Gorn,

I want to congratulate you on having established the Guild as an official institution. I know it must not have been easy, with the nobility breathing down your neck and watching your every move. If anyone could have done it, it would have been you.

However, I also want to warn you about experimenting with one’s Inner Landscape. While I can certainly see the benefits of the ritual of initiation and these spells of yours, I also fear the consequences both may bring. Your intention of helping Seekers to break through is noble, but combining your new spells with the ritual may give birth to soldiers instead of Artists.

Please consider my words.

Elusco

A letter from Elusco, bane of the Sadmora to Gornatius Siti, founder of the Guild of Mages. Dated 476 a.f. Location unknown.

The morning came suddenly. Silas shuddered, the furs doing nothing to fight back the cold. Sweat coated his body and soaked the mattress he slept on, clinging to his body like a wet rag.

Little wooden fingers gripped his nose and pulled it from one side to the other.

Gnarly radiated enthusiasm as usual, waiting for Silas to open his eyes. Before losing the last residue of sleep, the dream from the night struck him with surprising vividness. He could not only remember, but feel himself standing in the forest and pushing against the misty barrier.

Massaging his hurting nose, Silas threw on his too-large clothes and walked out of the cabin. Tom awaited him outside, preparing breakfast.

“You need to work on your sleeping schedule. I am not your serving maid.”

“Yes, master,” came the groggy reply.

“I need a few supplies, so we will go to Heilmold today, a village not far from here. Even though the people know me there, don’t tell anybody I’m teaching you the Arts. Most folks don’t think too highly of practitioners of the Arts outside the Guild nowadays,” Tom said.

“Not like you’re actually teaching me anything anyway, all I got are bruises so far,” Silas grumbled, too low for his master to hear.

Tom’s long staff had suddenly appeared in his hands as he turned to his apprentice.

“What was that?”

“Nothing master, I won’t tell anybody,” he replied, taking a step back to get out of range.

“Good. Take as many furs as you can carry after you finished eating. We are going to trade them in the village. Also, you need to hide Gnarly. A fellow like him will arouse a lot of suspicion, and you don’t want news of it to reach Bryme,” Tom warned him.

Silas’ shoulders ached as he followed Tom through the forest. The furs were heavier than they looked. Worse yet, Tom demanded of him to continue walking silently regardless of all the weight he was carrying. Trying to balance the furs while stepping with his heels first was exhausting.

At least it wasn’t cold. The morning summer warmth pierced the thick canopy, bringing life to the woods. The birds had just woken up, greeting him with a myriad of different songs. Tom occasionally stopped to question Silas on a few herbs they found on their way. Every time he forgot something, his master would add one fur to the pile on Silas’ shoulders.

By the time they reached the village, his legs felt like jelly.

Heilmold was a reclusive village. Hidden inside the large forest, it bordered on the mountain range to the east and the big Crystal River to the west. The couple hundred village folk were either hunters or fishers, with a few miners in between. As agreed upon earlier, Gnarly left his customary spot on Silas’ shoulder and crept into one of the large pockets of his pants.

The wooden gate was closed as master and apprentice approached it. A shout came from atop its wall.

“Oy! Who goes there?”

One could see the speaker looking down at the duo, his gaze resting on Tom. Instead of replying, Tom simply stared up at the man.

A creaking sound announced the opening of the gates a moment later.

Silas chuckled. Seems like he was not the only person to find the old man’s stare disturbing. Tom directed his stare towards Silas, whose chuckle quickly turned into an awkward cough. Snorting, his master began to walk into the village of Heilmold.

Once inside the walls, he turned to his apprentice.

“I have a few things to take care of. Take the furs to the tailor at the end of the street and see if you can get a few pieces of clothing that fit you. Meet me at the tavern afterward and get yourself something to eat. It’s the big two-story building right over there,” he said, pointing to the huge building ahead of them.

“And if anybody asks, just tell them you are training to be a hunter,” Tom added, walking off before Silas could respond.

Sighing, the boy made his way through what appeared to be the main street of the village. A few shops were lined to his right. Wooden signs hang above the doorframes, one depicting an anvil and another a purse. A pair of village boys walked by, snickering as they pointed at him. Silas stared daggers at him, yet the voices only snickered louder.

With his baggy clothes and the stack of furs on his shoulder, he probably did not look that intimidating. Why couldn’t he stare at people like the old man did?

Ignoring the looks he got from the other villagers, Silas reached the end of the street. The house of the tailor looked to be one of the better ones in the village. The first story was made of stone, a sign picturing a needle and thread hanging above the door. Instead of windows, wooden shutters decorated both sides of the walls.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

On top of the first story was a second made of wood, with a slate roof completing the picture. The door stood wide ajar, and Silas could see a man and woman working within. Walking in, he waited in front of a long wooden counter. A biting smell of leather with a faint note of fish hung in the air.

“You can place the furs on the counter, boy, I’ll be with ya in a moment!”

A elderly man bent over the workbench rubbing some kind of oil onto a piece of hide. He wore well-fitting leather clothes and had a lanky appearance. A couple of thick, solitary gray hairs sprouted on his head.

Silas dropped the furs on the counter with a grunt. Stretching his right arm, he took a look around the store. A woman with a heart-shaped face stood to his left. She gave him a friendly smile, her fingers never leaving the threads that were pulled taut over the loom in front of her.

After a short while, the man walked over to the counter. His eyebrows climbed all the way to the wrinkles of his forehead.

“Oh, a new face! I’m assuming you want to sell these?” The man asked, gesturing to the huge pile of furs.

“Actually, I was hoping I could trade them for some clothes that might fit me,” Silas replied, pulling on his shirt for emphasis. Hanging almost all the way down to his knees, it was so wide he could have fit twice in it.

“Sure, no problem at all. Might I ask where you got these furs from though? Obviously, you are not from around here. And to be honest, you don’t look like much of a hunter to me, either.”

“I-I didn’t steal them,” Silas stuttered. “My master gave them to me, and told me to trade them for some new clothes.”

The man squinted at him. “Your master?” Even the woman looked up from her loom.

Silas shifted uneasily as they continued to stare at him.

“He’s teaching me how to hunt, his name is Tometheor. He told me you know him.”

The expression of the man softened instantly.

“Oh boy. You’re Tom’s apprentice? Wait a moment, I’ll be right back.”

“Take a pair of Liam’s old shoes as well, they might fit him,” the woman added.

Nodding, the gray-haired man went upstairs. The woman’s face was scrunched up with worry, her voice soft.

“Are you getting enough to eat? Is he treating you well? You know, there are other hunters here who could teach you as well. You don’t have to stay with him if you don’t want to.”

The sudden change in the atmosphere confused Silas. Tom was a bit harsh, and his stares were pretty disturbing. However, Silas doubted any of the other hunters in the village could teach him about the Arts.

“Thank you, Miss, but it’s alright, really. He’s not too bad.”

“If you say so,” she responded, the doubt evident in her voice.

Loud stomping from the staircase announced the return of the man. He held a pile of clothes in his arms, on top of which lay a pair of sturdy-looking shoes.

“Take a look to see if anything fits. Liam won’t be needing them anymore anyway. Take these coins as well,” he said, handing him a small purse. “If you don’t find anything, I also have some other sizes in the back.”

Thanking the kind couple, Silas took a look at the pile of clothes in front of him. Finding a tunic and breeches that seemed to be about his size, Silas began to take off his shoes to try them on. He quickly stopped though, suddenly aware of Gnarly in his pocket.

Nobody could see his friend. Taking his clothes off very slowly so as not to disturb Gnarly, Silas tried on the new breeches. It took a few adjustments, but they were a definitive improvement to what he had worn before. Cradling his old pants with Gnarly in his pocket, Silas thanked the couple again before leaving the shop.

He had already left the shop when the woman turned to her husband.

“Did you see how carefully he handled his old clothes? I really hope old Tom isn’t too hard on the boy.”

“The lad seemed fine to me. He will manage,” replied the man, returning to his workbench with the furs under his arm.

Silas arrived at the tavern a moment later. The smell of hot stew and ale welcomed him the moment he opened the door. Most of the patrons sat around small tables, eating and chatting lively. Choosing an empty table near the bar, Silas waited for Tom to return.

What if his master never returned and simply went back to the cabin to see if Silas could find the way back to the cabin? Oh no. Tom had abandoned him here, hadn’t he?

“Anything I can get you?”

A serving girl suddenly stood in front of him, giving him an easy smile. She wore a long white apron dress, her blond hair bound in a thick ponytail that fell down her back.

“I-I’m fine, thanks. I’m just waiting for someone.”

“You sure? I can see you’re not from around here, what brought you to Heilmold?”

“I’m Tometheor’s apprentice, he’s teaching me how to hunt.”

“You’re old Tom’s apprentice?” The girl’s eyes went wide. Sitting down, she put her arms on the small table between them and lowered her voice.

“Is he as gruff as they say? He only comes every week or so, and hardly speaks a word. Nobody really knows who he is. He just appeared one day, and refuses to tell anybody where he lives.”

Shifting in his seat, Silas thought on what to say. The movement caused his right pocket, where Gnarly still hid, to tighten abruptly.

“Creak creak!” came from somewhere in his lap.

“What was that?” The girl leaned half-way over the table, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound.

“N-Nothing,” Silas said quickly, putting a hand over his lap.

The room seemed to get warmer with each heartbeat. Silas become suddenly very aware of just how close their faces were. She looked at him with curiosity, his cheeks continuing to heat up as their eyes met.

“Didn’t sound like nothing though,” she said meaningfully, still looking at Silas.

At a loss of words, Silas said the first thing that came to his mind. “Must have been the chairs creaking.”

He instantly regretted his choice.

“A-huh,” she replied disbelievingly, leaning back into her chair.

The door to the tavern opened, but Silas’ attention was elsewhere.

“So anyway, how’s it like being Tom’s apprentice?”

Shrugging, Silas tried to sound as casual as possible.

“Better than most seem to think. The grumpy old man isn’t as threatening as he wants to appear.”

A huge shadow suddenly darkened the table as a deep voice broke into their conversation.

“What did you say, boy?”

Tom loomed over the table, staring down at his apprentice with a stone-faced expression. Silas glanced to the other end of the table, but the girl had already left.

“I was j-just saying what a nice teacher you are.”

“Sure you were,” replied Tom with a snort, sitting down on the now-empty chair. The old man waved at the bartender, holding up two fingers before looking at Silas. “Have you heard already?”

“Heard what?”

Tom lowered his voice. “Ceraviehl is at war.”

“What? With whom?”

“The Adjhin’tor, from the Steppes to the east. Apparently, they dug tunnels through the mountain range and then attacked the fort from within. Bryme is currently at siege.”

“But Heilmold is directly beside the mountains, why haven’t they attacked the village yet?”

“Why should they? Heilmold is too small to be of any importance, and too reclusive to be found so easily.”

Cold sweat ran down Silas’ spine. The barbarians were a ruthless and uncivilized people. His father had told him many stories how they had slaughtered their way along the countryside, setting whole villages to the torch, killing women and children alike. The barbarians knew no mercy. The first invasion had been over 300 years ago, when Bataar the Cruel had led his armies from the Steppes across the pass of the mountain range and into Ceraviehl.

And now they were back?

His fingers suddenly hurt. Glancing down, Silas let go of the table’s edge and tried to calm his breathing.

“Silas.”

The boy looked up. Calm, grey eyes met his. “You’re safe. Nothing and nobody can come near me, or you, without it escaping my notice. Trust me.”

Silas nodded shakily, gulping down a spoon of stew. If the barbarians were already inside Ceraviehl, there was no telling how many they had killed. Hadn’t they done enough harm after taking away his family? A few moons ago, he had been too weak to do anything. Now, things were going to be different. He was on his way to become an Artist; he would have power. Wasn’t it his responsibility to stop them, to ensure they couldn’t spread any more death?

He didn’t have the time to stay at Tom’s cabin and train for years to learn all the intricacies of the Arts. The barbarians and their crazed idea of conquest needed to be stopped before they burned and killed everything in their wake. Once he learned how to control his first Art, he would leave the old man and make his way to the next city. He would just have to train harder. It was time to act and do his part.

Silas needed to join the Legion’s Invokers.