The following day was one of absolute tranquility. Gillibert tried really hard to cheer Isemberd up during the morning, and the mage accepted that display of care without his usual pleas for silence. He felt horrible at that day and tried to focus on fixing some damage he found on the attic. The young mage decided to do the work without using magic instead, he mostly used recycled materials from all the crates and old furniture he’d been dismantling since their arrival.

The owlet left to eat and fly around a little while the mage brewed tea and put a loaf of bread in their oven after all the work was done. Someone knocked on their door, and Isemberd had to stop a few levitating tools with a gesture before moving to find a worried Joran in his doorstep.

“How are you doing mister?” the lad asked without even greeting the sage.

“Mister?” Isemberd asked back.

The young visitor hesitated.

“Yeah, I mean, Maeven said she saw you running away from the tavern yesterday. I got a little worried by it, you know, what if you get sick living by yourself here…”

Isemberd sighed heavily. The last thing he was expecting was someone coming into the woods to see how he was doing.

“I’m not exactly well, but I made some medicine for myself already. Thanks for worrying.” he shook his head. “And stop calling me mister or sir, how old do you think I am?”

“Certainly older than me!” Joran replied “But if you insist…”

The sage brought another chair to the porch and they both sat down.

“Well sir… I mean, Isemberd, I finished the poem.”

“Good. So?”

“So…”

Isemberd noticed Gillibert’s voice calling out to him somewhere at the back of the house. He stood up quickly and spoke way louder than before:

“Good lord, Joran! I forgot to finish the preparations for Sir Alard’s visit.”

Joran frowned.

“Geez, sir, do you really need to yell for that?”

“No! Sorry! I need to find Gillibert, where is that bird now?”

The owlet landed nearby, above them in the house’s rooftop. It observed them curiously.

“I think I saw him coming out of the window earlier.” The young man said, before adding: “I can help bring your wares.”

Isemberd blushed and sighed, feeling a little dizzy. He raised his arm, so the black owl could land on it after flying around their guest.

“That would be really helpful, thank you. We can take a look at your letter right now, if you want.”

The lad showed a folded sheet of paper to the sage. After reading it, Isemberd was serious for a very long moment.

“Way better.” He said suddenly, making Joran sigh in relief. “Did you practice?”

“Yes.” he smiled. “Your explanations the other day were really easy to follow. I just had a few drafts done after my sister helped me with one or two girly ideas.”

Isemberd nodded.

“Make a clean copy of it with proper ink.“He gave back the letter. “You can’t deliver a love letter written in cheap pencil. Do you have a quill and ink at home?”

They went out to Otterwesh chatting about ways of making ink, good quills, how the rumors about monsters were getting worse and the increase in visitors for the town due to Count’s bard visit. Gillibert was already comfortable enough with Joran to occasionally fly around him or land on his shoulder, and he did that sometimes while they were walking. Arriving in the town before lunchtime, they went straight into Joran’s work so Isemberd could pay and retrieve the goods he bought with the merchant.

Before leaving, the sage stopped in front of the door. His eyes were aching badly as he felt a deep burn into his stomach, goosebumps running around his body as he started sensing something outside. It wasn’t hard to fake looking sick again, though he asked Joran to meet him back at his home bringing the wares as he was going first to set up the writing tools.

Outside the store Isemberd exchanged a meaningful look with Gillibert before the owlet took flight. He started his way back home under the sun, walking slowly and paying attention to this awful gut feeling. It didn’t take long before he found the source of it as it was inside a nearby inn.

He peeked at the windows from afar. He couldn’t point out which one of them had the guest that were beaming with magic power. Isemberd waved at Gillibert to come back to him and entered the woods.

“I feel weird.” The owlet complained.

Isemberd didn’t reply at first. While walking, his eyes occasionally would be covered with a purple membrane. He was using a spell to take a look around their home just to be sure. When they arrived, he stopped near the porch and crouched on the floor. A few hard to spot signs of guests were there, like mud in front of the door and a few footprints nearby.

No sign of anyone inside or outside.

“Can you elaborate a little more?” He asked after that long silence. “About this weird feeling you have.”

Gillibert flew to his roost inside without paying too much attention.

“I would say it is like itching, but it moves places whenever I move as well.”

Stolen novel; please report.

The mage gestured to his staff that was nearby, and the tool came levitating gently towards him. Isemberd seemed to be really focusing for a moment in silence before doing a sign with two fingers over his middle finger, and his eyes glowed red. The staff started humming and vibrating while veins of light started spreading over it. Just like veins of ore in a rock, but made of pure fire. The owlet was very surprised and goggled at the staff.

“Can you feel it?” Isemberd asked.

“Yes! Itchy but why?”

The same gestured was used to dismiss the magic flames that were waiting on the staff.

“Some of your brothers could feel magic sources.” The wooden tool now looked normal again and went flying back to it’s place at a corner of the kitchen. A few subtle marks over it did give away where the wood had been burned from Isemberd’s magic. “It seems you might be able to sense it too.”

“Isn’t that good?” Gillibert seemed worried by his master’s troubled expression.

The mage took its time to answer the owlet while taking care of a few house chores. The mage was trying really hard to not be bothered by the burnt bread, failing to do so shortly after. He soon had a list on their table with services that he took upon from people on the village.

Since not a lot of people were comfortable walking in the woods at night, Isemberd was making his deliveries through the old apothecary, Joran’s boss and other merchants from the town’s market. He had to pay a fee for it, but it was good enough for him that way.

With eyes glued to his list, he finally answered:

“I truly cannot say.” Gillibert was slightly scared of things if Isemberd knew nothing about them. The mage added: “It is a really terrible feeling for me.”

“How is it when you’re sensing magic, master?”

Isemberd tilted his head before taking a quill and waiting for an inkwell that came flying from his office.

“It hurts as if I had eaten something spoiled and was sick and then spanked all at the same time.”

“Yikes, Master! You can leave it to me! I’ll be vigilant of magic for both of us.” The owlet said with puffed up chest and an excited look.

The mage chuckled without humor.

“I think I prefer that you leave that to me.” He said, taking a look towards the window and then the oven. He definitely was annoyed for burning the bread.

Isemberd wrote a few notes in small scraps of scroll that cut themselves in rectangles by magic. Soon he was also tying a few leather bags with herbs and the proper instructions on how to use them.

While finishing writing the last piece of instruction near a table now full of other things like glass vessels, flasks, poultices and salves, he heard Gillibert chirping before flying away. The owlet’s hearing was way better than his, and Isemberd left towards his door without haste.

Joran had brought him his wares in a big backpack and was accompanied by a knight dressed in orange coat-of-arms. The presence of one of Count Wells’s men wearing the noble’s herald, the tower over the river, made the mage a little uncomfortable.

“Good afternoon mister Isemberd” the knight greeted him with a polite bow. “This young lad gently brought me to your home, I hope I’m not disturbing your… work.”

Isemberd nodded to Joran.

“You’re not, sir. Joran had to come here today anyway.”

“May I leave your things inside mist… Isemberd?” asked Joran.

“Please do.” He replied.

Gillibert came flying to greet Joran in silence. When the lad and the owl were both inside, the knight frowned a bit confused. He bowed again.

“Pardon me, commander, but you are very different from the stories I heard.”

“Yes.” it was the mage’s blunt response. “How can I help you?”

“Lord Well’s caravan just arrived in the town, sir. We came directly to visit you but didn’t find anybody home.”

Isemberd kept a serious and mostly unfriendly expression.

“I was outside for a little bit. You can tell Alard that he can come here anytime.”

The knight seemed a bit uneasy for a moment before saying:

“Sir, my lord asked me to bring you to him. He asked to convey some really urgent…”

The mage interrupted him with an angry, almost aggressive, tone:

“Now that I’m aware of your arrival, Sir Alard can come visit me anytime he wants.” he insisted. “You know where to find me.”

He seemed like he was about to go inside before the knight stopped him clumsily. The young warrior clearly wasn’t properly oriented in the case of a refusal.

“Commander, please. What do I tell the lord…?”

“The truth.” Isemberd said, looking at the knight over his shoulder. “And don’t worry, Sir Alard is a very reasonable man. No harm will come towards you for following my orders.”

Gillibert landed on his shoulder, looking at the knight with curiosity. The man sighed and shrugged.

“I’m only doing my duty, sir.”

“I understand.” Isemberd replied. His expression softened a little. “Come back tomorrow, I’ll be here. Tell Alard that I ordered you to.”

The knight seemed worried, but nodded.

“Yes, commander.” He said, not as loud as he should to not disrupt the mage’s disguise. Every knight of the house of Wells did a solemn vow to protect the Third Star’s identity.

Isemberd bowed back, quickly.

“That trail goes directly back to the village, you can’t go wrong with it. Dismissed, lad.”

He turned his back to enter and found Joran on his kitchen observing a few of the medicine pouches.

“What did the sir knight wanted with you, mister?”

“Mister?”

“With you. It is really hard to get used to not calling you mister.” Joran complained.

Isemberd nodded.

“He wanted to take me to Lord Alard, but I can’t since I’m still working as well as I have a guest.”

Joran gave him a wide eye, very surprised.

“Isemberd, Lord Alard is…”

“Yeah, yeah, he can come over some other time.” His tone was one that ended the conversation. “Give me second.”

He went to his office to grab paper and a few quills. He showed them to Joran.

“Here. I had a few of them to spare.”

“They look great. Thanks a lot!”

They chatted a little about amenities until sunset. Joran ended up spending his day off more or less working for Isemberd, carrying his bought wares and walking back and forth from the town. He left the sage’s home really happy with good writing tools for him and his sister and a few silver coins his older friend insisted on paying.

From the mage’s shoulder, the small black owlet said:

“I think you like having friends over.”

“I wouldn’t say that me and Joran are friends… at least not yet…”

Gillibert pecked him lightly.

“And even when you are, I’ll ever be your number one friend!” He said cheerfully, “Are we having tea tonight? Master! How are you feeling? Better?”

Isemberd sighed before caressing the owl’s head. He went inside, but not without taking one last glance at the woods.

“So-so.” He replied, closing the door and waiting for a moment.

He didn’t know if the thing bothering him was only his magic sense, paranoia or the nagging voice in his head, but he kept his magic staff nearby just in case.