.

By the time the shoemaker left, it was time for dinner. After a filling meal of what Nim referred to as a meager five courses, the group walked down the hallway and entered the double doors that led to what Nim called his waiting room.

It was one of the smallest rooms in the house, which still made it bigger than the common room at any inn that Victor had ever seen. Still, for its size, it had a homelike quality about it. There were several couches and half a dozen padded chairs for people to rest in. The northern wall held a large fireplace with a stylized mantle made from a single large block of stone. Between two of the chairs sat a chess board, one side’s pieces made from a shiny black stone, the other’s a glossy white. As with the rest of the manor they had seen thus far, there were framed paintings in the empty spaces of each wall, and sculptures guarded the corners of the room. A cabinet, filled with differently sized bottles, the contents of which were a variety of colors, stood near the door. Victor thought he could see the outline of what might possibly be a third door out of the room on the southern wall. Before he could ask about it, Nim began to speak.

“Have a seat, boys,” he said, moving to one of the chairs near the chessboard.

Victor and Shawnrik sat down on the couch opposite the chair.

“Is that what every day is like when you’re rich?” Victor said, yawning the last words.

“Oh, no. Today was easy. It’s when you have to deal with other rich people that the day gets really exhausting.” His tone was light, but Victor could tell by the man’s face that he was being serious.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind,” Shawnrik said. “The whole time we were standing there getting poked and measured, they kept bringing me fruit juice! Strawberry, apple, and some other kind that made my throat tingle. This was the best day ever!” He nearly jumped out of his seat as he spoke, obviously not as tired out from the day as Victor was.

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Victor looked around, letting out a deep sigh. “Yeah, it was, but we should be returning to Ol’ Man Walkins. He’s probably going insane looking for us, and he’ll want to know that I didn’t get the manacles.”

“Well, about that…” Nim cleared his throat. “Do you know anything about the manacles you were trying to steal last night?”

The lads both shook their heads in the negative.

“Then I’ll tell you about them. They were created by a dracair shaman some three or four hundred years ago to imprison his archrival, a human blood mage of considerable talent. As you should know, the Dracair are a race of men who were created through thousands of years of draconic breeding programs. The shaman found a master blacksmith who hated the blood mage nearly as much as he did to forge the manacles for him. He had one of his apprentices, a practitioner of rune-forging, inscribe them with several potent and malicious runes. For the final step, he had his apprentices gather a hundred humans, whom he sacrificed to the dracair god, Relikos. For one year, he was to soak the manacles in the blood of his sacrifices, using his power to make the blood stay fresh.

“Only a few days remained of that year when the blood mage appeared with the families and friends of the hundred the shaman had sacrificed in tow. A long battle ensued between the villagers seeking revenge and the shaman and his apprentices. In the end, the blood mage and the villagers were victorious.

“They spent the next two days combing the shaman’s refuge, making sure that all Dracair within were slain. Not knowing what lied within, the blood mage used the pool of blood to enhance his will as he caused the mountain to shake, sending thousands of heavy stones falling down to block the entrance, creating a tomb for his once-rival.

“Many years later, a grey elf raiding party chanced upon a Dracair who had become nearly feral in his time below the surface. It took some work, but eventually they found that the Dracair had been young when the attack had occurred and had escaped through several shafts that led deep into the earth. Having long ago claimed all of the land beneath the continent of Terroval as their own, the fallen elves were intrigued by the stories of what they might find in the den of the powerful shaman. It took several months, but the rescued Dracair’s memories bore fruit; they found the way back into the mountain.

“Many of the wondrous items the shaman had once possessed had been taken after the battle, but in one of the rooms, they found one item that would make all of their efforts worthwhile. A crater sat inside a side cavern, its walls a deep, glossy red. At first, it was difficult to discern the manacles at the bottom because they were the same dark color as the crater, but find them they did.”

Nim paused, ensuring that he had the boys’ attention. He did. “It didn’t take long for the grey elves to become curious as to the purpose of their new acquisition. They began by testing the manacles on their slaves, the only noticeable effect being that they fit whomever they attempted to place them on. They also found that the manacles were exceptionally strong, unbreakable by ordinary means. In and of itself, this was quite the find; however, the grey elf priestesses of Yultair could feel the malicious intent emanating from the manacles and knew that there was another purpose to which they could be set. Yultair is the grey elf god of carnage and their chief deity, who many believe to be just another form taken by the Relikos. The priestesses prayed to their god, sacrificing much before they received the answer they were looking for. Yultair told them that the manacles could be used on any form of caster—be they Shaper or the chosen of a god—to stop them from being able to access their power.

“It didn’t take long for word of such a powerful artifact to get around, catching the attention of more than a few of the inhabitants of the cities down below. I’m told that the leader of a gang of rogue grey elves stole it from the worshipers of Yultair, using it for many years to increase her power. Eventually, the manacles somehow made their way to the surface. Whether they were lost by a failed raiding party or whoever was wearing them at the time somehow escaped… the way they surfaced doesn’t really matter. Only that they did.” Nim paused to walk over to the drink counter and pour himself a little something to cure his parched throat before finishing.

“The legend of these manacles,” he continued, “has been passed down for the last few hundred years amongst select circles of the Dracair and the grey elves. Tidbits of the story have been slowly picked up by other ears, as well, making them a much sought-after item for those who covet power at any cost. As we saw last night, they somehow ended up in that rather large collection. The owner of that collection, not having the sense to keep such a thing hidden, caused quite a few interested parties to find out about it. The grey elves, the Dracair, some minor crime lords in the Syndicate of the Raven—they all want the manacles. However, none of those groups wants them as much as the blood mages do, and the blood mages rarely do their own dirty work. No, for jobs like this, they contract out the work to one of their agents in whatever town or area they are dealing in, letting it be known to the other parties that they will not tolerate competition.” He turned around to see the boys staring at him, their eyes wide, minds filled with new ideas and places. He figured that this was the first time they had ever heard a story like this, and he could see the wonderment. He studied Victor for a moment. He could tell that the kid was already putting the pieces of the story together into a full image, nearly ready for the biggest revelation.

“So, I ask you, Victor. How many other thieves did we see last night?”

“None.” His tone was unusually defeated.

“None!” Nim pointed his finger in the air and then pointed at himself. “I know that I am not working for the blood mages, and no one besides them would make a move on the manacles before the grey elves, the Dracair, or the Syndicate had made their play for them. I know that I am not working for the grey elves. I have enough loathing for the Dracair that the question shouldn’t even be posed, and the Syndicate has too many practices that go against my sensibilities. So, this means that you are working for someone who is an agent for one of those four parties—or, more likely, for one of the last three parties working for the first. Now, Victor… I am going to give you a guess as to whom Ol’ Man Walkins works for.”

Shawnrik sat up at that last comment, not having understood the implications as they came. “Whaddaya mean?” he asked. “Are you tryin’ to say that—”

“Wait, Shawn.” Victor’s voice held only sadness, but Shawnrik spoke again before he could continue.

“But Vic, he’s sayin’ that Ol’ Man Walkins is workin’ for one of them groups—one of which, I don’t need to remind ya, made you homeless a little more than a year ago.”

“He’s right, Shawn. It makes sense. All the things we’ve been stealing over the last few months, his late-night meetings with his “contact” in the Syndicate. It also explains why he wasn’t surprised when I told him about the blood mage who burned down my house.” Victor’s mind was racing, putting so many things together that it was giving him a headache. Nim brought him a glass of water before retaking his place across the room.

“Wait a minute. You mean he knew that them mages were gonna burn down your house?” The doubt was apparent in Shawnrik’s voice.

“What were you doing on that street last year, Shawn?”

“I dunno. I was told to go there and stake out the neighborhood for… for, um… well, that’s funny. I don’t remember what for.” He shook his head at the last, no longer looking as sure as he had been a moment before.

“I used to go down that street a lot on my outings. I think a mage gave me the suggestion to run there that night, as well. I took off running, not knowing where my feet were taking me, and ran until I bumped into you; then you took me to meet him.” Victor’s voice had become so cold that it gave Shawnrik a shiver. He wasn’t the only one in the room that it had that effect on.

“Now, wait a minute, Victor! I didn’t have nuthin’ to do with the fire, and I don’t know about any blood mages. Ya gotta believe me!” The older boy was near to tears, fearing that his friend was going to hate him for something he didn’t and couldn’t have known about.

Victor’s expression softened when he realized that Shawnrik thought he was angry with him. “I’m sorry, Shawn. I’m not mad at you. I would like to hear the truth from Ol’ Man Walkins, though.” He stood from his chair, clearly intending to head out right then for answers.

“Hold up, lad,” Nim said, approaching to kneel in front of Victor. “This will be the first of many lessons that I hope to teach you. Never, ever, go seeking the truth while rage fills your gut. The only thing that will happen is something that you will regret later. If you confront the situation with a cool head, you won’t have to regret whatever it is you have to do. You won’t have those lingering doubts that it only turned out that way because you were angry. Believe me, you do not want doubts like those plaguing you.”

Victor stood still, staring into Nim’s reptilian gaze while Shawnrik stared into the fire, both feeling numb: Victor, because things that had been nagging at him for a while were finally coming into focus, and Shawnrik, because his whole life looked like it was a lie, and his ideas for what the future would be like had just come crashing down. It would all be different from this point forward. Nim, balanced on one knee, laid a comforting hand on Victor’s shoulder, not saying a word, letting the boys make the decision themselves.

“Tomorrow evening, I would like to go and talk with Ol’ Man Walkins, and I would like it if you would be close by when I do, Nim.” Victor pushed the words out through gritted teeth. Nim nodded that he would, and a lot of the pressure that had been building inside Victor dissipated with that nod. “I know that you have already been exceedingly gracious to us, but I would also like to ask that you allow Shawnrik and me to stay here for a day or two until we can find a new place.”

Nim let out a chuckle, his mouth dry from holding his breath. He squeezed the young boy’s shoulder. “Victor, you may both stay here for as long as you like. In fact, I would like to make you both a proposition when all of this is through. For now, though, I think it would be best if we all retired for the evening. We can plan out any actions for tomorrow in the morning.” He ushered them out of the waiting room, walking in silence with them up the stairs. Deciding to give them some time, he left them as they reached the top of the stairs, wishing them both a good night. The two lads said goodnight and continued down the hall in a daze.

“What are we gonna do now, Vic?” Shawnrik whispered.

“I don’t know.” Victor was wondering what would become of them, as well. He looked over at his only true friend in the world, who looked like he was about to break down into tears and tried to take on a cheerier tone. “But we will figure it out together. Nothing can beat us as a team. We will take on the world, Shawnrik, you and I.”

Shawnrik cheered up a bit at this, and Victor could see the wheels in his head turning. He could tell by the look on his friend’s face that he was imagining them both growing older, taking on the world side by side. “It will be alright, won’t it, Vic?”

“Yeah, Shawnrik… it’ll be alright. I’ll see you in the morning.” They reached Victor’s room, shaking each other’s hand goodnight as they had done many times in the past. This time, it somehow turned into an embrace—two friends who had just found out that the world they knew was gone, holding onto the only real thing left. It lasted only a few seconds, but it released a lot of barriers that the boys had put up earlier, each of them hoping with all his might that he wasn’t alone. Victor opened the door to his room and slipped inside.

Shutting the door, he slid down it and began to cry. I don’t know if it will be alright, Shawnrik. I don’t know anything. The world that had been so familiar this morning was completely foreign to him now. How could he know whom to trust? He thought he could trust Shawnrik, but how far could he trust Nim? He was fairly certain that the man wanted to use him for some game of his own. Everyone had a hidden agenda, it seemed.

Maybe he should start making his own. Nim had a lot of resources, and Victor knew he could learn quite a bit from him. I’ll let him plot out my moves for a while, and when I think he has taught me enough, I’ll leave. He might even be able to get Ashur to train Shawnrik. As his thoughts came into focus, his vision cleared. I will no longer be a pawn. This is my life. I will do what I know is right. With a clarity that had thus far evaded him in life, he said, “It’ll all be alright, Shawnrik. Everything will be just fine.”

Shawnrik stood immobile at the door, held in place by the quiet sobs coming from the other side, wondering if everything was really going to be alright. Suddenly, the sobbing stopped, and the world was quiet, as if holding its breath.

He was getting ready to leave when he heard Victor say, “It’ll all be alright, Shawnrik. Everything will be just fine.”

He wondered if Victor knew that he was still there. The words were said with such conviction that they drew out any doubt in Shawnrik’s head, leaving only a certainty that things would, indeed, be alright. He resisted the urge to knock on the door, not wanting Victor to know that he had heard him crying. Instead, he snuck down the hall, quietly opening the door to his room and just as quietly closing it. As he stood inside the opulent room, he reaffirmed the vow he had made just two days earlier. I’m going to be there when you need me. I know now how I will be your right-hand man. I’ll get Ashur to train me.

Nim walked back into his waiting room to find Ashur sitting by the fire, reading a book. He looked rather comfortable in gentleman’s clothes, with one leg crossed over the other, seemingly engrossed in whatever he was reading. Nim walked to the bar and made himself a drink. He held the bottle up, wordlessly asking if Ashur wanted any, but Ashur waved it away, pointing to the still full glass beside him.

“What are you reading?” Nim asked, moving one of the chairs closer to the fire.

“A book some scholar wrote on fighting techniques and the mind of a fighter. It’s amazing how many things are wrong in here. I guess it just goes to show that you can try to explain something, but sometimes it just doesn’t come out like it should. At least, that’s the way I see things.” He placed a bookmark into the point he was at before setting it down on his lap.

“What are you trying to tell me?” Nim raised an eyebrow at his oldest living friend.

“I heard a lot of what you were telling the boys. I’ve heard of these manacle things, too, but I’ve never heard that particular story before.” He picked up his glass and took a sip, looking at Nim over the rim.

“So I embellished a little. It’s all remotely true. Sure, some facts weren’t as accurate as others; I don’t know that there were a hundred people sacrificed. It was probably more like ten, but the story is all in the telling. I’ve told you that before. I was just trying to get them to see the way of things in the quickest way possible. No harm done.”

“No harm done? You just brought those boys’ worlds crashing down around them, and there’s no harm done? I’ll tell you what… if I didn’t think that Victor was sharper than you, I’d warn him to run while he can. You know I’m going to have to train that Shawnrik boy. Victor will need a good sword arm with him for whatever you’ve got cooking in that brain of yours. Just remember, Nim, they are only kids. Victor might have the sense of a man in his twenties, maybe even more, but… he’s still just a kid.” Each sentence came with a larger gesture and a little more liquid lost over the rim of his drink.

“Yes, you’re right. They are both kids; therefore, it’s better that they learn now what a dangerous and rat-infested world we live in. I’ve just made those boys more aware. That will probably save their lives—”

“Or send them to an early grave,” Ashur interjected, barely stopping the flow of words from his friend.

“—and it will also help them with the changes that will be coming. You’re going to have to train that kid hard if he is going to keep up with Victor, you know. Victor is… amazing. He must have only been three or four when he began his training. Do you realize what that means?” Nim paced in front of the fireplace, his excitement no longer allowing him to sit still.

“That he didn’t have, and isn’t going to have, a childhood?” Ashur said wryly. Nim stopped long enough to shoot a glare at him before he continued pacing.

“It means that the boy has been taught things that people usually don’t—and can’t—learn until they are much older. Not only does learning new things come more easily to a child in their first few years of life, but those lessons also become second nature. It means that I’ll be able to teach him most of what I know within a year or two, and he will still be at a prime age for learning even more. It means that I am going to prepare this boy to face life as a man. He will be able to go to banquets and converse with royalty, and he will be able to lobby for things the way that I was never able to. He will be accepted… and he will be feared.”

Ashur gazed into the fire for some time and then looked at his friend and shrugged. “I figured it was something like that. As I said earlier, if it wasn’t for the fact that I think the boy is sharper than you, I’d warn him away. I also have a lot of respect for that Shawnrik kid. He reminds me a lot of myself.”

Nim gave him an incredulous expression.

Ashur stared back, daring Nim to challenge his statement, before he clarified, “He reminds me of myself in that he’s going to be stuck following Victor for the rest of his life, and he’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

“Stuck? Are you stuck following me now? I could swear that it was your choice to follow me all of those years ago. You had your father’s title to inherit, and all that money. You could probably have been a duke by now. Would you trade all of the experiences we’ve had adventuring together for any of that?” His tone was full of mock indignation. He knew full well that Ashur wouldn’t have changed a thing.

“No. But, just like me, that boy’s gonna follow his friend into the bowels of hell, and he’ll either come out laughing or die in the attempt. Ashur set his glass on the table. “I expect I should get some sleep tonight. Tomorrow is probably going to be an interesting day.” He tucked his book into the crook of his arm. “You should get some sleep, too. All that plotting has gotta tire a man out,” he said, quietly exiting the room.

Nim was left standing alone by the fire, thinking about what Ashur had said. He had never fully realized it before. Through all of the undertakings that he had pulled Ashur along on, the man had never raised a complaint. He’ll either come out laughing or die in the attempt. Is that the way it has been all these years, my friend? I suppose it has. Well, if it was that bad for them, it would probably be worse for Victor and Shawnrik. He spent the next few hours remembering all of the adventures he had been on with his friends and looking forward to all those he knew were yet to come.