TWO

The next morning, the sun filled Harpyn’s room with light, but he was already out of bed and pacing about in agitation. The tower had, indeed, survived the night, but that did little to quell his unhappiness. He’d been in this tower with Geor for months, following every order and answering every call. He was here to learn, and if Geor wasn’t going to teach him, he was going to teach himself. How hard could it be?

Outside of his room stood rows and rows of shelves filled with ancient tomes, the collected knowledge and wisdom of the entire mage’s order, centuries of learning all crammed into those dusty old pages. Geor hadn’t even let him open one of those old spell books yet. No, all he’d been allowed to do was dust them, a seemingly endless task. But today, he was going to take matters into his own hands. He was going to find the beginning of all those shelves and he was going to start reading.

Harpyn had never been an exceptionally bright student, but what he lacked in innate ability, he made up for in sheer determination. That was, after all, how he had managed to land an apprenticeship with Geor in the first place. Well, that and a mischievous bit of trickery that led the old apprentice to flee the tower in the middle of the night. Only now Harpyn wondered if the poor lad had been waiting for an excuse to leave after all the abuse he took from the surly old man.

Straightening his robe and sweeping his hair out of his face, Harpyn emerged from his room quietly, peering around the main room in search of his master. As expected, Geor had fallen asleep atop a stool, his head drooping forward over the work table as the last of the candles sputtered around him him having melted down to stubs.

Moving silently, Harpyn tiptoed closer, curious to see what Geor had made in the middle of the night, and if there might be any loose notes that he could read. Unfortunately, whatever the spell had been, it seemed to live only in Geor’s mind. Geor made a throaty sound and adjusted himself on the stool, making Harpyn jump back cautiously.

Satisfied that he would not be disturbed, Harpyn crossed the room to pick up a feather duster and tucked it under his arm, then he grabbed a candle with a bit of life left in it before sneaking off toward the last row of books. If Geor did come looking for him, he wanted to have an alibi ready. Otherwise, he was going to use this time to do some investigating on his own.

Trailing his hands along the spines of books, Harpyn marveled at the rich colors and the gold embossed letters. Each one seemed to promise him a wealth of knowledge, inviting him inside to learn the way of the mages. And yet, he was certain he would know when he found the right one, the one that would really open his mind to all that was possible.

“Aha!” he exclaimed quietly to himself, shivering with anticipation as his fingers came to rest on a burgundy volume with a well worn cover. He tugged the book free from its place on the shelf, relishing its weight as he clutched it to his chest and lowered himself down to the floor.

As soon as he opened the book to the first page, he had to stifle a cough. Thick dust wafted up from pages that hadn’t been disturbed in ages. Inside, the ink was faded and splotchy, and in some places, the pages were crumbly. Still, he could make out most of the words if he squinted and held the candle close.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Unfortunately, the first part of the volume was little more than a dense history of Andrysfal, dry and uninteresting. In fact, there wasn’t even a single mention of magic in those first few pages. Growing impatient, Harpyn skipped ahead, flipping through the pages as gingerly as he could manage until his eye finally caught on something that seemed interesting.

“Ashamsikunu…” Harpyn whispered to himself, delighting in the way the word slithered off of his tongue.

He read on, eyes scanning back and forth rapidly as he learned all about the ancient magic well that used to stand at the center of Andrysfal’s capital city. The very idea of a well brimming with magic sent shivers down Harpyn’s spine. But that was another time, a time before the great war and the fall of the seven citadels. A time when magic flowed freely through the world, something that was almost taken for granted.

Harpyn settled in, turning page after page, keeping mental notes of every detail. What if he could go to the capital and uncover the well? What if he could discover why it had stopped flowing? He would be a hero! Truly, the greatest mage to have lived in generations! Just the idea of it made him dizzy with excitement.

He sat back against the bookshelf, closing his eyes and imagining himself heralding in a new age of magic and power. He would be just like the ancient warriors of the citadels, the seven revered guardians that came to represent the very best that the world had to offer. One day, people would make statues of him and kings would bow to him, thankful that he had restored their kingdoms.

A sharp kick to his foot jostled Harpyn awake and his eyes snapped open. He had time for only a quick curse under his breath before Geor began grumbling at him.

“What’re you doing back here in this dusty old place? I’ve been looking all over for you.” Geor’s eyes slid to the book still laying open in Harpyn’s lap and he arched a brow. “Thought you’d do some early morning studying, eh? Well, I’ll tell you, you aren’t going to get very far with the likes of that one. Fanciful nonsense is what it is. Nothing but lies and fairytales.”

Geor leaned over and picked the old tome up, giving it a look of disgust before snapping it shut and shoving it back onto the shelf amid the others. Harpyn watched, the giddiness that had been coursing through him falling off to a dull disappointment. Somehow Geor managed to take the fun out of everything.

“You should be careful, you know?” Geor mused, turning to shuffle away down the row of books. “It wouldn’t do to have a fire back here.”

Harpyn dragged himself to his feet, grabbing his feather duster and following after his master sullenly.

“If it was all lies, why do you have that book among your collection?” Harpyn ventured.

Geor straightened, at least as much as his aged muscles would allow, and turned slowly to regard Harpyn, a twitch in his lip. “There is something to be learned even from tales such as those. A good scholar can learn from the fantasies of men as well as their histories.”

“So there was no well? Ashamsikunu was a legend?” Harpyn pressed, strangely saddened to have his new discovery dashed so suddenly.

“Something like that.” Geor turned away again and resumed shuffling down the row.

Harpyn followed in Geor’s wake, ruminating on the old mage’s words. A legend? Maybe that’s all it was. But then, Harpyn had grown up hearing the legends of the seven warriors, [names] and their magical weapons, and he could swear that he had seen those very weapons locked in Geor’s secret room. If Ashamsikunu was a legend, Harpyn was willing to bet that there was at least a little bit of truth behind it. The only way to find out would be to go to the capital city and seek out the well for himself.

Following silently behind Geor, a plan began to form in his mind.