Serril and May stood in the open atop a hill. The downpour didn't seem to phase either of them, they just stood still and talked quietly in their minds. Murphy was drenched through. His cloak was fantastic for most things, but its waterproofing left something to be desired. Whatever Barberos had used to keep the wet out seemed to be fading with every storm or wash.
He approached them with a false smile, grumbling at the inconvenience on the inside.
"Great view out here," Murphy said, raising his voice above the rain.
Serril turned to him, not meeting his eyes. He gestured towards the town. Every building and field was visible from where they stood, obscured only by the grey and hazy dusk of a stormy evening.
"I'm glad you like it, Eseyfirr," he responded, his deep voice having no trouble carrying through the storm. "This will be your new home for the rest of this."
Murphy tilted his head in a gesture of question, knowing better by now than to interrupt the cranky Demai.
"The beast isn't far out now," he continued, pointing at the sky. "You’re no good in a close up fight, I know that well now. So you’re going to build traps instead. You can control your spells from here." He paused, and fixed Murphy with a serious look. "If you can't do that, tell me now. I won't have you risk these people on your lies."
Murphy’s stomach sank. The warriors disappointment was particularly discouraging. He was no stranger to scorn, he'd spent his whole life trying to cater to people's ridiculous sensitivities, learning what the sensitivities were the hard way. Serril however, was the kind of man he'd always idolised. He was determined to be back in the man's good graces.
Traps were something that he'd never attempted, but as always, he was confident he knew enough to figure it out on his feet. He held his sure smile firm, and looked up at the Demai.
"I can blow things up and set things off like the best of them, my oversized friend. I'll have traps like you've never seen, you can count on that."
"I'm not so sure," May thought to them. "I've seen plenty of traps that don't work."
"Oh, they'll work, believe you me," Murphy assured her.
"This is a waste of time," she thought, this time looking at Serril. "We should be tracking this thing. Why are we dragging out the death of one stupid Wark."
"He has to do this May-Lonwhe," Serril snapped out loud. "And we have to help him see it through. It's the way of the Tavern, and I won't dishonour my medal."
"I feel like I'm missing something here," Murphy said politely, trying to be involved in the conversation they were having about him.
"It's not our trial," May scoffed, ignoring the Warlock. "He should be making his own way. We're not his parents."
"This is his path, and we are on it," Serril said, holding his hand up to indicate the conversation was over. He turned his attention back to the confused Warlock in front of him.
"That doesn’t mean we'll carry you through this." He stated. "You need to show your own worth. It's your trial."
Murphy stared blankly at him, then nodded. Rather than push his luck with Serril, he figured he'd ask Callus about it instead. He was overdue for a conversation with the old man anyway. Pushing aside his curiosity about the mysterious trial, he focused on the reason they were standing in the rain in the first place.
"So I'm guessing you have something in mind for these traps then. I'd like to get onto that as soon as possible. I've got a few ideas myself."
They stood and planned for the next half hour, until the light had faded to a point of rendering their vantage useless. Serril showed him the areas he wanted the traps focused. The idea was to keep the wyvern in the meeting place once it landed, forcing it to yield before it destroyed the village. Serril insisted they give the wyvern a chance to leave with honour and never return. Both Murphy and May found themselves agreeing that the Demai was foolish for believing something like that would work, but it's hard to sway a Demai on an opinion when it concerns their beliefs. They also agreed that Murphy would be moving his camp to that hill, so he could be ready to set off his spells when the time came.
For that night, he planned to stay in the barn. Setting up a camp in the dark was a chore, even with light aspect spells. One more night of relative comfort before a war with a giant sky lizard seemed like a reasonable ask.
He hung his cloak by the door. With a scrap of timber board he found, he etched a simple rune to slowly release heat in the form of fire aspect. He warmed his hands at his flameless fire, and smiled to himself. If his grandfather could see how far he'd come with Runecraft, he might be proud. Even the common folk of Malnir would have trouble denying his usefulness now. He was getting through his tomes at a faster and faster rate with each day that passed, finally moving into the more intermediate texts. His stack of unread books was coming to an end, making him feel homesick for the tower for the first time in a while. With that thought, and his feet finally dry, he summoned the crystal ball from his ledger box.
"I don't think I've been yelled at enough today," he said to Uundah, holding up the ball. "It's time I fill that quota."
He empowered it, and immediately winced at the expected yelling, but nothing came. He looked at Uundah silently, receiving a rodent shaped shrug in return. Squinting, he looked back at the crystal ball.
"Hello?" He said, with a questioning cadence.
"Yes, what? Who is this?" Callus' rough voice asked in response.
"Uh…" Murphy stammered. "It's me, your apprentice," he said awkwardly.
"Oh, so it is you…" Callus complained. "I thought for sure you were dead, or lost the ball somewhere by now."
"You have no faith, old man."
"Faith in you is like faith in dirty socks, it won't do anything to change my life, so why bother?" Callus cackled.
"Didn't you give me this ball because you wanted me to talk to you?" Murphy asked, indignant.
"I want a night with the goddess of love too, but I'm not stupid enough to think it'll ever happen. So what do you need this time then?"
"Who says I need anything?"
"Do you really expect me to believe you called to say hello?"
Murphy thought for a moment. "Fair point," he relented.
"So come on, out with it. What have you gotten all into and fucked all up?"
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
With a sigh, Murphy began his story, walking his master through all of his adventures since they last talked. Callus listened quietly, only interrupting in the form of grunts or scoffs throughout. At the end, Murphy paused, and held his breath.
To the old man's credit, he didn’t yell. Instead, he let out one long and tired groan.
"Dream Eaters, eh?" He said eventually. "I didn't think they'd made it that far out by now. As always, you're lucky to be alive."
"I'd be happy to never meet another, that's for true," Murphy said, running his hand through his hair. "I would have been dead and gone if it weren’t for Serril."
"Even a Demai would struggle with a pack of the chubby little nightmares. I hope you've been praying to your God, because sooner or later that kind of luck will run dry."
"Luck has nothing to do with it, old man, only clever magic and good sword craft," Murphy defended.
There was a short silence, until Callus burst into a wild laughter. He gasped for air before trying to speak again. "Where… where did you find such clever magic? Did you pick up a wizard on your trip?" He chuckled, trying to catch his breath.
"Very funny," Murphy complained. "I've really learned a lot though. I even made myself a new grimoire."
"Hmm. That is a surprise. If you can manage to think like a real mage, you might just make it home."
"You just wait. I'll pass this trial and bring home magic like you've never seen. I'll be a Merlin like you in no time," Murphy teased.
Callus remained silent again for a short time, letting Murphy think for a moment that his thinly veiled question would receive an answer.
"I'm not joking here Murphy," the old man finally said. "If you don't start thinking like a wizard, you'll never make it far enough to become one."
"So is that my trial then? Because Serril said…"
"Boy," Callus interrupted. "You have priorities to consider, and that's not one of them," he said dismissively.
"I think I should know if I'm being tested, old man."
"You are a test, you ignorant gnome cock," the Merlin snapped. "You should know how to keep yourself alive above all. I don't care what your Demai has to say, he's not your master."
"And you are?" Murphy scoffed. "I've learned more on my own than I ever have from you."
"Watch it boy," Callus threatened, his tone dark and serious. "I'll teach you how I see fit. Don't delude yourself into thinking you have power here. I bought you for more than you're worth, don't forget you belong to me little Warlock. I'll do what I want with my property."
Murphy flushed with rage, and gripped the ball as tightly as he could manage. "Property?" He scoffed with indignation. "I'm no slave, you geriatric bastard."
"You’re whatever the hell I say you are," Callus barked. "If I gave you every symbol and held your hand through your spells, you'd only ever learn to copy. A real wizard gets by on their own worth, and you don't have nearly enough of that while ever you're complaining that magic is hard, or that I don't help you enough."
Murphy sat in cold silence. He was furious at what the old man said, but he couldn't deny that he might have been right.
"What about a little guidance then? Oh great and powerful master," he said, his voice dripping in sarcasm.
Callus groaned in a tired fashion. "Fine," he snapped. "Do you still have that ledger box?" He reluctantly asked. "Or have you lost that already?"
"I still have it. I don't lose things that often."
"Good. How are you going with retrieving its contents?"
"Well, I'm not sore for gold for true, and I found a few crystals too. Eight green, five blue and two red," Murphy recounted, counting with his fingers.
"That's something at least, but what about the tomes? What have you found?" Callus asked impatiently.
"Well I got most of your books back, if that's what you're asking."
"Yes, yes. You understand the basics well enough, I can see that. What other books have you found? If you robbed a proper bibliophile, you should be able to find more."
"I don't know what kind of twisted fetishism the cranky ronta was into," Murphy said, twisting his face into a look of disgust.
"What? No, you moron. It means he loves collecting books."
"So does that make you a bibliophile too then?" Murphy asked.
"Why do you say it like that? It makes it sound wrong. New rule, you're not allowed to use that word anymore."
"I won't judge you for your private escapades old man, so you shouldn't judge me for how I speak."
"You speak like a Welshman with a head injury, I'll judge you all I like."
"What's a Welshman?"
"Trust me, it's really not important. Did you find any new books or what?"
"Nothing exciting," Murphy sighed. "I've tried, but I don't know what I'm looking for. The only new titles I've seen are variations of what you sent me out with. It's all the same information in the end though."
"Hmm," Callus grunted in contemplation. "Not surprising. What I gave you is enough for a mage, the formulas are good to help you understand what you're doing, but it's not enough to make real original works."
"What do I need to look for then?"
"You need to start looking for the author or origins of the tomes. There are a few authors that were prolific in their writing. Try looking for titles containing the name 'Qu Fletcher', or 'Ratter Callister', that's two pretentious wizards that come to mind right away. Failing that, you may be able to find something from the 'Bardmire Institute of Spellcraft'. They like to print that name on every book that comes from that god's forsaken hole, but some of the students know a thing or two, so the texts are worthwhile."
"I've seen the name Fletcher a few times now. Are they a good wizard then?"
"He's the best. But don't tell him that if you ever meet him, his head is big enough."
"You know the best wizard in the world?" Murphy asked with excitement.
"You couldn't even scrape the surface of what I know, but we're talking about you learning magic, not how amazing I am."
"You’re so humble too."
"I'm too old to be humble, I know what I'm about. Now are you happy with that? Or do you need me to hold your hand a little longer?"
Realising he was already pushing his luck, Murphy decided not to press for more.
"That should help, until I realise you don't know what you're talking about," he joked.
"Good luck getting to that point, you're more likely to realise yourself an early grave."
"Never," Murphy defended. "I couldn't do that to you, you'd miss me too much."
His comment was met by an abrupt scoffing laugh, followed immediately by dead silence as the crystal ball's connection was cut off from the Merlin's end. Murphy looked back at Uundah, who had remained silent throughout the conversation.
"He needs to learn how to take a joke," he said, scowling.
"You need to learn not to piss him off," Uundah said, rolling his massive eyes. The action seemed to have the desired effect when the O'jin did it, since only the blind would miss those eyes moving.
"You’re as bad as him, you know. At least he has the creativity to insult me."
"I make a point to not demean those beneath me. It's crass," Uundah said, checking his pointed fingernails.
"See, when you do it, it's just cruel."
"It's the only way you can suffer the same fate as those around you," the O'jin said with a smirk.
"And what do you mean by that?"
"I'm just saying, you could argue it's cruel to inflict such a face onto the people you talk to. Your ugliness is all that can match your arrogance," the rodent said proudly.
"Alright, that's just mean. Besides, you can't insult my looks until you fix whatever it is going on there," Murphy said, gesturing at all of his companion.
Uundah remained silent, a look of consideration.
"Shut up" he said eventually.
Murphy laughed. "You should know better than to try and match wits with the great Muunfir, my fuzzy friend."
He stood from his spot and approached the ledger box, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
"Time to see if the old man was right," he said, as he pictured the name 'Fletcher' in his mind and cracked open the box.