The four knights bearing the symbol of Count Wells were near the entrance of Isemberd’s home as they faced towards him.

“Hold! Identify yourself, please!” One of them shouted, taking a few steps towards the mage.

Isemberd raised an eyebrow.

“Commander Isemberd, Crystal Octahedron’s third star.” He said, pointing to the jewelry on his ear that served as a military badge of valor.

The soldier flushed a little and quickly made a polite and apologetic bow.

“Sir!” he shouted again “Forgive me for not recognizing you, sir!”

“Relax, lad.” Isemberd replied with a tired sigh. “That’s the point of a disguise.”

He greeted the other three with a head nod. Isemberd recognized one of them, that were part of the group that brought him to Otterwesh, almost a month ago. The other two he knew from the battlefield, where they fought together. Isemberd imagined none of them told their companion anything about him. A few select knights of Wells, including the Count and his family, made a solemn oath to protect Isemberd’s identity.

“Lord Alard is waiting for you inside, commander” one of the noble warriors said. “Since we failed to find you at home twice, well… you know how he is.”

Isemberd shook his head and entered his home.

Sir Alard Wells was a promising young knight, with some battlefield experience from the war. He wasn’t too tall, but had a very bulky physique. He was dressed in a thick traveling cloak, over a nice coat of arms in orange and white. Furthermore, he had more or less the same age as Isemberd, around his early twenties, but he was far more cheerful and noisy than the mage.

“Greetings, my lord.” The mage performed a polite and formal bow. Gillibert flew to a nearby chair and more or less tried the same gesture, clumsily bowing to their guest.

The noble knight had his back turned to him while fiddling with something on the stove. He turned to them with a teapot and a pie Isemberd left to cook, already cut in bite-sized pieces. The window was opened, and the early noon sun brightened the mood of the kitchen.

“You forgot the fire lit, firewood dyeing out and a half-baked pie in there.” He complained, gently pushing the food over the table.

The knight then walked around the table with nimble steps and hugged the mage tight, pushing the air of his lungs out.

“Oh, come on, we don’t need that.” He held his friend by both shoulders. “Sorry for invading your home, mister third star, commander of the octahedron mages and mightiest of the healers.”

Isemberd shook his head a little annoyed.

“How was it again? My house is your house? Make yourself at home?”

The knight burst out laughing as the sound filled the kitchen with a cheerfulness it hadn’t seen before, apart from Gillibert’s endless chatting.

“More or less! Hey, you even cleaned up the dust out of things!” he pointed out “And you bought tableware!”

His smiled faded a little after pointing out each thing.

“I’m glad you liked the place.” He added, in a more serious tone.

Isemberd only shrugged. In moments like these, he felt the weight of the only jewelry he carried: the emerald earring that marked him as one of those mages. Alard leaned towards Gillibert.

“You’re looking big now, little buddy.” he scratched the owlet’s chest a little. “Your feathers are looking pretty too. How are you doing?”

The bird replied:

“Sir Alard! Have I said your beard does not look good on you?” he leaned a little towards the knight. “But thank you very much! I’m doing amazing, thanks to Master.

Gillibert hopped around the table.

“Oh, but orange is a very pretty color! And it looks great on you, sir!”

Alard smiled and shrugged.

“What can I say, the beard works wonders with the ladies. The beard and the good-looking orange attire.”

Alard had a long goatee, a narrow face, an easy smile, and a confident gaze. Beneath the persona of a loudmouthed swaggerer, however, he was a virtuous knight and a determined man.

“Your success with the ladies certainly doesn’t have anything to do with you being the son of a Count, am I right?” Isemberd provoked, in a demeanor too serious for a joke.

Alard, however, laughed at it and changed smoothly changed topic:

“How have you been?”

Isemberd waved with his magic sign formed and chairs started moving around, Gillibert’s roost flew by to stay with them at the table and the other ones went out, surprising the other knights that were outside. Plates and other tableware started moving, pieces of pie levitating and arranging itself on them to serve the guests.

“Look at that” the noble said “I’m just a little envious of those things.”

The mage sat down.

“We’re doing… good, I’d say.” He looked away. “I’m starting to like the work, it is very different from what I’m used to.”

“That is great” His cheerfulness disappeared and turned into a serious look. “I’m really glad you’re fitting in. People were talking really well about you at the town.”

The mage looked down his pie.

“I still think all of this is a vanity project of yours, and your father is more or less endorsing his son’s weird ideas.” He sighed.

After using so much magic, his body and mind were both somewhat unstable as he was feeling everything way more intensely.

“But, I won’t complain about a gift when I get one.” he said.

Alard nodded.

“That’s good. Your other option was to be dressed as a jester to the king’s court using those ridiculous long robes and giant hats, pretending to be a great magician and hero.”

After a short pause, he added:

“And maybe doing some party tricks with your powers.”

The mage’s expression turned into a grimace.

“Disgusting, to say the least.”

“Don’t mention it.” The knight agreed.

“What caused you to delay so much?”

For the first time, Sir Alard seemed a bit uneasy. He bit a piece of his pie and, in between a bite and the next, he said:

“We stumbled upon a village, smaller than Otterwesh, that were attacked by undead. They were creeping out of their graveyard.” He served himself a bit of tea as well as for the mage. “The place were saved before we arrived, but I still had to give it some attention.”

He made a pause and was interrupted:

“But isn’t that a good thing?” Gillibert asked, head tilted a little.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The mage waited in silence. Alard was besides his appearance, extremely thoughtful when talking, ponderingeach word three times before saying it. His moments of hesitation were a bad omen, and his loud cheerfulness were there to mask how seriously and deeply he dealt with his own matters.

He took a moment before replying to the owlet:

“Hmm yeah… but no. Still, it is a problem out of my control.”

He gazed deeply into the mage’s eyes.

“You know me and my family have you in very high regard, and that I want to protect you from these politicians from the court. God's know you fought enough for a whole life.”

Another took another bite of his pie. Another unsettling break. He looked away, buried deep in his own thoughts, as if he had just reached a resolute decision before saying.

“It doesn’t change the fact that many nobles of our kingdom have an interest on you. Including the king, I may add.”

Isemberd squinted his eyes a little, visibly angry, but stayed in silence.

“No matter the reason, people are looking for a mage, from that night at Nott’s bridge. And…”

“You know you don’t have to beat around the bush that much, right?” Isemberd interrupted. “If you want to ask me something painful, just get it over with.”

The knight sighed heavily and nodded before saying:

“I need you to do a job that was asked from the king of Neoria himself. In what the court is concerned is that you’re our mage. Orders were passed down to my father, that asked me to talk them out with you.” Alard explained. “So that we can avoid the need of him coming here to order you.”

“How complicated” Gillibert said from his roost with wide eyes.

Alard nodded.

“You have no idea, I pass my days walking on eggshells all the time.”

He shrugged and ate the last piece of his pie.

“There is a noble family from Soryn that asked for help. Our nobility is now interested in forming a friendly relationship with them. They openly want to work on improving our relationship after the disaster that was the war.”

He stopped, looking for words to continue.

“So?” Isemberd asked, impatiently.

“They want you to break the mage-hunters curse.” Alard said.

“No.” The mage’s reply was immediate. He raised his head in a challenging way and added: “It is impossible to even understand whatever was done there without the Shadow Tome.”

“That is in your possession.” The knight stated.

“I don’t have the means to unlock the book anymore.”

Sir Alard replied:

“Lies, Berd.” They stared at each other for a moment, then Isemberd looked away.

He was keeping the key and the book separate from each other, and the key itself was very well hidden.

“Think about how many people you could help with that…”

Suddenly, the windows exploded, sending broken glass shards everywhere. Tableware broke as the table started trembling violently. In the middle of that small magical chaos, Alard seemed perfectly calm as he raised one inquisitive eyebrow.

The nobleman raised his hands. The knights outside were suddenly ready for a battle, surprised by the mage’s sudden hostility.

“Do not dare to use that petty trick to convince me!” Isemberd whispered, furious, fists closed over the table. A thunder sounded inside the kitchen, out of his mouth as he said: “Not again!”

“But I’m not lying! I’m not like that woman from the Octahedron, Berd.” Alard retorted, his voice filled with the steel of a knight under an oath. “I will honor your effort and my word, as I always did!”

The knight kept his fearless eyes locked into the cold and furious eyes of his friend mage. Gillibert flew away to Alard’s shoulder and wide-eyed Isemberd for a moment.

“Master!”

“I was tricked my whole life with that talk about bearing my powers for the sake of people.” he said. “If that is your reason, then you won’t have my help in it!”

Alard nodded, apparently unfazed by the furious mage crackling with involuntary electricity near him.

“That is only fair! My case is: a noble lady and her family were tricked and her father is playing an important diplomatic role.” the knight explained, “The lord himself asked the king for help to free his daughter from the curse.”

Alard tilted his head and frowned. He continued:

“I can’t for the love of the gods, think of any other mage capable of dealing with the problem with the urgency it needs and, besides that, I’m sure you are the only one capable of safely touching that book.”

“As if any of us is safe with that thing nearby!” Isemberd grunted, “Be grateful to whatever god you worship you’re not capable of either seeing or hearing what was locked inside that cursed thing.”

“One more reason for me to trust that on you.” Alard replied. “Count Wells would certainly agree to do everything on your terms. Your conditions, your house, your rules.”

Isemberd breathed deeply, hesitating. The magic euphoria that overtook him in a moment of weakness had passed. It was a side effect of the amount of essence he had used that day, making his mind foggy and his emotions volatile. The danger every mage had to learn how to deal with, and one of the many costs of the power of magic. The crackling of energy around him reduced and disappeared.

“Sure, we have political reasons behind that, or I wouldn’t be here to bother you. I could have solved everything with a letter.” Alard explained.

“Any mage would do, right?” Isemberd asked.

Sir Alard frowned again.

“I disagree. I don’t trust that many mage-healers other than you. You’re much more than a mage at this point: you’re a symbol. One that only bears value to the few that know the truth about Nott and Tome.

He lightly clicked his fork on the plate, as if they were still having an amusing tea together.

“If the curse is undone by you, I’m sure a bit of this ill feeling between the nobleman of both countries will tone down. Without mentioning in all the good it would do to mage’s reputation all around.”

Maybe that was true. The world already had too many problems without the two kingdoms increasing the amount of hateful monsters running around at night. Isemberd mumbled, eyes squinted:

“I hate all of that. That shouldn’t be my problem anymore!” He raised his voice by accident, disoriented by both his magically changed feelings and the loud furious execration the spirit was doing against him all the time. “I’ll disappear by tomorrow!”

“Isemberd, please!” Alard too raised his voice, frustrated. “My father was considering coming here to hit your door with a squad of knights and mages to bring you to Scarwood Fortress by force!”

“And I would crush every single one of them.” Isemberd replied, his eyes suddenly glowing orange.

“With me among them?” Alard shouted back, angry. “We’re both pieces in a big game. But I trust you enough to think that if I were to try and change things, you would be with me!”

Isemberd stopped. His body was emanating a sensible warmth, like the start of a fire with invisible flames.

“Fuck!” He said, trying to ignore the dark mumbling on his ears.

“So?” The knight insisted.

“Let’s say I were to accept that…” Isemberd started, but Alard interrupted him.

“I would do anything in my power to make you impossible to reach.” The knight said. “And I would try to help the other surviving stars. All you deserve a little peace and a safe place to sleep at night after all that. But I need influence in order to make anything happen.”

Gillibert seemed extremely worried and hopped around the table towards his guardian cautiously. He saw enough of Isemberd’s powers at that day to be genuinely afraid of them.

“Ma-master! You yourself said…” He stumbled on his words, scared, “that is good to be kind! With other people!”

Isemberd closed his eyes for a moment. He then exhaled a deep cloud of steam from his nose. A faint purple glow started around him, lessening the effect of the spirit’s whispering. Around him, broken objects started to fix themselves and the glass shards flew together in a pretty stream towards the window, where they started sticking back and melding together to fix the glass.

He took a few long moments of silence, his eyes firmly closed, breathing and focusing on repairing the damage he caused. He opened his eyes and gently poked the owlet’s beak, in a very uncharacteristic gesture.

Isemberd looked at his friend with genuine embarrassment.

“I need to think a little more. And… sorry about that. I had an inconvenience today and…”

Alard sighed.

“I know. You don’t have to explain, Eloane gave me a report on… well… your morning endeavors.”

Isemberd raised his eyebrows, surprised.

“So you brought the mage’s apprentice with you?”

“I did. And she woke us up in the morning freaking out about an extremely dangerous power bursting deep in the grove…”

He laughed it off.

“I’m sure you had your reasons, and I won’t prod any further. But I dare say that Otterwesh is the safest place of the country right now.”

“I was also sure you were about to explode the house” He added, running his fingers over his hair as well as showing off a little bit of concern for a moment. “With all of us inside.”

“I wouldn’t” Isemberd replied, with a painful expression.

“Don’t worry about that. I stepped on an eggshell I shouldn’t have.”

“Well, to be fair, you did.”

Alard nodded and smiled.

“I know I’m asking you something terrible… and difficult.”

“I’m used to it.” Isemberd replied.

Gillibert cautiously pecked his master’s hand.

“Don’t worry master! I’ll always be by your side.”

He caressed the bird’s head.

“It might not look like, you ungrateful sparkling mage” Alard started “but for me as well. Being your friend is really hard right Gillibert?”

“It sure is!”

The mage rubbed his face with his hands and pulled his plate with his pie on it. They went back to chat about lighter matters while the house was fixed by magic. Alard invited the mage to visit them at the inn, after he finished arranging everything with the noble from Soryn so they could talk.

Isemberd didn’t reply about it yet, but Alard would send a knight to fetch him anyway.

Many hours later, alone while his owl was hunting outside, Isemberd couldn’t get rid of the annoying feeling something magic was there. The magic itch, as Gillibert called, coming from the town. Knowing there was another mage nearby explained it, but that didn’t calm his gut feeling that something was still wrong. A gut feeling constantly reminded by the furious and constant whispering of a haunted spirit in his ears.